Chapter One:

A loud clang on the hidden doorway to his room woke him, and seconds later the lights blared to full life, blinding him as always.

"Get up!" A harsh male voice snapped over the intercom, and the child rose into a sitting position dutifully, rubbing wearily at his cerulean eyes to remove the last vestiges of sleep.

A clinking sounded as the chains attached to his collar moved with him, and he waited in silence for his owner to release him from the fetters, if not the collar. The collar never came off, and the boy hated it with a passion; was humiliated by it, and yet was powerless to do anything to change his circumstances.

His eyes followed the length of chain that attached to a bolt in the wall. He had enough leeway to move about his room, which wasn't a room at all but a prison cell. He had a cot with a filthy, ratty mattress and a thin, torn blanket. His pillow was a collection of dirty rags and his refresher consisted of a toilet and a sink. There was no way to bathe...

Ten year old Luke Skywalker shuddered in terror at the thought of when his next bath would be, and prayed it wasn't today.

He knew his name, but he didn't dare ask to be called by it. His owner and master would call him whatever he so wished, and Luke would accept it. Better that than the painful alternative.

Luke managed to calm himself down, and he figured he had enough time to relieve himself before his master entered the room. Luke did so with difficulty, hobbling over and ignoring his foot the best he could. When done the child washed his hands with the sliver of soap bar that was all he had left of his once plentiful bar.

He didn't know when his master would see fit to replace it, and Luke was forbidden to ask for anything that didn't strictly relate to the task he had been given. He wasn't allowed to speak at all unless given express permission to do so, with a single exception.

Luke had learned early on to bend to his master's will and whim, and to do so immediately and without complaint. Failure to comply ended in brutal beatings or any other form of punishment his master deemed worthy of the 'crime'.

Luke sat back down on his bed, staring at his dirty, pallid skin and the loincloth that was his only clothing. Scars littered his malnourished body like spots on a Nabooian bursa, plentiful evidence of the boy's treatment at the hands of his cruel, sadistic master.

The latest bruises still shown in vivid contrast to the rest of his skin, their deep purple and sickly green color having spread overnight to cover vastly more area than the evening before. Luke maneuvered his shoulder gingerly, testing the overall mobility. He was stiff, but able to use his limb enough to perform his chores.

He heard the telltale shifting of the bookcase that hid his cell door from view and then there was a slight beeping as his master input the code to enter. The door hissed open with an ominous air, and in strode Luke's master.

"Good morning, Master," Luke whispered the single mandatory pleasantry, though the sound was hoarse on his little-used voice.

Hazael ignored the boy as he brandished a syringe filled with a viscous green fluid. Luke held still while the man injected it into Luke's neck, though it burned as it entered Luke's bloodstream. Luke shivered against the pain before he settled down as the serum did. Luke didn't know what the drug did, but his master administered the thing every single morning without fail.

His master waited until the serum had the chance to fully enter Luke's body before he unlocked the chain from Luke's collar, letting the end fall to the floor with a metallic shhiiink. "Get your chores done, Runt."

Luke bowed his head and slunk away, trying and failing to ignore his limp. His bad foot had still not healed from being broken by one of Hazael's more violent outbursts five days earlier.

But nor would the injury excuse him from working, no matter how bad it got. Luke went to the cleaning closet and grabbed his supplies he'd need to clean Hazael's house top to bottom as he did every single morning. Luke didn't get to eat until the job was completely done, and if Hazael didn't like the work the child did, then Luke didn't get to eat at all.

Luke was always hungry, his stomach growling despite his efforts to ignore it. He was well aware of how dangerously thin he was, especially for someone of his age. The child was only given the barest amount of food to keep him alive, and that was all. At least he could drink from his sink.

Luke realized his mind had wandered when a large hand hit him on the back of the head.

"Stop daydreaming and get to work!" Hazael snapped angrily. "And you had better have this place cleaned in two hours or you go hungry for another two days. I have company coming over, and I won't have this place looking dirty."

Luke nodded avidly, though his heart plummeted when the man's words registered, and with it his stomach. Two hours to clean the entire house? Hazael was fully aware the job took Luke all morning, and in fact, it was rarely earlier than high noon when Luke did complete the task on a good day...

Luke bit back his tears, refusing to cry and let his master punish him for that too today.

With no hope of any kind, Luke went about his task as swiftly as he was able, knowing he would fail and that despite his efforts to avoid it, a punishment awaited him at the end of his allotted two hours.

