Ah, hello and welcome again, my friends. It is wonderful to see you again. If I may, I would very much like to continue my tale weaving for you.

One year has passed since Luke's and Vader's fateful duel in the depths of the colony of Bespin. Luke Skywalker has returned to his homeland of Tattooine in an attempt to rescue his friend Han Solo from the clutches of the vile gangster Jabba the Hutt.

Little does Luke know that the Empire has been working tirelessly to reconstruct the dreaded flying fortress known as the Death Star.

Once completed, this ultimate weapon will spell certain doom for the Rebellion struggling to restore freedom and peace to the world.

A colossal shadow darkened the coast of Endor as it had done for three long years. Floating high above the sea was a titanic chunk of seafloor basalt that had been carved into the world's mightiest fortress. The Battle of Yavin had seen this fortress destroyed, but it was the will of the Emperor that the Death Star be pulled from its watery resting place.

The massive holes in the side left by the cataclysmic blast that had won the battle still remained on the far side from the parabola that housed the Death Star's ultimate weapon. Latticeworks of metal scaffolding covered every break in the fortress' basalt surface and workers toiled at all hours of the day to rebuild the pride of the Empire.

Out to sea, a fleet of Star Destroyers slipped free of a Hyperion gate and a shuttle flew from the flagship's mighty hangars. Two ties escorted the beast on its flight towards the Death Star. The shuttle's rider tapped the comm crystal on the horn of the saddle. "Command station, this is shuttle 321. Code clearance blue. We're starting our approach. Requesting deactivation of the fortress ward."

"Acknowledged, 321," came the response. "The ward will be deactivated when we have confirmation of your clearance cipher. Stand by."

The rider tapped out a long rune sequence on a silver plate attached to the saddle by screws.

"Shuttle 321, you are clear to proceed."

"Continuing approach."

The shuttle maintained its course, heading for the Death Star's equatorial hangars. As it approached the imposing facade, cranes, scaffolding, and workers became recognizable against the dark grey stone. A siren blared to announce the shuttle's landing.

The shuttle set down in a cavernous hangar under the supervision of the senior officer. He turned to his subordinate. "Inform the commander that Lord Vader has arrived."

"Yes, sir."

A full detachment of stormtroopers filed into the hangar and stood at attention while Commander Tiaan Jerjerrod and his staff approached the shuttle. Jerjerrod pointed to two members of the hangar crew and gestured for them to move a rolling staircase to the side of the shuttle for Darth Vader's descent.

The sight of the black armored Sith filled Commander Jerjerrod with dread. He knew what Vader was capable of and was terrified of upsetting him. He watched the Dark warrior descend the stairs, heavy footfalls echoing through the hangar.

"Lord Vader, this is an unexpected pleasure. We are honored by your presence."

Darth Vader walked towards Jerjerrod, then past him. The commander turned and kept pace with Vader.

"You may dispense with the pleasantries, Commander. I'm here to put you back on schedule."

Jerjerrod blinked. "I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can."

Vader turned his head just enough for Jerjerrod to see the corner of his obsidian eye lens. "Perhaps I can find new ways to motivate them."

"I tell you this fortress will be operational, as planned."

Darth Vader stopped and stared directly into Commander Jerjerrod's eyes. "The Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation."

Jerjerrod started to shake. "But he asks the impossible. I need more workers."

"Then perhaps you can negotiate for them when he arrives."

All the color drained from Commander Jerjerrod's face. "The Emperor's coming here?"

"That is correct, Commander, and he is most displeased with your apparent lack of progress."

"...We shall redouble our efforts."

"I hope so, Commander, for your sake. The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am." Darth Vader turned on his heel and continued out of the hangar.

Commander Jerjerrod raised a shaking hand and adjusted his peaked cap.

Darth Vader moved through the Death Star's refurbished corridors. Workers stopped and stood at attention as he passed them by, but the Sith paid them no mind. As he walked he reached out through the Force. "Luke. Join me on the Dark Side... My son, it is the only way..."

Far away in a sandstone cave in Tattooine, Luke Skywalker heard his father's voice in his mind. Luke sighed and dismissed it as he had done for the past year. He looked down at the assorted parts on the cloth that he knelt in front of and closed his eyes.

