My father was a strong man, a good man. He had served Gardulla the Hutt long before I was even a glimmer in his eye. He had been a Jedi, having left the order at nineteen, immortalized as one of the Lost Twenty that had left the order for other pursuits.

He was of medium build, perhaps 5'8.5", his eyes were as blue as the Nubian seas, and his hair was a steely grey when I was with him. I remember only calling him "Daddy," never knowing derivatives of the word. He called me Moonbeam, except when I was in trouble. Then, I was Asenath.

My father said that I got my hair and eyes from my mother, but that I looked like his mother (whom he only met after leaving the Order).

My mother died giving birth to me. Father's notes and diaries suggest that it was unexpected hemorrhaging. They chose a life of seclusion and they reaped the benefits therein. I know it sounds bitter, but it is a fact.

I was born on Naboo. My hearing was taken away from me at age four on Tatooine.

My father had told me probably a hundred times (at least) about the Boonta Eve podraces, and about Anakin Skywalker winning his freedom. My father was 71 when I was born. From the time my mother was cremated, he took it upon himself to train me as his padawan, but decided that for my fourth birthday, there would be no harm going to Tatooine to see the races. I had been fighting an ear infection, but my fever was gone, and he deemed me fit enough for travel.

While the race was exciting, the pods were loud and irritated my ears further than they already were.

The nail in the coffin happened after we left the arena.

Daddy was driving us back to the hotel, and we were singing a song about banthas in an oasis.

A driver pulled out of a cantina in Mos Eisley, full of booze and off in his own little world. He hit our speeder.

My father hadn't yet put on his safety-belt. He was thrown from the speeder, and his body was smashed on the dirt road.

The image of his lifeless eyes sometimes even still, haunt me to the core.

Unfortunately, the damage was done, not only was the only family I had gone, my hearing was damaged beyond help, barring advanced medicine not found on Tatooine. I could hear most, then some, then very little...eventually diminishing entirely.

I was given to Decca initially, until Ziro and Zorba staked their claims upon me. The matter was taken to the nearest (corrupt, of course) court, where Zorba informed the magistrate, "The girl's father died in my niece, Gardulla's service, and therefore she belongs to me as my niece died, leaving most of her contracts to me."

Decca wanted me groomed to be a personal chamber servant for male visitors, trained not only in housekeeping, but also able to satisfy their sexual appetites (after my first "cycle" of course). Ziro desired me for a distraction, and to assist him in his loan shark duties and additional monetary interests, such as the banks. Zorba had the upper hand, as now he controlled not only the slave market, but had to power to sell and trade Decca's personal slaves inside her palace.

Hutts aren't just oily on the outside. Their insides are also oily, and their hearts are dark with greed and sin. They get oil on everything, and they don't mind their own slime.

So, I was wanted for sex, a distraction/bait, and a worker.

Needless to say, Zorba won, as he had the slaves. He would take them away and resell them. He was not bluffing.

When he had taken me to his palace, I learned my duties in a few short hours. He followed me around. Another servant, Leela, showed me my tasks. If I copied Leela too slowly or poorly, Zorba would whack me on the back and head with a gimer stick numerous times. I learned from that (I would not have learned from verbal reprimands).

I performed these duties day, after day, after day. Until I turned six.

I knew that I had been born in 28 ABY. I knew I had been born on a Primeday in the ninth month, but I couldn't recall the day. It is very possible that I had repressed it, since it was in association with my father being killed. I appointed myself the 35th day. To a small one, knowing your birthday was important. Zorba allowed his servants a single day to themselves, and I used my birthday. For two years on that day, I acted my age and played. My play was actually practice, because I would do things that my father had taught me. The good, good times when I could goof off, and this was the closest I would get.

The two years were slow, but I was soon rescued by Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and Wedge Antilles.