-3 ABY.-

Her sandaled feet pounded deep into the sand, threatened to sink, and throw her forward, but Oola refused to stop running. Even with the cold bite of the desert air—while scorching in the day, it was equally cold after the suns vanished—she didn't stop her endless sprint. Jabba's palace was still in sight when she looked behind her—smoking slightly, its towers still loomed against the sky, lit by Tatooine's three moons—Ghomrassen, Guermessa, and Chenin. She blessed those moons, her only light. Her lekku slapped her back and shoulders as she fled, bobbing erratically as she lurched and stumbled through the desert.

Tonight was like brushing with destiny. She'd seen her chance—possibly her one chance—and she'd taken it.

The Tusken Raider's attack on Jabba's palace was, in retrospect, probably something Jabba Desilijic Tiiure should have anticipated. He had encroached on them and their territory: confiscated the banthas integral to their nomadic culture, indentured some of their prospective warriors who had mistakenly attempted to make contracts with the Hutt, and a few of their women had been enslaved and humiliated. Oola didn't know what the breaking point in their relations with Jabba was, but she was grateful to their raid for allowing her to escape. With Jabba and his servants and mercenaries preoccupied with the attack, she had been able to loose her bonds, and slip out of one of the smaller durasteel doors that had been abandoned as forces were drawn away for the counterattack.

Her only protection against the sharply cold air was an old cloak she'd pulled off the floor, discarded for convenience or perhaps lost by accident in the confusion. She'd attempted to find a weapon, but weapons had been guarded and confiscated off dead bodies immediately.

Oola knew the Tuskens wouldn't win. They were still a primitive culture, who when left to themselves were content to hunt with their gaffi sticks and live in their easily transportable yurts. They were perfectly adapted to their environment and felt no need to invent or adopt the advanced weapons and ships of the settlers. Yet they had managed to deal something of a blow against Jabba.

She didn't know how the security had been breached. She could only guess that an insider had been bribed or threatened somehow. Jabba's palace was a hive of gangsters, lowlifes, and smugglers, venal bounty hunters, and other hirelings, as well as indentured servants and slaves of varying loyalty. It wouldn't have been hard to convince someone or multiple someones to betray Jabba the Hutt.

The closest hub of civilization, aside from Jabba's palace, would be one of the spaceports. There was no way she was going to make it to one before dawn. In the brief period of time that had allowed her to escape, there hadn't been an opportunity to find water or food to take with her. She might just die in the desert once the suns were up.

But dying in a featureless desert of sand was better than being killed in some ignominious fashion—the way most of Jabba's lowest slaves usually left his service. Dying on her terms instead of his was only incrementally better, but still preferable than being torn apart by the teeth of some pet monstrosity or shot by one of his gunmen.

When she could look behind her without seeing the tops of the palace, Oola slowed her run to a light jog across the loose sand, then eventually to a subdued hike over and down the great dunes that seemed to stretch endlessly.

. . .

When the suns came up, Oola was grateful that she had managed to grab a cloak to take with her. The heat was almost unbearable, worse than the desert lands of her home planet of Ryloth, and she staggered through the morning.

Twi'leks were a hardy species, compared to humans, who wilted easily from heat exposure and dehydration, and Hutts who had adapted to cooler, wetter conditions and tolerated desert environments even less so. But it wouldn't take more than a few days before she either dropped from exhaustion and thirst or was taken out by one of Tatooine's predatory species. That included Tuskens, who had long resented the non-Tusken settlements on their world.

Or she would be picked up by one of Jabba's henchmen and brought back to the palace. Hopefully Jabba would be too preoccupied to notice her missing. Maybe he would assume she had died if he did. But she couldn't rely on luck like that. Fortune had already given her an unlikely window of opportunity and she couldn't expect providence like that twice.

Yet she walked through the night and through the morning without encountering any of the wasteland's natural predators. In the early afternoon, parched and weak from the heat, she encountered deep tread tracks in the sand made by some terrestrial crawler. There was no sign of it, however.

She followed the tracks. Possibly they would lead her deeper into the dunes. Possibly she would reach the end of the tracks and find herself in the clutches of one of Jabba's allies.

Please, she prayed. She didn't know to whom. Let this be the right way to go.

Near evening, the air grew cool again, and after the suns had set the horizon still glowed bright. Artificial light. She walked faster.

It took her well into the night before she reached the spaceport, tiredly forcing herself to jog toward the whitewashed buildings that had slowly become visible. Throat tight and dry and breath rasping, she staggered into the port city ignored by the few swaddled and hunched creatures that sat outside the buildings. A small group of Jawas sat in a circle and looked at her briefly, then immediately dismissed her as soon as they determined she had no money or items to trade. A faded and scrapped sign lying in a narrow alley advertised the spaceport as Mos Eisley. She'd heard of it. It wasn't much better than Jabba's palace, though Jabba had less influence here. The Lady Valeria, the head of a rival criminal empire, controlled most of Mos Eisley's streets and dens.

