Satine was inside her ship, floating in space just out of Zygerria's orbit.
She didn't know the planet, although she knew about its business, which was notorious, for all the wrong reasons.
She grimaced, visualizing what would likely happen to Obi-Wan in that barbaric hive of tears and sorrow. She was trembling from the shock, attempting to put the pieces together, and quickly at that.
Zygerria...she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Dooku had been right. It was slavery, then? Make the Jedi pay for "their misfits" with hard, forced labor? Until they all succumbed to fatigue and whiplashes? Was this merciless treatment the fair punishment for their having...sacrificed their best and their young to a war that held nothing in common with their belief system? It was shocking and humbling at the same time.
Satine was more determined than ever to pull Obi-Wan out of there, at least. Now that she knew where he had landed, she was quite positive he would be kept alive for a while. At least, she reckoned, long enough for the pain of torture to seep into his hardy veins. Enslavement had bought her more time, what a creepy paradox.
She studied her surrounding environment using the astrocharts of her spaceship's database. There was no way she could infiltrate the slavers' ground alone. She had no real plan, no adequate equipment and, as hard as it was for her to admit it, no weapons for intimidation and self-defense. It was a team job, evidently. She resolved she had no choice left but to...go to Mandalore and ask for support there. Sure enough, someone from her faction would sense the gravity of the galactic-wise situation and make resources available for her...right? She had been Duchess, after all: Mandalore could be in ruins by now, but she would still retain some influence, possibly even more so because of the disaster Death Watch had helped catalyze.
However, one thing prevented her from departing right away: fuel.
Serenno's ship didn't carry enough barrels for an additional parsec, let alone for a ride all the way to Mandalore and back.
Therefore, she decided to land on a nearby moon - one notorious for gambling and slave trade to the locals - to refuel.
Having spent enough time around Jedi, Satine knew the go to place if one wanted to gain understanding about the planet's shady business, was the seediest pub around. Moreover, she was physically tired from the bumpiness of space travel; she yearned a break from that. Going exploring was a risk worth running in that case, even at 40 weeks pregnant. This being said, she carefully hid all her hair inside a black bonnet, hid her figure under a concealing greatcoat and applied a dark lipstick and, after having refueled, walked towards The Bloody Claw (the pub), followed by F-39, the droid.
Once inside, Satine immediately regretted having taken that decision. The Bloody Claw was a mess. It was dark, the smell of alcohol, dry blood, fried food and semen lingered all around, invading her nostrils. Most sentients there spoke a dialect she couldn't quite grasp. Prying eyes followed her discreetly yet insistently. She should've known better, but considering how impossibly headstrong she was, this turn of events didn't really surprise her.
Nonetheless, she sat, putting her best tough expression on.
"Hey babe" a Zygerrian male approached her "are you new here? Looking for...club membership?" he breathed in her ear, pressing himself right against her. His light ginger fur appeared greasy and overall disgusting. Satine's heart sunk. She resisted the temptation to swear in Kalevalan as she quickly worked out a strategy to discourage that nasty creature from pursuing her.
Thankfully, she needed not work out anything drastic, for the attention was soon shifted to the pub's door, as a group of three bulky Zygerrians stomped inside, holding a bounded Zygerrian female above their heads.
"Auction time! Auction time!" they shouted in unpolished Galactic Standard, succeeding to silence the poor victim's hisses with their voices.
"Female, 31 standard years, able-bodied. Nice teeth. Fiesty, but nothing a good conditioning can't tame" they sneered.
The captive struggled against them.
Satine didn't have time to feel disgusted. A million alarm bells had gone off in her head right there and then.
"She's charming...how did you procure her?" a potential buyer inquired.
"This is what happens when outsiders mingle with our affairs. We simply get rid of them. Forever" a captor hastily replied.
"I am no outsider, you slimy bastards! I want my family back! You have no right over their freedom...uuurghh!" the victim yelled before being stunned to silence.
"Your family...doesn't exist anymore!"
The captured Zygerrian had Satine's full attention now.
As a red, fat, sweaty, disgusting pimp-type tycoon who went by the name of Azmorigan started negotiating the price with the furry captors, Satine suddenly got a foolish idea. She knelt, quickly programming F-39 to act. In the meantime, she extracted a gas mask she'd brought along from the droid's backpack and wore it.
Azmorigan had nearly finalized the purchase, when a blinding, stingy, suffocating, intolerable substance was released, inundating the entire pub. Everybody was coughing and bent in two, those who managed to crawl outside were left unable to see for a while.
Universal pepper spray, hit-and-run class. When the stingy fog cleared up, it was clear to everybody that the Zygerrian female had disappeared. Azmorigan had lost a slave, and was throwing a massive tantrum for that.
Satine, however, wasn't there to witness the tragi-comical scene.
She had long fled the moon, alongside the Zygerrian female, whom she had promptly freed during the mayhem. F-39, her partner in crime, tagged along.