Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
Chapter One
Presenting His Majesty: Jabba the Hutt
A year after learning a terrible truth, the Last Padawan, Leia Naberrie, has returned to the desert planet of Tatooine for the first time in four years in an attempt to rescue her love, Han Solo, from the clutches of the vile gangster Jabba the Hutt.
Little does Leia know that the tyrannical GALACTIC EMPIRE has secretly begun construction on a new armoured space station even more powerful than the first dreaded Death Star that destroyed the planet of Alderaan. When completed, this ultimate weapon will spell certain doom for the small band of Rebels struggling to restore freedom to the galaxy...
Endor Space, 4 ABY/21 Imperial Era
Hovering above the green moon of Endor, was the monstrous form of a half-complete Death Star. Despite now being finished yet, it was already bigger than the first Death Star. Dozens of TIE fighters flew around, guarding the station from any rebel insurgents that might attempt to sabotage the Death Star's construction.
An Imperial Star Destroyer moved overhead towards the massive armoured space station, followed by two zipping TIE fighters. A small Imperial shuttle rocketed out from the main bay of the ship and headed towards the Death Star.
Inside the cockpit of the shuttle, the captain and pilot made contact with the Death Star. "Command station, this is ST 321. Code Clearance Blue. We are starting our approach. Deactivate the security shield."
"The security deflector shield will be deactivated when we have confirmation of your code transmission," the Death Star's Controller replied crisply. "Stand by... You are clear to proceed."
"We are beginning our approach," the captain warned.
In the Death Star's control room, operators moved about among the control panels. A shield operator hit switches beside a large screen, on which was a display of the Death Star, the moon Endor, and a bright web delineating the invisible deflector shield. A control officer rushed over to the shield operator.
"Inform the commander that Lord Vader's shuttle has arrived," the officer ordered, a trickle of fear sneaking into his tone, despite his best efforts. The operator swallowed nervously and nodded obediently.
"Yes, sir." While the operator alerted the commander to Lord Vader's arrival, the control officer moved to a view port and watched as the Imperial shuttle landed in the massive docking bay. A squad of Imperial stormtroopers moved into formation before the craft.
Moff Jerjerrod, a tall, confident technocrat, strode confidently through the assembled troops to the base of the shuttle ramp. The troops snapped to attention. It was obvious that many were uneasy about the new arrival. But the Death Star commander stood arrogantly tall, confident that he was just as untouchable by the Emperor's emissary as any of his other enemies. Only the Emperor could bring him down, in Jerjerrod's opinion. He would soon learn how wrong he was.
The exit hatch of the shuttle opened with a WHOOSH, revealing only darkness. Then, heavy footsteps and mechanical breathing could be heard. From the black void Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith appeared, the air turning cold as he stepped into view.
Vader looked over the assemblage as he walked down the ramp.
"Lord Vader, this is an unexpected pleasure," Jerjerrod greeted him in a smug tone. "We are honoured by your presence."
"You may dispense with the pleasantries, Commander," Vader answered coldly. "I'm here to put you back on schedule." Instantly the commander lost his cocky attitude, turning ashen and beginning to shake in fear.
"I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can," Jerjerrod claimed, eyes wide and panicked.
"Perhaps I can find new ways to motivate them," Vader threatened subtly.
"I tell you, this station will be operational as planned," the moff insisted desperately.
"The Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation," Vader declared flatly. Jerjerrod's fear increased at the mention of the Emperor.
"But he asks the impossible," Jerjerrod begged. "I need more men."
"Then perhaps you can tell him when he arrives."
The commander was aghast. "The Emperor is coming here?" A ripple of horrified fear went through the gathered stormtroopers, though they all remained silent in the background.
"That is correct, Commander," Vader confirmed icily. "And he is most displeased with your apparent lack of progress."
"We shall double our efforts," Jerjerrod croaked out, looking sick with terror.
"I hope so, Commander, for your sake. The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am."
Tattooine, The Outer Rim
A lonely, windswept road meandered through the desolate Tatooine terrain in the direction of Jabba's palace. Making their way along the road toward the ominous palace were the droids, See-Threepio and Artoo-Detoo, deep in discussion with each other.
