PART 1: SLAVE

CHAPTER 2: Freedom

"The moment the slave resolves that he will no longer be a slave, his fetters fall. Freedom and slavery are mental states." —Mahatma Gandhi

****

The day after his aunt and uncle had been murdered, he'd had a slave transmitter placed inside his body. If he ever tried to escape, the transmitter would explode. That was when he started to put the days of playing with toy ships and dreaming of becoming a pilot behind him.

Now, he could barely even acknowledge his dream of escape to himself.

He made a few friends in Jabba's Palace, but most of them were sold, killed, or changed to the point that they were no longer recognizable. His only constants were Delana's support of him and the Slave Keeper's constant chorus of 'worthless.'

His days as a slave often blurred together. There were simply varying levels of bad with the occasional bright spot offered to him with a kind word from Delana. Sometimes, she snuck him treats from the kitchen, but that was about all she could do. She was about as helpless as he was.

Luke was kept busy with miscellaneous jobs, and on this day he had been called to talk with EV-9D9, the palace's droid supervisor and thus the head of Jabba's Cyborg Operations.

He started to speak, only to be cut off by the sound of another poor droid being tortured in EV-9D9's workshop.

Finally, the droid supervisor turned to him. "The master wishes for you to attempt to fix this droid," the sadistic machine said, sounding as disgusted as it was possible for her to sound. "It has valuable information in his databanks. The master will be most displeased if you do not succeed."

Darsst—Jabba's Slave Keeper—had been told he might be mechanically inclined, and Luke had been able to fix every major machine that had been given to him. He even enjoyed doing it—it reminded him of helping his uncle on the moisture farm. Still, he felt daunted as he gazed down at the silver protocol droid—or, at least, at what was left of it.

Quietly, he scooped the parts into a box. There was no sense in pointing out to EV-9D9 that it might not be possible for him to repair the droid. That would probably just earn him a beating from the Durnalian Slave Keeper.

He started to leave the room, only to realize that he'd forgotten one of the droid's eyes, and he scuttled back inside to dig around in the parts. At a look from EV-9D9, he explained, "I'm looking for an eye."

"Droids do not need eyes to function, slave," the droid said. After a few seconds, though, she pointed to where a protocol droid eye lay half-hidden.

"Thanks!" Luke said, placing the eye on top of his box of parts.

He left the Cyborg Operations room and soon made it into the slave quarters. After nodding to a pair of Rutian Twi'lek dancers, he set the box down next to his pile of tools and plopped onto the floor next to it. He usually worked next to his pallet in the slave quarters so that he wouldn't be in EV-9D9's way. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She disliked humans, and he was scared of her.

He was shuffling his tools around when he realized that the court jester, Salacious Crumb, was peering into his box of parts.

"Crumb, come on!" he exclaimed, trying to shoo the pest away.

"Come on, come on!" the Kowakian monkey-lizard parroted. He reached in the box and grabbed the droid eye on top.

"Hey!" Luke said in frustration. He shot to his feet. "Gimme that!"

"Hey, hey!" cried Salacious Crumb. Then the cackling creature began scampering away with the part.

"Gimme that back!" Luke called out. Shaking his head in annoyance, he started running after the jester. "Give it back, Crumb!"

Laughing all the way, the Kowakian continued evading him, finally leading him into Jabba's well-populated audience chamber.

When Luke realized where he was, he skidded to a stop. Salacious Crumb continued moving, however, hopping up to his perch by Jabba, where he held up the droid part and laughed. "Crumby eye!"

Jabba began laughing at the monkey-lizard's antics. "Ho ho ho." The Hutt's bulbous eyes then looked at Luke. [You need something, boy?] he asked in Huttese.

Luke, who had learned a bit of the Hutt language during his time at the palace, was able to understand what Jabba said. "I—I n-need that eye to f-fix the droid, Your Ex-Excellency," he stuttered.

"Awww, fix the droid," Salacious Crumb snickered.

[All right, Crumb. Give him the eye,] the Hutt instructed, sounding amused.

"Eye," the monkey-lizard said sadly. He held the eye out with his small hand, but Luke was going to have to actually go and retrieve it from him.

Swallowing, Luke strode forward. Several eyes were on him, belonging to dancers, musicians, bounty hunters, assassins, guards, and the various other dregs of the galaxy—that was why he hated going into Jabba's audience room. Dangerous and watchful beings lurked in every corner, and, while a slave was not worth much to those eager for bargaining chips with the Hutt, one could never be too careful.

Trying not to wince or show any disgust at the grossness of the Hutt's enormous body, Luke retrieved the eye and said, "Thank you, Excellency."

