Chapter 16
Shmi swam back to consciousness slowly. The world spun around her, and vertigo made her stomach roll in protest, as rough hands seized and lifted her. She was carried out of the hanger and thrust aboard a waiting transport, where she was propped upright on a seat, squeezed into a narrow space between two large, sweating, smelly guards.
"Good work." The voice was familiar, loud over the cough of the engine roaring to life. "Jabba will be pleased."
Shmi blinked her bleary, watery eyes and peered at the speaker. She recognized his protruding snout and yellowish tusks. Ketrell. The other guards surrounding her were Gamorreans, also. They were taking her back to Jabba.
She twisted violently, trying to look behind them, where Docking Bay 96 was rapidly falling behind. Pedestrian, animals, and lesser vehicles scattered before the large and aggressive speeder. She struggled against her captors, but her efforts were useless, for they held her with merciless grips. Still she fought, until the guard on her right raised his blaster to stun her again. She froze, terrified, and he lowered it, laughing.
After that she could do nothing but huddle miserably in her seat as the transport sped out of Mos Eisley, across the desert towards Mos Espa. Her guards didn't protest when she drew her knees up to her chin, and she wrapped her arms around them and buried her face. She tried not to think, but the images played over and over in her mind. Kern falling, urging her to run, the blackened ruin of his body…. She keened her grief, the high thin sound lost in the rush of the wind.
The hours passed in an endless numb haze, until at last she was dimly aware of the guard transport slowing, and lifted her head to see the duracrete walls of Jabba's compound rising before them. A hangar door rumbled open, and the transport pulled inside. Shmi dimly recognized the garage from which she and Kern had made their escape.
Too tired and desolate to resist, Shmi submitted meekly as one guard shoved shackles onto her wrists and the other poked her ahead of him out of the transport. She plodded along between them as her captors ushered her through the halls of the compound. Slaves pointed and stared as they passed, some sympathetic, some mocking, but all afraid. This was what Jabba wanted them to see: the inevitable fate of any slave who dared dream of freedom. The lucky ones, at least.
Shmi was shaking with tiredness and fear as they approached Jabba's main hall. Would the Hutt have her executed? She'd heard he was especially fond of feeding those who displeased him to one of his pet monsters. True, there was a part of her that longed for death, that wanted nothing more than silence and peace and release from the pain that enveloped her. Perhaps even, if the universe was kind, a chance to be with Kern again. But Kern's child lived inside her, and it had been his last wish that she protect that trust. Besides, attractive as the abstract concept of death might be, the vivid mental pictures that assaulted her of being crunched between some carnivore's jaws were horrifying, so she shook with terror as her guards dragged her before Jabba where he reclined on his couch.
She stumbled to a halt, and one of her guards shoved her to the ground. She fell to her hands and knees, and he placed his foot in the small of her back and forced her prostrate on the floor.
"Well done," Jabba's deep voice rumbled in Huttese. "The man is dead?"
"Yes, lord."
"Good, good." Shmi felt the floor shake as he shifted his weight, leaning forward to study her. "Stand her up."
The Gammoreans lifted her to her feet, and turned her at Jabba's direction so he could study her from every angle. He rumbled thoughtfully to himself as he examined her. At length he came to a decision. "Plain, and too scrawny, but she'll do. Take her and have her fixed up, then bring her back to me."
The guards dragged Shmi from the room, through the corridors to an unfamiliar part of the compound. They deposited her in a room where a hard-faced woman sat stitching at a pile of gaudily colored fabric. She rose and studied Shmi appraisingly while the guards took up stations on either side of the door.
"So Jabba's taken a fancy to you, hmm?" The woman frowned. "You're not his usual type, but I'll have something here that will work, I expect." She rummaged through the racks that lined all the walls of the room. The costumes there seemed to run heavily to leather and metal, but not a great deal of either. Every now and then the woman glanced over her shoulder at Shmi, sometimes holding up an outfit, then shaking her head and returning to her search. "You're a little one, aren't you? Not at all what Jabba usually sends me. Ah ha, here's something that should fit."
She held up a few scraps of fabric stiff with golden metal curlicues. "Off with those clothes now, hurry up. Get into this."
Shmi looked around for a private alcove in which to change, but there was none. The woman glared at her in irritation and gestured for her to hurry. Burning with humiliation, Shmi removed the dockworker's jumpsuit that only that morning had seemed such a hopeful disguise, along with her underwear, and struggled to pull on the offered garments quickly to cover her nakedness. Not that they hid much. After the woman had fastened the clasps in the back and fussed with the falls of sheer fabric that gave the illusion of a skirt until they draped to her satisfaction, Shmi still felt mortified by her bareness. She shivered at the cool touch of air brushing her exposed belly and buttocks.