"Of course I'm worried," Threepio snapped at his counterpart. "And you should be, too. Lando Calrissian and poor Chewbacca never returned from this awful place."
Artoo whistled timidly back.
"Don't be so sure," Threepio replied darkly. "If I told you half the things I've heard about this Jabba the Hutt, You'd probably short-circuit."
The two droids fearfully approached the massive gate to the palace as they spoke.
"Artoo, are you sure this is the right place?" Threepio asked fussily. "I better knock, I suppose." Threepio looked around for some kind of signalling device, then timidly knocked on the iron door. "There doesn't seem to be anyone there," he announced instantly. "Let's go back and tell Mistress Leia."
As he spoke, a small hatch in the middle of the door opened and a spidery mechanical arm, with a large electronic eyeball on the end, popped out and inspected the two droids.
"Tee chuta hhat yudd!" An unfamiliar voice barked out harshly.
"Goodness gracious me!" Threepio gasped before pointing first to Artoo, then to himself. "Artoo Detoowha bo Seethreepiowha ey toota odd mischka Jabba du Hutt."
The eye looked from one robot to the other, then there was a laugh before the eye zipped back into the door and the hatch slammed shut.
Artoo beeped his concern.
"I don't think they're going to let us in, Artoo," Threepio told him. "We'd better go."
The ever-loyal and brave Artoo beeped his reluctance as Threepio turned to leave. Suddenly the massive door started to rise with a horrific metallic SCREECH. The robots turned back and faced an endless black cavity.
They looked at one another, afraid to enter. Then Artoo started forward into the gloom. Threepio rushing after his stubby companion. The door lowered noisily behind them.
"Artoo wait. Oh, dear! Artoo. Artoo, I really don't think we should rush into all this."
Artoo continued down the corridor, with Threepio following at his heels. "Oh, Artoo! Artoo, wait for me!"
The door slammed shut with a loud crash that echoed throughout the dark passageway. The frightened robots were met by two giant, green Gamorrean guards, who fell in behind them. Threepio glanced quickly back at the two lumbering brutes, then back to Artoo.
One guard grunted an order, making Artoo beep nervously.
"Just you deliver Mistress Leia's message and get us out of here," Threepio instructed him nervously. "Oh my! Oh! Oh, no."
Walking toward them out of the darkness was the infamous Bib Fortuna, a humanlike alien with long tentacles protruding from his skull who was Jabba's foremost 'advisor'. As much as Jabba had advisors, at any rate.
"Die Wanna Wanga!" Bib snapped out.
"Oh, my!" Threepio gasped. "Die Wanna Wauaga. We - we bring a message to your master, Jabba the Hutt."
Artoo let out a series of quick beeps.
"... and a gift," Threepio added uncertainly. He thought for a moment, then hissed to Artoo, "Gift, what gift?"
Bib shook his head negatively. "Nee Jabba no badda. Me chaade su goodie." Bib held out his hand toward Artoo and the tiny droid backed up a bit, letting out a protesting array of squeaks. Threepio turned to the strange-looking alien.
"He says that our instructions are to give it only to Jabba himself," the gold protocol droid translated. Bib considered that for a moment. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid he's ever so stubborn about this sort of thing."
Bib gestured for the droids to follow. "Nudd Chaa."
The droids followed the tall, tentacled alien into the darkness, trailed by the two guards.
"Artoo, I have a bad feeling about this," Threepio whispered.
The throne room was filled with the vilest, most grotesque creatures ever conceived in the universe. Artoo and Threepio seemed very small as they paused in the doorway to the dimly lit chamber. Light shafts partially illuminated the drunken courtiers as Bib Fortuna crossed the room to the platform upon which rested the leader of the nauseating crowd: Jabba the Hutt.
The self-proclaimed monarch of the galactic underworld was a repulsive blob of bloated fat with a maniacal grin. Chained to the horrible creature was a beautiful green Twi'lek dancer named Oola. At the foot of the dais sat an obnoxious birdlike creature called Salacious Crumb.
Bib whispered something in the slobbering degenerate's ear. Jabba laughed horribly at the two terrified droids before him. Threepio bowed politely.
