Let us now go forward in time, away from Korriban to the sands of Tattoine, where we left off as I was looking a bit lost, staring at Bastila's back as she entered the hunter's lodge. I had much I wanted to say but no opportunity to say it.
As to the bit about being on opposite sides of a lightsaber the next time we met - I have never even owned a lightsaber. Many times my instructors at the Sith academy sought to foist one upon me. I view the preoccupation with hand-to-hand battles, common to both Jedi and Sith, to be a pathology of sorts. My entire philosophy is to avoid physical battles, at least those I can't easily win. If I and Bastila were indeed on opposite sides, I would do my best to make sure there never was a lightsaber battle, for that would mean I had already lost.
I might also have pointed out that, had it not been for me, she would likely still be a slave, likely fetching melons instead of speaking so comfortably to me. But stupid as I can be at times, I was not so stupid as to think a productive conversation could be had right now. Let her storm off, let her stew in her righteous indignation. Perhaps she'll change her mind later.
Instead, I found some shade - how wonderful it was to be in a human settlement, with awnings and shade! - and sat down cross-legged, closing my eyes. I had come out of the slave camp with no serious harm. A bit of pain, sure, but that was nothing. Did I serve my purpose? Was the universe pleased with what I had done? I tried to summon up a sense of the answer.
I cannot be sure I succeeded. I did not get a strong, overwhelming feeling, as I did when that Rodian approached me in the market. But I did get a sense that the universe was not wholly displeased with how things had turned out, and further, that my role here was complete. I thought about trying to persuade Bastila a little more to let me be a part of the rescue, but the more rational part of me concluded I'd just be in the way, having less facility with weapons than even the worst of the hunters at the lodge (and I did not imagine they'd be comfortable with me throwing force lightning around).
So what remained for me on Tattoine? Nothing at all.
Actually, that wasn't quite right. One thing did remain: revenge.
Revenge against the droid.
Revenge against the sand people.
Revenge against the Rodian who tried to mislead me.
Some of these were projects best left for the long term. But one I could accomplish fairly quickly and I saw no good reason why I shouldn't; and so I headed back to the gates of Anchorhead, to the Tattoine market, to the stalls of the weapon dealers.
It was a little strange to look on the same scene I encountered when I disembarked. It felt almost as if years had passed, though I knew it had only been a couple of months. But the bustle of the market did not feel any different. It was funny: people are kidnapped, killed, ambushed all the time on Tattoine; but the locals are quite used to it, and life simply goes on.
I did not go to the same stall I visited on my first day here. Instead, I lurked at the edges of the square. It did not take me long to see him. To be honest, reader, I expected to have some trouble recognizing him, for, as I have already said, Rodians look a bit alike to me. But there he was, looking at the people browsing the weapon stalls and approaching them as they departed. I watched him for a good half-hour. He was even wearing the same clothes as on the day I first saw him.
"Remember me?"
I intercepted him just as one potential victim was waving him off. He looked at me, blankly at first, and then his eyes began to narrow with recognition, as if he realized he had seen me somewhere but could not pinpoint just where. A few seconds later, he was off, fleeing at full speed across the square.
Not that that would help him.
"Stop," I said.
He froze.
"Turn around."
Slowly, trying to fight his own body, he turned himself around.
"Follow me."
I should perhaps thank my former masters who taught me the art of mind domination with the same pedagogical techniques they used for force lightning. Difficult as that was to learn, it served me well in the here and now.
Reader, are you surprised that I was capable of mind domination this whole time? But I have already explained that I spent some time in the Sith academy, where I learned that and a multitude of other tricks besides. Once my former masters figured out how I might be persuaded to learn, they felt little compunction in resorting to the same method. Which is to say, I was locked in a cage, or thrust into some situation where the most likely outcome was my death, with some regularity.
I might have tried to use my mind domination skills to escape the camp. It would not have worked on the droid, of course, but I might have tried it on the sand people. But I ruled this plan out: I was not actually sure I could mind dominate a Tusken, for the task becomes more difficult the more alien the mind. I had practiced on Rodians before and I knew the inns and outs of their tiny little skulls pretty well; but I had no notion of whether a Tusken would yield as easily.
"Fearsome human, have pity," the Rodian wailed. "I have many children and…."