"Not too bad," the woman muttered, viewing her handiwork. She sat Shmi down on a stool and painted her face with garish makeup, humming tunelessly to herself as she worked. She combed out Shmi's long hair and twisted and braided it into an elaborate coif. She put golden bangles on Shmi's wrist and upper arm, and soft leather boots on her feet. As a last touch, she squirted Shmi with a foul-smelling perfume that made Shmi cough and sneeze. She stood back, regarded Shmi with her head cocked to one side for a long moment, then huffed, resigned. "You'll have to do, I suppose."
She reached for what Shmi assumed was a necklace, its heavy gold curves matching the rest of the outfit, and settled it around Shmi's neck. But then the woman took up a long length of sturdy chain, and clipped the end at Shmi's throat to what she realized with horror was actually a collar.
"We're done," the woman called to the guards, and tossed one of them the end of the chain. He jerked it, and laughed as Shmi stumbled off balance, choking. He set off at a brisk pace, and Shmi had to scramble to keep up lest she fall and be dragged.
They took her back to Jabba, and turned her before him for his inspection. He eyed her, a prurient gleam lighting his eyes, and Shmi's disgust and humiliation almost overwhelmed her fear. The guard fastened the chain to a ring at the base of Jabba's couch and handed it to Jabba. The giant slug tugged at it experimentally, and Shmi was propelled forward to collapse against the soft, squishy folds of his vast bulk. She gagged at the stench as his breath washed over her. His wide mouth cracked open and his thick triangular tongue protruded, reaching out to caress her face, leave a trail of viscous slime in its wake.
"You are a bold one, seeking to escape me." The vibrations of his voice quivered through his flesh into Shmi. "Boldness appeals to me. I find it very… stimulating."
All the terror and grief and pain that had been building in Shmi erupted into an intense and violent rage at the Hutt. She launched herself at him, kicking, biting, flailing her arms, tearing with her fingernails, consumed with desire to hurt, to injure, to kill.
"Oh, ho, ho, ho," he chortled, plucking her easily away by the chain, holding it high so she was nearly pulled off her feet, half strangled. "I can see I'm going to enjoy you."
He manipulated the chain expertly, dragging her down until she fell against him. He let her lie there, shaking with helpless anger, while he turned to the gathered spectators who had been watching with avid interest.
"How do you like my new trinket?" A roar of approval answered his words. Jabba gestured. "Music!" The instrumentalists struck up a blaring tune, the singers screeching in some language Shmi didn't understand. Jabba turned his attention back to the entertainment, only idly yanking the chain on occasion, as if to remind her of his power over her.
Shmi huddled there, drawing herself as much as possible away from the repellant softness of Jabba's side. For a while she was numb, unwilling to let the full horror of her position sink in. But gradually, over the course of that long afternoon, and the equally long days and nights that followed, she learned what she must endure.
The chain was never removed from around her neck. Food was thrown to her whenever Jabba and his retinue were fed, and they all took great amusement watching her scramble to retrieve the scattered bits. Sometimes she was given water in a bowl on the floor like an animal and made to lap it up, while other times she would be forced to perform humiliating tricks before a cup would be placed in her hands. At irregular intervals a guard would drag her off to the 'fresher. Most nights Jabba commanded the endless revelry to continue long after dark, until he drifted off to sleep there on his couch and those who attended him could slump against the walls and lean against each other, snatching a few hours of rest until the Hutt woke and commanded them once again to amuse him. On the occasions when the Hutt left his compound, to attend the pod races or to conduct business, Shmi was led to a tiny cell where her chain was fastened to a bolt in the wall, and she remained until Jabba returned and called for her.
Bad as her treatment was, even worse for Shmi was her inner torment. She was wracked with guilt over Kern's death. She replayed the events leading up to the disaster in the docking bay over and over in her mind, finding a thousand things she should have done differently. If only she had refused to go after Lani, and persuaded Kern the danger was too great for him to go either. If only she had remembered to put up her hood, or taken a different route, or left Lani a few minutes earlier or later. If only she had found the strength to overpower Darna. If only she had submitted to Darna, and allowed herself to be recaptured, and left Kern free. If only they had stayed hidden, and let the ship leave without them, and taken their chances with the search that would surely have followed. If only they had not tried to run, but surrendered immediately to the guards. If only….