"Good morning."
"Bo Shuda!" Jabba barked back.
The robots jump forward to stand before the repulsive, loose- skinned villain. "The message, Artoo, the message," Threepio urged his counterpart frantically.
Artoo whistled, and a beam of light projected from his domed head, creating a blue hologram of Leia on the floor. The image grew to over ten feet tall, making the young Jedi tower over the space gangsters.
"Greetings, Exalted One," she said politely. "We met once before, but allow me to re-introduce myself. I am Leia Naberrie, Jedi Padawan and friend to Captain Solo. I know that you are powerful, mighty Jabba, and that your anger with Solo must be equally powerful. I seek an audience with Your Greatness to bargain for Solo's life. (Jabba's crowd laughed at that) With your wisdom, I'm sure that we can work out an arrangement which will be mutually beneficial and enable us to avoid any unpleasant confrontation. As a token of my goodwill, I present to you a gift: these two droids."
Threepio was startled by this announcement. "What did she just say?"
The hologram continued "... Both are hardworking and will serve you well."
"This can't be!" Threepio cried. "Artoo, you're playing the wrong message."
Leia's image disappeared. Jabba laughed while Bib spoke to him in Huttese.
Jabba barked out a sentence in Huttese, which Threepio understood it instantly. "There will be no bargain."
"We're doomed," he moaned in despair, gazing in horror at his new owner.
"I will not give up my favourite decoration," Jabba declared, still speaking in Huttese. "I like Captain Solo where he is."
Jabba laughed hideously at that and looked towards an alcove beside the throne.
Hanging high, flat against the wall, exactly as he had looked when he was first frozen by Vader the year before, was Han Solo.
"Artoo, look!" Threepio pointed. "Captain Solo. And he's still frozen in carbonite."
Before either of them could do anything more, they were grabbed and dragged out of the large hall. One of Jabba's Gamorrean guards marched the two of them down a dank, shadowy passageway lined with holding cells.
The cries of various imprisoned creatures bounced off the cold stone walls. Occasionally a repulsive arm or tentacle grabbed through the bars at the hapless droids.
Artoo beeped pitifully.
"What could possibly have come over Mistress Leia?" Threepio moaned. "Is it something that I did? She never expressed any unhappiness with my work. Oh! Oh! Hold it! Ohh!"
A large tentacle wrapped around Threepio's neck. He managed to break free, and they moved on to a door at the end of the corridor. It was revealed as the boiler room when the door slid open, unveiling a room filled with steam and noisy machinery.
The guard motioned them into the boiler room, where they were met by a tall, thin humanlike robot named EV-9D9. Behind the robot a torture rack could be seen pulling the legs off a screaming baby work droid.
A second power droid was upside down. As smoking branding irons were pressed into his feet, the stubby robot let out an agonized electronic scream.
Artoo and Threepio cringed as the guard grunts to EV-9D9.
"Ah, good," Ninedenine nodded in satisfaction. "New acquisitions. You are a protocol droid, are you not?"
"I am See-Threepio, human-cy...," Threepio standard spiel was cut off by the other droid.
"Yes or no will do," she snapped.
"Oh," Threepio faltered. "Well, yes. I am."
"How many languages do you speak?" she demanded.
"I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, and can readily...," again, she interrupted his speech.
"Splendid!" she declared. "We have been without an interpreter since our master got angry with our last protocol droid and disintegrated him."
"Disintegrated?" Threepio repeated weakly.
"Guard!" Ninedenine turned to the guard lurking behind Artoo and Threepio. "This protocol droid might be useful. Fit him with a restraining bolt and take him back to His Excellency's main audience chamber."
The guard shoved Threepio toward the door.
"Artoo, don't leave me!" Threepio wailed as he was dragged away. "Ohhh!"
Artoo let out a plaintive cry as the door closed. Then he beeped angrily.
Ninedenine gave him a sinister smile. "You're a feisty little one, but you'll soon learn some respect. I have need for you on the master's Sail Barge. And I think you'll fit in nicely."
The poor work droid in the background let out another tortured electronic scream.