00000

Hazael eyed the boy as he performed his daily routine of cleaning the house so that it was always immaculate. Hazael expected and accepted nothing less, and the boy knew that full well.

However, even Hazael had to admit he would need to have a medic tend to the boy's foot. If the stupid boy couldn't walk, then he was useless, and Hazael refused to let the slave die. Hazael made the call to his preferred medic, a man who did the job without asking questions for a generous tip, and once that was done he put his comlink away.

Hazael then checked his chrono and pursed his lips. He still had time to kill before his guests arrived, and he knew just how he wanted to spend it.

Returning to his room, he unlocked another hidden door and gestured the slave woman within to exit. She whimpered, knowing he only let her out for one thing, but complied because he would beat her if she didn't.

This slave he fed well since she had to be strong and supple enough to actually be enjoyable to him. She was different from the former slave woman he'd had, the one who'd taken care of the boy. The first woman had been enjoyable in her own way, but this new girl was younger, and her body was much more agreeable to his tastes.

That first woman he had killed when the boy was eight, though the female slave had been useful in many ways. Her death had been another lesson from owner to slave boy, one the kid had never forgotten. Hazael couldn't recall her name, and he didn't care to.

The new slave woman now lay on Hazael's bed, her skimpy clothing enhancing her figure as he liked it to. Hazael prepared himself and then joined her in the bed.

"Now, let's have some fun, shall we?" he purred, helping himself to her.

00000

Thew Meckley adjusted his tunic, making sure his crisp attire looked well enough for his employer. His dark blue top had russet accents while his black pants fitted into knee-length boots of the same color.

The Balosar's antennapalps protruded from his head of brown hair, and he had even combed it out so he appeared neat and orderly as his boss required. Either way the humanoid man knew he looked as good as he felt.

Behind him was a younger adult male who wanted to climb the ranks of importance, a nineteen year old Kaleesh who's chin horns hadn't grown fully quite yet.

"Keep the gear ready, Fias," Thew instructed, noticing that the crate that held Hazael's required items was on the ground.

Fias Terallo nodded briskly and lifted the box from the sands, making sure to wipe it clean the best he could before the front door opened. The slave child Hazael kept bowed silently and stepped aside to let them enter.

Thew paid him no mind, brushing past the human child as if the runt wasn't there. Fias, however, looked at the boy. The red-skinned reptoid noted the fresh blood on the kid's face surrounding a black eye and when the boy shifted, Fias saw that there were angry red marks upon his back too, also seeping crimson fluids. Having endured lashings in his own violent youth— his people were both spiritual and war-lusting— Fias could understand the child's pain.

The Kaleesh noted the slave kept his gaze averted, and when Fias abruptly realized he'd fallen behind the young adult snapped his attention where it belonged. He swiftly caught up to Thew, who threw him a warning scowl.

"Good day, Hazael," Thew greeted the human male as he approached the couch on which their employer lounged, a cigar in hand.

Thew bowed his head to Hazael, and Fias did likewise.

"Gentlemen," Hazael welcomed, gesturing for the pair to sit down across from them. Then he raised his voice. "Hey Worthless, bring refreshments!"

Thew heard the scuffle of feet as the slave child obeyed, and then Hazael leaned forward. "How has production been this week?"

"Rather good actually," Thew replied proudly. "We struck another load of ore yesterday and as we speak our... employees are mining it. Also, the gems have been elusive, but we believe we've located a possible new trail in the stone. Hopefully soon we will find the next load of them."

"Excellent," Hazael purred. "And the... side job?"

Thew grinned maliciously and withdrew a pouch from an inner pocket. He laid it upon the table between the couch and the seat he was on and slowly unrolled it to reveal a variety of thin sticks within.

"We have perfected our latest strains of spice, and have even begun testing new death stick formulas." He showed Hazael several different colored sticks of spice crystals and four separate varieties of death sticks.

Hazael nodded. "Fine work as always Thew. And the Jawas haven't given you any more trouble of late?"

"No, not since we have their women and children held under our control. If the males resist the women die, leaving the kids to fend for themselves." Thew reported without missing a beat.

At that moment the slave child appeared and carefully placed a tray on the table before he bowed low and left. Hazael stared after the child for a time before he retrieved the bottle of whiskey from the serving dish and poured himself and the two across from him a drink.

Once they all had a glass, Hazael lifted his. "To high production rates."