The only things that kept her from dissolving into despair, kept her fighting despite her shame for the food and water and sleep that would allow her to survive, were her ferocious, smoldering hatred of Jabba, and her gradually rounding belly. Waves of overwhelming emotion often swept over her, threatening to tear away her fragile hold on sanity, and she turned their destructive force instinctively outward toward her tormentor rather than let them crash in upon herself. Anger was so much safer to feel than grief.
She pinned all her hopes on her pregnancy. It had been nearly three months now since she conceived. At some point simple economic interest would force Jabba to abandon his humiliation of her and sell her to Rinadda for the generous profit the child would bring. She cupped her hand surreptitiously against the soft swell of her womb and dreamed of the infant to come. She could spend many hours lost in the anticipation of a warm, heavy weight in her arms, a wide, eager mouth nuzzling her breast, bright, adoring eyes gazing up at her. Would it be a boy with Kern's tousled blonde hair, or a girl with her dark braids? Would her eyes be golden green like Lani's or warm brown the way she remembered her mother's? Would he laugh like Kern, or would she recognize in him his father's pensive moodiness?
She refused to consider the likelihood that the baby would be taken from her after only a few months. Someone would just have to buy them both, was all. Darna had said that sometimes happened. She could not bear to consider any other possibility.
Every week or two, when her body had become so filthy even Jabba took notice, she was dragged off for a bath and to have her skimpy costumed exchanged for another. They would not even let her bathe alone, but at least the attendant assigned to oversee her was female. After a few weeks she learned to look forward to these times as one of the only moments of pleasure she was afforded.
She gratefully stripped off the offensive garments and threw them at the feet of the attendant. As the woman picked them up, Shmi stepped into the shower, luxuriating in the warmth of the water, though the amount allotted to her was tiny. She had finished her first wetting and was reaching for the soap when the attendant made a face.
"Eww." The woman dropped the lower portion of Shmi's costume on the floor, and rummaged in a cabinet. "Here, you'll need these."
She set something atop the pile of waiting fresh clothes, and turned, bored, to wait for Shmi to finish. Shmi took little notice until, reluctantly wiping away the last bits of her water ration, she went to dress herself. There, waiting with her costume, was a pile of the standard issue supplies the slave women were given to deal with their monthly cycles.
Shmi felt cold all over. She glanced at the attendant, who was staring uninterestedly in the other direction, and bent to snatch up the bit of clothing the other woman had dropped. The garnet fabric was stained with a patch of bright red blood.
Shmi closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her belly protectively. It's nothing. Many women bleed during pregnancy. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. But cold fingers of fear clutched her heart.
Numbly she made use of the supplies, and was returned to Jabba's chamber. Over the next few days the blood would slow and stop, and she would weep for joy, then it would start again and she would plummet into despair.
Nearly a week later, Jabba was playing one of his favorite games with her, requiring her to submit to being fondled in exchange for a drink of water. She held out as long as she could, but her mouth was dry and chalky, and it was starting to hurt to swallow, so she finally gave in. She closed her eyes and endured his repellant touch. Without warning, a cramp started deep in her belly and radiated around to her back. It held her in the grip of pain for a moment, then as suddenly as it had come it was gone.
"No," she whispered. She barely noticed that Jabba had finished and had thrust the cup of water into her hands, but she raised it and drank thirstily. She handed the cup back and resumed her normal reclining position, almost convinced that the pain had been no more than a passing twinge, when it hit her again, worse this time. She curled up, gasping, until it was over. A trickle of blood ran down the inside of her leg.
She leapt to her feet, swept by rage. "No," she cried, throwing herself at Jabba. "You can't do this to me! Not my baby, too! I hate you!" She managed to claw a long gash that oozed green blood before the astonished Jabba was able to react and pull her away by her chain. Even then she kept struggling until another wave of pain hit her and she collapsed, sobbing.
Guards dragged her off to the infirmary, where a medical droid examined her with cool mechanical efficiency. "No detectable fetal heartbeat," the droid told the guards. "She is having a miscarriage. Quite common at this stage of pregnancy. Usually there's no obvious cause, and nothing can be done to prevent it. I will perform a procedure to hasten the process, but it will be at least a full day before she can return to her duties."
Shmi closed her eyes. She lay, cold and empty, while the droid tended her
When it was over, the droid had her moved to a soft, comfortable bed in an alcove off the infirmary. It brought her a small glass of water and a large pill. "Take this. It will help you sleep and recover. There were no complications; this will not interfere with your ability to conceive again. You should be just fine when you wake up."
Shmi didn't bother to tell him that she would never be fine again. She swallowed the sedative, wishing only it would allow her to sleep forever.