"Silence," I said and, on command, the Rodian shut his mouth. I had no mind to listen to his tales. Nine chances out of ten, they were lies and exaggerations. Even if they were true, it would not make one jot of difference.
Revenge. A Jedi would have turned the Rodian over to whatever passes for the law on Tattoine. A pitiful course of action and one that would result in him returning to his trade as soon as he scrounged enough funds for a bribe. A Sith would have tortured him to death, taking pleasure in every scream, every groan and whimper. But that held no appeal for me.
With the Rodian in tow, I made my way to the race track. I knew the operator, Motta the Hutt, by reputation. I did not lie when I told master Vrook that I worked briefly as a smuggler; among the smugglers in this sector, Motta's name was not unknown. I had two tasks pressing upon me. I could not ignore that I was running somewhat short of credits. I wanted to see to it that the Rodian paid dearly for his crimes. A visit to Motta would kill two birds with one stone.
The race track had the run down half-abandoned quality of most of the buildings on Tattoine. I recognized a couple of the racers: they were has-beens who were washed out of the pros. Most of the rest were amateurs whose names were completely unfamiliar to me. I half-expected to see Motta himself holding court, perhaps watching the races, but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Want to see the boss," I said to a bouncer, a big, burly Gammorean.
"Boss busy."
"You will take me to see the boss."
"I take you to boss."
He took me through a backdoor and we entered a maze of little corridors. A few turns later, we came to a wide door with two Gamorreans standing on each side. They looked at us warily but I spoke before any alarm could be raised.
"Over-ride the entrance," I said.
They nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Once they entered the code, the door slid open soundlessly and I entered the chamber. It was large and dim room, with a comforting breeze running through it. I could make out the Hutt waving his tail at the center. Two half-naked Twileks were twirling before him.
"Scram," I said as I walked over and, when they looked at me puzzled, I pulled out a blaster and fired it into the air for emphasis. That got their attention all right and, squealing with fear, they ran towards the entrance. The Hutt roared with displeasure.
"Who is this intruder? Kill him! Fire your blasters!" he screamed at his bodyguards.
"Leave the two of us alone," I said to the Gamorreans.
They hesitated briefly. They tried to resist as best they could but my hold over their minds was too strong. And so, after the Twileks ran through the door, the Gamorreans followed, closing it shut in their wake.
Now say what you will about the Hutts but they are not stupid nor are they slow.
"You Jedi," he said, switching to basic. "You did weaving hands trick."
I expected him to scream a little more, indulge in some expressions of outrage; but it seems he quickly figured out the balance of power in the room.
"Don't think of me as a Jedi. I am just someone who had business with you."
"I have no business with you, human."
"A Hutt who refuses to listen to an offer of business? Is your erection interfering with the blood flow to your head?"
He roared with laughter. In truth, I'm not sure Hutts have erections as such. Force only knows how it is they reproduce. It was not covered in my biology lessons at school and I have no intentions of enlightening myself on the subject.
"Well then, state your business."
"One slave, Rodian, male, age -"
I turned to the Rodian. "How old are you?"
I felt the pull of his mind against me, his desire to speak up, object, run, do anything to escape from this place. I over-ruled it, and he remained standing before me.
"Four and a half."
"One slave, Rodian, male, age four and half, for sale."
Reader, you might have imagined me implacably opposed to slavery. If so, you imagined wrong. Of course, I object to kidnapping. I object to the camps the sand people have established in the desert. I'd love to shut down the trade the Hutts have been running. But as for this alien, this creature who made his living tricking hapless others into servitude, it seemed to me that slavery was the most fitting punishment.
The Hutt chuckled.
"This world Republic trading partner. No slavery here."
"So ship him to your cousin on Nar Shadaa."
"What?"
"Don't play games with me. The whole world knows of your trade. The Republic simply chooses to look the other way."
"I know not of what you speak."
"Indeed?" I said. "I believe I ran a fuel shipment for you once, not so long ago." I named the ship, quantity of fuel, delivery depot.
He said nothing for a moment.
"One Rodian slave, age four and a half years, male, for sale," I repeated.
"One thousand credits."
"Bah."
"One thousand credits!"
"For a healthy, sentient slave in the prime of life?"