"Hear, hear!" Thew cheered, clinking his glass against his employers.

Fias hesitated. "Sir, if I may ask..."

Thew turned a warning glare on his subordinate, but Hazael leaned back again. "By all means."

"Are you sure it's wise to continue using the Jawas and Sand People as slaves in these mines of yours?" Fias asked carefully. "What if someone notices the lack of these nomads in the areas they're usually in?"

Hazael chuckled darkly. "Trust me my young friend; no one will miss the Sand People. Every Tatooinian hates them, and as for the Jawas, what were they good for except recycling scrap metal? Well, now they get to mine metal, so they should be grateful." Hazael took a puff from his cigar. "My company makes its name by trying to help the Sand People and Jawas become better acquainted with society. However, it's just a cover. We are conning the galaxy unto believing that we're trying to help these people, and while the rest of the galaxy laughs at us, we're striking it rich right under their noses."

Fias tilted his head. "And what about the gems?"

Hazel's eyes narrowed. "What about them?"

"What will we do with them? How will we explain their sudden appearance?" Fias inquired.

"We will tell them half truths," Hazael replied.

When Hazael had come to Tatooine initially, he had wondered how he was going to maintain his funds, his work. Then, on a chance encounter with a group of Jawas, he had stumbled upon an item of theirs that was made of a metal he had never seen before.

It was shiny when worked, and had the same qualities as gold and silver, but it was much stronger. He had demanded they show him where they had found that metal, and after threatening their entire tribe, the Jawas had complied. They had led him so deep into the Jundland wastes that no one would dare venture there.

And for good reason: the area was highly dangerous, even for the natives of the planet.

Hazael had taken the opportunity eagerly, and several months later— after having mined deep underground— he had discovered a mother-load of precious gems. Hazael knew the cache had come from the earliest times of Tatooine when the planet was still covered in oceans and plant life. The water had to have created deep pockets in the surrounding stone in which the minerals formed while volcanic activity also occurred in those areas.

Now Hazael had a large stash of priceless gems in a variety of colors, size and hardness, he'd come across a new metal he was going to use in creating weapons and armor, and he ran a spice and death-stick side job that was bringing in the funding for all his mining projects.

Not to mention it paid his actual employees and for Hazael's luxurious life on Tatooine. He had water shipped in monthly from other planets, and he wasn't shy about using it.

As for the Jawas and Sand People, Hazael was using them as slaves to do the grunt work in the mines and such while pretending for the public eye to actually be friendly with the native cultures of Tatooine.

It was working perfectly too, though he did allow that Fias made a good point. Some of the seasoned farmers were indeed questioning the odd lack of Raider attacks in recent years.

Hazael glared at nothing in particular. The ungrateful fools: they should just be glad they didn't have to worry so much anymore.

"Sir?" Thew ventured cautiously.

Hazael shook himself and returned to business. "Right. Don't worry Fias. Things are under control."

"Understood Sir." Fias bowed his head and fell silent.

Hazael pointed to the crate. "Are those the things I ordered?"

"Yes, sir." Thew picked up the crate, opened it and lifted out a tattered brown robe with a leather belt, a black facial wrap and a pair of yellow reflective-surface goggles, black gloves and small cloth shoes.

All things the Jawas wore.

"This came off of the last one to die that is the boy's size." Thew explained.

"And the voice modulator?" Hazael pressed.

"Is on order as we speak." Thew confirmed. "I checked on its progress and it should arrive in two weeks. I'm sorry but that was the earliest anyone could deliver it."

Hazael waved a hand. "No, it gives me adequate time to prepare what I need to have done."

Fias tilted his head. "Prepared for what?"

Hazael's' teeth bared in a wicked smile. "Why, to introduce the galaxy to a variety of stunning gems, and to also reveal our new metal. Though I still have to name it, I don't want it to be anticlimactic after all this work."

Thew smiled right back at Hazael. "I can't wait to see the looks on the faces of Coruscant's elite when we do that."

Hazael snorted. "Indeed. Our first step will be to announce my possession of the galaxy's finest rare gems collection, and then we will allow them to be put on display in the Republic Museum, and then we will move forward with the metal."

Fias nodded. "Well then, the best of luck to you, Sir."

Hazael tipped his glass. "You learn fast, Fias. You will do well in this business."

Fias beamed proudly at such praise and the three went on about their visit until it was evening and time for Thew and Fias to depart.