Luke concentrated and the parts started to levitate, orbiting around a Kyber crystal. He breathed slowly and steadily and the parts began to assemble themselves into the hilt of a Lightblade. The top and bottom halves closed together around the Kyber crystal and clicked together.

The fully assembled hilt lowered back onto the cloth and Luke opened his eyes. He picked it up with his metal right hand and thumbed the activation rune. A blade of magic energy shot forth.

From the mouth of the cave, the nautical automaton Artu-Deetu beeped and whistled. Luke retracted his blade and beckoned the nautomaton inside. Luke had a message for him to record.

Outside, the gold diplomatic automaton See Threepio looked around at the landscape of Tattooine. "What a forsaken place this is. Why couldn't that bounty hunter have taken Captain Solo to a more pleasant environment?"

Artu emerged from the cave with an excited pair of chirps.

"We're leaving? But what about Master Luke?"

Two beeps and a whistle.

"I thought he was going to be the one to rescue Captain Solo."

A warble and a quick series of blips.

"You mean we're going to that horrible place alone?"

An affirmative squeal.

"We're doomed."

The road leading to the palace of Jabba the Hutt was a rough one that snaked through the Northern Dune Sea. The sandstone cobbles made the wheeled Artu shake and shudder as he rolled over them and Threepio struggled to maintain a good grip on the stones but it was preferable to trying to traverse the shifting sands.

Artu beeped a question to his counterpart.

"Of course I'm worried. You should be, too. Chewbacca and Lando Calrissian never returned from this awful place."

Artu whistled and chirped.

"Don't be so sure. If I told you half the things I've heard about this Jabba the Hutt, your core would freeze with fear."

Jabba's palace was originally an enormous sandstone monastery built by the B'omarr Order of monks about three centuries after the refounding of the Republic after the Sith Wars. The B'omarr Order were a reclusive sect that sought enlightenment through deprivation of physical sensation. In the quest for this higher level of thought, the monks at the highest level of the Order would have their brains removed and placed in jars. Spindly six legged spider like automata carried these jars around, allowing the monks to continue their teachings.

A century and a half after the monastery's completion, a bandit group used it as their home base as guests of the Order. This arrangement was fairly short-lived, however, as the Hutt Jabba Desilijic Tiure ousted the bandits and took over the monastery, turning it into his palace away from Nal Hutta. Jabba maintained a warm relationship with the Order and renovated the sprawling complex over the following centuries, adding a large roost, hangar, throne room, and battlements.

Artu and Threepio approached the imposing iron front door of the palace. "Artu, are you sure this is the right place?"

Artu responded in the affirmative.

"...Then I'd better knock, I suppose." Threepio rapped his metal knuckles against the deeply engraved metal. Without even waiting, he turned back to Artu. "There doesn't seem to be anyone here. Let's go back and tell Master Luke."

One of the engravings popped open on a hinge and a mechanical eye on a stalk shot out. Threepio jumped back in surprise.

"Chee cha ka aka kooka," said the eyestalk, speaking in High Huttese.

"Goodness gracious me!"

"Aye ga. Ah'chu apenkee?"

"Er," said Threepio. He gestured to his counterpart. "Artu-Deetu'a."

Artu chirped as the stalk glared at him. "Haku." The stalk snapped back to Threepio. "Wonna me theecho."

"Oh. See Threepio'a."

"Ee lanky."

"Ay tuta mishka Jabba du Hutt?"

The stalk extended until the eye was uncomfortably close to Threepio's face. "Kuja wanki mitby cosa." It laughed then retracted back into the engraving.

Threepio snapped his gaze from the door to Artu, then back. "I don't think they're going to let us in."

Artu warbled.

"We'd better go." He turned to leave but froze when the massive iron door groaned.

Winches clanked and metal screeched against stone as the door slowly opened. Artu wasted no time entering, passing over the threshold as soon as the gap was wide enough.

"Artu, wait," Threepio cried, chasing after the little nautomaton. He paused a moment at the dark and foreboding entry hall before continuing after his counterpart. "Oh, dear. Artu, I really don't think we should rush into all this."