"Shipping slaves risky."
"Ah, but I can lower the risk," I said, waving to the Rodian, who stepped forward.
"I, Gwip Raakatru," the Rodian said, "being of sound mind and judgement, do undertake to sign a contract of servitude with the Nal Hutta Shipping Corporation, for the duration of fifty years, with payment to be made at the completion of the contract."
He fought me, rather ineffectually, every word of the way. But the fighting only made things easier, for it was at this point that I was finally able to break his resistance, to submit his will to my own. Henceforth, he would follow my commands without struggle.
The Hutt made a noise I could not interpret. "Will he repeat that into a holorecording?"
"He will do better," I said. "He will walk out of here, alone, and go to a notary, where he will repeat this in front of witnesses. Then he'll come back to you with the holorecording. I guarantee it.
"Fifty years," said the Hutt, "Rodians usually live to twenty five."
"And how long," I said, "do Rodian slaves live?"
"Maybe fifteen."
"You see my point then."
The Hutt made a noise I could not interpret. "Come work for me, little Jedi," he said. "I bring sentients, you do your waving hands trick. I pay you five hundred credits per sentient."
"Not interested."
"A thousand credits then."
"Really not interested."
"Humph. Fifteen hundred, but that as high as I go."
He did, in fact, go up to twenty five hundred credits, but I had little interest in aiding his operations. One day, I thought, I would come back here and shut down his entire operation; and, if slavery was still alive in the galaxy, I will consign him to live out the remainder of his life a slave, though how that would work with a Hutt I was not sure.
"Very well," he said finally. "Five thousand credits for the Rodian."
At the end, he paid me seventeen thousand credits. Walking out of the racetrack, I felt some measure of satisfaction. I would revisit my grudge against the droid and the sand people later, but some measure of revenge had been taken and I felt a little calmer. Perhaps I'll look up the Rodian again in a few years on Nar Shadaa. I'd bet he'll recognize me quicker this time.
I had later seen on the holowheels that the rescue organized by Bastila was largely successful, that the Jedi master and his padawan had come out unharmed, though some of the other prisoners died in the battle. Nothing about a Sullustan was mentioned. The droid seems to have escaped. Good, I thought, for that would give me the opportunity to hunt him down myself. I wondered if Bastila regretted listening to me and neglecting to make an attempt to rescue more people.
I had a strong sense that I would see her again, that our paths would cross. Perhaps in months, or years, or decades, but it would happen. I tried to imagine what the meeting would be like. In a few years, she would become a full fledged Jedi. She would achieve great things, I was certain of it. Over the next few decades, she'd probably become a renowned master. And I? What would I be?
I wasn't sure.
I had learned quite a bit in my three and a half years at the Sith academy; but since my hasty departure from that place, I had been switching jobs, earning credits, accumulating experience. I was by now, a half decent pilot, a below-average smuggler, and a reasonable haggler - but what did that add up to?
Nothing at all, if you really think about it.
I would need to plan better if I were ever to accomplish anything, if I were ever to become someone who could, at the very least, pique Bastila's interest. Instead of picking up a random palette of skills, fun as that is, I ought to focus on improving my main talent, the only skill I have that no one else could possibly rival. But how?
No sooner was the question asked than the answer was immediate. There was a planet on the outer rim full of casinos and racetracks. It was as good as any venue to improve my foresight. Besides, if I ever used my sense of foresight to steer the galaxy into a place of my own choosing, I'd need to accumulate a lot resources, and a planet of casinos seemed like a reasonable place to start.
And so, with a firm plan in mind, I went to the spaceport and boarded the first flight across the galaxy. I watched the planet of Tattoine recede into the background before shrinking into a dot against the cosmic darkness, a small outpost within the vast emptiness of the galaxy. The slight oscillations of the shuttle slowly lulled me to sleep. As I languished in the state between waking and dream, the past two months began to seem increasingly unreal: a malicious droid, a half-crazed Sullustan, and a suspiciously beautiful padawan? I swam in a sea of sweet images, half-real and half-imagined, as the shuttle roared its way across the void bringing me one step closer to whatever would be my destiny.
Author's note: that's all, folks! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I left the ending open for a sequel, just in case, but will most likely not write one.