He practically fled the room after that, Salacious Crumb's laughter ringing in his ears. He hated that jester—most beings in the palace did, save for Jabba. He did feel just a little bit sorry for Crumb, though—the monkey-lizard had to make Jabba laugh once a day or die. So far, he'd succeeded, but surely he wouldn't last forever.

On his hurried way down the hallway, Luke was looking down at the ground and had the misfortune of slamming into Jabba's Slave Keeper. The Durnalian's mood had worsened since Luke had seen him last.

The boy backed up a few steps, blinking in surprise and slight pain.

"Foolissssh, worthlessss boy," the Durnalian hissed. "You mussst watch where you are going."

"S-s-sorry," Luke stuttered.

But Darsst's orange-speckled eyes were filled with fury. "Turn around, worthlessss," he commanded in a harsh, low voice.

Swallowing, Luke slowly turned around. His breath was caught in his throat as he placed his trembling hands against the wall, revealing his bare back to the Durnalian. Darsst had always told him that the male slaves wore loincloths so that their backs would be bare for punishment. As he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, the boy wished desperately that he could have at least been wearing a tunic to provide even the slightest bit of relief.

He could hear the telltale swish of fabric as Darsst grabbed the black whip at his side. "Worthlessss," the Slave Keeper hissed.

Luke closed his eyes and waited for the first blow to come.

****

"Aww, my little farmboy, not again," Delana said softly.

Luke was lying facedown on his pallet, crying. His back was covered in angry red welts, some of which were bleeding.

She touched his arm gently, and he flinched away from her, trying to bury himself deeper into his bedding.

"Hey, it's all right, Luke. It's just me."

He slowly lifted his head off the pallet. After using his arms to push himself up into a seated position, he turned his body to look at her. His face was red and tear-stained, and his nose was dripping with mucus. "Am I really worthless?" he managed between sobs.

"No, Luke. No." She would have given him a full embrace were it not for the marks on his back. After a moment of consideration, she moved forward and hugged his head against her. "No." She gently stroked his hair. Whispering—for the walls of Jabba's Palace had ears—Delana said, "We'll find you a way out of here one day soon, Luke. I guess we'll just have to steal a disarmer from Darsst. I'll think about it, little farmboy." She then spoke a little louder, asking, "Now, what happened, Luke?"

His voice was muffled against her dancer's outfit. "I w-went to Jabba's throne room to—to get a droid eye back f-from Crumb. B-but I r-ran into Darsst." His sobs were getting a little quieter.

"Aww, Luke." Delana hugged his head tighter. "I'm so sorry. Are you working on a droid for EV-9D9?"

He nodded.

The Head Dancer looked over at the box of parts by his pallet. "That looks like quite a task ahead of you. You know—you're the only one in this palace who can put that droid together."

Luke pulled his tear-streaked face away from her chest. "R-really?"

She nodded. "Really. Darsst could never even put half of it together. He can barely even work a comlink!"

That got a slight smile from the hiccupping Luke. "I did see—see him having problems with the buttons on one once."

Delana chuckled. "I bet he wouldn't even know a droid eye if it hit him on the head!"

"Or in the eye," Luke noted with a shaky grin.

"That's right! And you know, if you fix this droid, I bet it'll be really grateful. It's like bringing someone to life, Luke."

"It is?" the boy queried.

"Mmhm." She nodded. "Droids need to be taken care of just like people do."

"Delana," a dancer called quietly.

Delana turned and looked at the awaiting group of dancers before bringing her gaze back to Luke. "I have to go take a few dancers to the Dancer's Pit, Luke."

"Do you need help?" Luke asked hopefully. He liked helping the dancers get ready to perform for Jabba.

"I'm sorry, Luke, but you should really work on this droid. It really needs you, you know? I know I can't help it out." She pulled his chin up. "One last smile before I go, little farmboy."

He gave her a tentative one, and she kissed the top of his head. "Good luck," she told him. "Remember, Luke, you're not worthless—no matter how many times he tells you that you are."

He watched Delana leave with the other dancers before finally turning his attention to the box of droid parts. "You're counting on me," he whispered to the pieces before turning to grab one of his tools.

****

He worked diligently on the droid, feeling as if his whole life were wrapped up in this moment. When he at last put the finishing touches on it, he felt his heart start to pound. This was it. He was finally ready to turn it on.

Positioning the protocol droid so that it was sitting up (he couldn't make it stand up, as he wasn't tall enough to reach its power switch), he flipped the "on" switch.

The silver droid's eyes started glowing. "Oh!" It looked around. "Excuse me, but—where am I?"

"Jabba's Palace," Luke beamed. He'd done it! "What's your name?"

The droid hesitated. "My former master called me 'Opakwa,' a Jawaese term meaning 'spare parts.'"

"Then I'll call you Opakwa," Luke said with a smile. He felt almost like singing. "Are you feeling okay?"