One of the B'omarr monks' jarred brains crossed Threepio's path, carried by an arachnoid automaton.

Threepio yelped at the grotesque sight. "Oh, Artu! Artu, wait for me!"

Artu turned his domed head around and beeped in such a way as to sound like laughter. He suddenly bumped into something firm and fleshy, like a wall of muscle. Whatever it was growled and Artu backed away quickly, beeping in alarm and turning his head to see what he had blundered into.

Standing before him was a Gamorrean clutching a broadaxe. He regarded the automaton with a mixture of anger and curiosity, debating internally on how to handle the situation.

Threepio had noticed that Artu had stopped but couldn't see why through the darkness. "Just you deliver Master Luke's message and get us out of here. Oh, my!" He stepped backwards at the sight of the Gamorrean only to find another had come up behind him.

Threepio panicked, fearful of what the green porcine guards would do to them. He froze when the sound of the iron door closing resounded through the entryway. "Oh, no..."

A voice came from deeper inside the entryway. "Dtay tola!" Threepio snapped his head towards the speaker, a male albino Twi'lek. The man bared his sharp teeth. "Day wonna wonga?"

"Oh." Threepio bowed. "Dee wonna wygo. We bring a message to your master, Jabba the Hutt. Am I correct in my assumption that you are his majordomo, Bib Fortuna?"

The Twi'lek gave a single slow nod. "Day Jabba wonga?"

Artu beeped.

"And a gift," Threepio translated, spreading his arms wide. He looked to Artu, perplexed. "Gift, what gift?"

Artu blipped and chirped.

"Ne Jabba no barta," said Bib Fortuna, running his long nailed hand over the smooth surface of Artu's head.

Artu whistled nervously.

"Eezai ohkto... Izzi kata o mohkti?"

Artu beeped and turned his head side to side.

"Ne charda so dehdi."

Artu turned his head more emphatically, beeping and whistling.

"He says that our instructions are to give it only to Jabba himself," Threepio translated.

Bib looked from Artu to Threepio, then back to Artu.

"I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid he's ever so stubborn about these sorts of things."

Bib pouted in thought for a second, then pointed towards a deeper part of the palace. "Noht cha!"

The two automata followed the majordomo. Threepio leaned towards his counterpart. "Artu, I have a bad feeling about this."

Artu whistled in agreement.

Jabba's throne room was an absolute den of iniquity. Criminals for hire from all across the world bumped shoulders with one another while intoxicating substances of every kind flowed freely. Slave girls from many different races performed acts best left to the imagination. Jabba watched on with sadistic glee as his harem debased themselves for his enjoyment. The Hutt took a long drag from his hookah and laughed.

The appearance of a gold diplomatic automaton and a white and blue nautical automaton on the entry steps of the throne room caught Jabba's attention. He straightened up slightly and narrowed his eyes at the mechanical interlopers.

Threepio nervously approached the gangster and tried to avoid looking at the displays of depravity occuring around the room.

Bib Fortuna ascended the steps leading to the throne and leaned over to whisper to Jabba. "Cava notayce, my Lord."

Threepio bowed to the Hutt. "Good morning."

Bib continued his explanation. "Ohnt bat chuay dehr attat."

Jabba's eyes widened with interest. "Oohh!" He leaned forward expectantly.

Threepio lightly smacked Artu. "The message. Play the message."

"Oohh shoodah," Jabba said, relaxing back into his throne.

Artu beeped and whistled as he turned towards the ornate stone communication font across from the Hutt. The silver surface of the liquid inside formed into the shape of Luke Skywalker.

"Greetings, Exalted One. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and friend to Captain Solo. I know that you are powerful, mighty Jabba, and that your anger with Solo must be equally powerful. I seek an audience with your Greatness to bargain for Solo's life."

Jabba laughed at this, a deep booming laugh like he hadn't had since he had seen Han's Carbonite encased expression.

Luke's message continued: "With your wisdom, I am sure that we can work out an arrangement which will be mutually beneficial and enable us to avoid any unpleasant confrontation. As a token of my goodwill, I present to you a gift of these two automata."

Threepio balked. "What did he say?!"

"Both are hardworking and will serve you well."