Something tall and shrouded stepped out from a weather domed structure, turned its head and looked at her.

"Good evening, pretty one," it said in Basic. Its speech was barely understandable, coming from a long snout. It gazed at her through goggles that shone dully in the little lighting that remained.

Oola almost asked it for help. But she drew away from the creature—probably a Kubaz—and followed along the wall of a nondescript building. The Kubaz lightly padded after her, head bowed slightly, at a casual pace.

She tried to say, "Stay back," but couldn't. The words came out as a faint gasp it probably didn't register. She pressed against the wall.

"No fear," it said. "I can tell by your state that you are a survivor of the wastes—and by your collar that you have not been treated too kindly. I am willing to assist you."

She shook her head fiercely.

"Please," it said lightly as it approached, "I mean you no harm. You are lucky I found you before someone else."

It reached out to her and she pulled away, but as she was too weak to fight, it quickly put an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't fear," it—probably he—said. "I am no ally of Jabba Desilijic Tiiure."

She gaped at him. Was surprised that just by looking at her, he could deduce where she had come from.

She reluctantly allowed him to lead her down another street, one slightly more lit. Its claim couldn't be proven, but she had no others to help her and was too weak to fight. possibly it was leading her to another form of indentured servitude. possibly it was going to kill her. Unlikely it had genuine compassion for her.

"What is your name, poor thing?" With his shrill clicking voice, she had no way to determine if it was speaking in sympathetic tones or not.

"Nevermind—after such a journey I doubt you can answer. I can take you to a secret place for the night, and give you water, the most expensive resource on Tatooine."

After some more walking, he led her down some steps and through a durasteel door that he unlocked with a code and half-pulled her into a cool, darkened place that smelled stale and dusty, mingled with some other foreign, pungent scent that lingered faintly. She hoped she wasn't being led into a spice den or even worse.

After turning on a faint lamp, the Kubaz guided her to a backless seat covered with a rug that had some faint color still in its fibers. As soon as she dropped onto it, the creature vanished through an arched doorway to another room, covered only by a dark curtain. After a minute or so he returned with a canteen.

She took it, hands trembling from exhaustion more than fear. It might be drugged. She didn't care. Her body's needs took over and she drank as much as she could; some of it spilled out of the corners of her mouth.

The creature sat across from her quietly. Waited for her to finish.

"I am Garindan," he said finally. "You probably do not know of me, but I have much influence in Mos Eisley."

No, she hadn't heard of him. Oola said nothing. There was no way to verify what he said.

"And you?" he prompted after she continued to sit in silence. "What is your name?"

She looked at him as if she could read any expression that might help her. The eyes weren't visible, the mouth too alien to read, and all under the shadow of a black hood.

"Oola," she said faintly.

"You have come from Jabba's palace," Garindan said.

"Yes."

"I could guess by your dress and the collar. I can remove the collar if you like, but it would have to wait until morning. Are you microchipped?"

"No," she said. "That's why I have a collar."

"Hutts are possessive. I've seen such redundancies before." He stood up. "I have a confession, Oola."

She braced herself. Glanced at the exit he was blocking.

"It is true that I mean you no harm," Garindan said, "but I do not run a charity. In the morning, after you have recovered, I would like to ask you some questions about your time with Jabba. You will not be harmed. In fact, you will be paid for the information."

So he was an information broker or spy. It wasn't the worst kind of person she could've run into, but still far from ideal. "Who do you work for?" she asked, voice still a rasp.

"I work for myself," Garindan said. "The information you give me will go to whoever pays me most for it. It will not benefit Jabba, in any case."

She had spent enough time around the rogues in Jabba's employ that she could usually detect some indication of intent in their bearings and gestures, and their motivations were usually malicious. Clearly this creature was self-serving but didn't seem to be lying. Of course, some species had different tells than others.

"I don't know much," she said. "I was just a slave. I know dancing."

"I assure you," he said, "you have a lot of information—you just don't know it yet. I will help you remember all sorts of things. And it will be given to Jabba's enemies."

Oola found herself nodding her assent. Mostly she just wanted to sleep. She would have agreed to anything just then. "Very well. I don't have a choice."

Garindan led her to an adjacent room—a recess in the wall, really—that contained a simple cot. Without much prompting, she collapsed on it.

"Poor thing," he said. Maybe he even meant it. "Don't worry. You will help both of us."

-TBC.-