The droid considered the question, running a few quick diagnostics. "...Yes, I think so."

"All right." Luke motioned for the droid to stand with him. "Then we'll have to take you to Jabba. He wants to talk to you."

****

Fortunately, Jabba didn't decide to disintegrate Opakwa. With all the different kinds of beings in the palace, it was helpful to have more than one interpreter droid. Since Opakwa wasn't the one regularly assigned to help Jabba, Luke was even able to see him every now and then. The boy grew sort of attached to the protocol droid and eventually decided that Opakwa was one of his friends just like Delana. He thought it would be okay to have two best friends. The droid turned out to be a bit protective of Luke and was often dispensing advice, though the boy didn't mind. It was nice to have someone else to talk to. He did note, however, that for a protocol droid, Opakwa was a bit quiet. Still, he always answered Luke's questions, at least.

Unfortunately, the droid's presence lifted Luke's spirits a bit, and Darsst was very skilled at sensing lifted spirits.

The day after Luke befriended the droid, he found Darsst ordering him, "Go clean the rancor pit, boy." The Durnalian's tongue flicked in and out angrily. Delana had told Luke that the Durnalians were very few in number due to cannibalistic tendencies exhibited most often in fights among nestlings, and Luke could believe it.

The rancor was Jabba's newest pet monster, and Luke had a feeling this one would be around for a long time. The creature's hideous appearance and lust for flesh meant that the Hutt crimelord felt an extreme admiration for it. And it meant that everyone in his court feared it, even as they were fascinated by it.

Luke gave a dejected sigh. He hated cleaning the monster pit. He normally didn't have to, as his skills were mostly mechanical in nature, but Darsst knew he despised the task and made him perform it when they were low on manpower or he was feeling particularly annoyed.

Luke was in especially low spirits at being made to clean the monster pit because he had been trying to find some time to talk with Delana. He was wanting to know if she had any ideas about how to steal a disarmer from Darsst.

After heaving a sigh, Luke began the walk from the slave quarters to the rancor pit. He shivered when he passed a spider droid in the hallway. When the B'omarr monks believed they had been suitably enlightened, their brains were removed from their bodies and placed in nutrient-filled jars. Often, the jars were attached to droids like the one Luke had just seen so that the monks could move around.

When he reached the monster pit, a human guard told him that the cleaning supplies were already in the room and that Malakili had taken the rancor out for a walk in the desert. The rancor's caretaker was very attached to it, though Luke couldn't quite understand why.

The boy took in a deep breath before actually moving forward. Cleaning the rancor pit was no fun task. It was necessary, as otherwise there would be a sea of bones that might trip up the rancor and mar its performance, but it was disgusting. If not cleaned for a while, the pit was generally covered in blood, guts, and bones.

Rancor pit 'cleaning supplies' consisted of several giant buckets of dirt which were so heavy he could barely move them, a tool to push dirt around with, a bucket of bone-cleaning solution, gloves, and a few other miscellaneous tools. Luke put on the gloves, dumped out one of the buckets on a patch of bloody dirt, and went around with the bucket gathering bits of flesh and intestines and who knew what all. It was hard for him not to vomit at the smell of rotting flesh. His first few times performing this duty, he had vomited. But then he'd had to clean that up, too, so he'd learned to try to control his reaction.

After all the loose flesh was gathered, he set it aside and began gathering bones into a pile. He picked out a few big- and ominous-looking bones, which he cleaned in the solution. Jabba liked having just a few stark white bones around for dramatic purposes. Luke began to pour and scrape dirt over the bloody spots in the pit, making it so that the floor looked fresh—after all, old blood just wasn't as fun to Jabba as new blood. After some of the buckets were empty, he began shoveling some of the giant rancor droppings into them. When he was done with that, he dumped out more dirt and shoveled it around.

Then he put the bones into the empty buckets, and, after surveying his handiwork and fixing a few more things, he started dragging the buckets to the door. The guard, perhaps feeling sorry for him, began helping him with the buckets. Before long, all of the buckets were outside the pit. Luke took off his cleaning gloves and set them on top of one of the buckets.

"Someone will pick them up in a little while," the guard grunted. He looked down sympathetically at the boy for half a second before fixing his face into a blank mask and staring forward into nothing.

Nodding, Luke said quietly, "Thanks."

"Hm." The guard didn't even look at him.

The boy really wanted to go take a sonic shower, but non-dancers were only allowed one sonic shower a week, and it had only been a few days since his last one. Some of the slaves didn't even bathe that frequently. It was fortunate that Darsst had a very keen sense of smell and a sensitive nose.

Still, he'd give up sonic showers for a month if it meant he could have ten minutes alone with Delana. Well—surely he would find time with her soon. Then he could figure out how to escape.