Threepio was beside himself. "This can't be! Artu, you've played the wrong message!"

Jabba laughed again, but not as powerfully as before. His Kowakian monkey-lizard laughed as well, a grating cackle that vexed all in the throne room save for the Hutt himself.

Bib Fortuna, barely stifling his own laughter, leaned over to Jabba again. "Master, bargonay tua Knight? He's no Jedi."

Jabba huffed. "(There will be no bargain.)"

Threepio's shoulders sagged. "We're doomed."

"(I will not give up my favorite decoration.)" Jabba pointed to the wall far off to his right. "(I like Captain Solo where he is.)"

If Threepio had had lungs, he would have gasped at what he saw. Han's Carbonite slab stood as the centerpiece of some macabre wall of trophies. Many dozens of mummified heads from people of numerous races sat on shelves that flanked the slab and a magelight illuminated the entire display from above.

"Oh, Artu," cried Threepio. "Look at poor Captain Solo. He's still encased in Carbonite."

The monkey-lizard laughed again, setting off another round of bellowing guffaws from Jabba.

Escorted by a pair of Gamorreans, Threepio trudged miserably through the dank dungeons beneath the palace. Brown and black rats scurried underfoot, squeaking in alarm at the new smells that he and Artu brought in. Water dripped from tendrils of slime that dangled from the ceiling.

"What could possibly have come over Master Luke? Was it something I did? He never expressed any unhappiness with my work..."

Artu seemed to be unbothered by Luke's relinquishing of him and Threepio. He rolled through the dungeons with purpose, ignoring the reeking puddles and the groping hands that reached out from the cells that lined the tunnel.

Threepio meanwhile wailed as a grimy hand grabbed at his bicep. "Oh! How horrid!" He pulled away only to end up having a tentacle from the cell on the other side of the tunnel slither up his back. The automaton screamed and ran after Artu.

Artu's confidence vanished upon seeing the chamber that Jabba had sent them to. In one corner, a magic condensing gonk automaton was being flipped upside down while an emotionally dead smelter automaton pressed branding irons against the gonk's soles as it screamed in agony. Another corner had a sizeable pile of components that had obviously been removed from their owners with some force. Implements for torture of organic and mechanical beings lay scattered everywhere. Most distressing of all, though, was the automaton that seemed to run this room of suffering.

She was a plum colored Meren supervisor automaton, one of the type that was infamous for the error in the incantation that created their base personalities. The error caused the entire series to end up lacking even the barest shred of empathy for anything and take delight in all forms of suffering.

The supervisor looked up from the repurposed embalming tool she had been sharpening. "Ah, good. New acquisitions. You are a diplomatic automaton, are you not?"

"I am See Threepio-"

"Yes or no will do."

"Oh, well, yes."

"How many languages do you speak?

"I am fluent in six hundred thousand forms of communication and can-"

"Splendid. We have been without an interpreter since our master got angry with our last diplomatic automaton and had him melted down."

Threepio stiffened. "Melted down?"

A mechanical scream startled him and he reflexively turned to see its source. A medical automaton predating the Great War was stretched across a rack and the smelter automaton was slowly turning the crank to stretch it. Sparks flew as its leg was ripped off.

Threepio shuddered.

The supervisor snapped her head to one of the Gamorreans. "Guard! This diplomatic automaton might be useful. Fit him with a restraining bolt and take him back to His Excellency's throne room."

The Gamorrean practically dragged Threepio out the door. The automaton cried out in distress. "Artu! Please! Don't leave me!"

Artu watched Threepio go with sad resignation. After he was out of sight, Artu noticed an ancient white enameled secretarial automaton made in the Stacchati style sitting in pieces next to the door. It seemed less as though it had been torn apart and more like someone had carefully disassembled it for repairs. Artu couldn't help but feel like he had seen this automaton before, but he couldn't dwell on the thought as the supervisor was addressing him.

Artu beeped and squealed defiantly.

"You're a feisty one, but you'll soon learn some respect. I have need for you on the Master's sail barge and I think you'll fill in nicely."

Artu watched the smelter automaton grab a stone maul and walk over to an automaton lashed to a hobbling wheel. Artu figured that it was best if he just followed orders for the time being.