Nal Hutta, 9 ABY
A black assault ship jumped out of hyperspace above a fetid green sphere swirling with rancid storms and mists that befouled the otherwise pristine tapestry of diamond-strewn space. Mara Jade gazed out of the cockpit, her mask lying on the control panel. She gripped the steering column, bracing herself against her agitation as her ship hurtled toward her appointment with Rotta the Hutt. Her mind had trod well-worn paths through the anticipated encounter, and each time her thoughts ended at the same inevitability: biting the hand that fed her was akin to signing her own death warrant. Sari had warned her, and as had happened so many times before, Mara ignored her only to discover Sari was right.
As ruminations coursed through recesses of her mind, she glanced to the left, catching her reflection in a small mirror on the side of the control panel. A striking, vivid green eye gazed back at her, the sclera a pristine white. An unbidden memory of the Emperor's stinging critique on her eyes emerged, and she recalled his disapproval of such a striking, memorable feature in his primary assassin. Unless she played the role of concubine or assistant for him, the Emperor made her hide those features at all other times – even when she was alone.
She reached over to the mask, and after pulling her cascading red hair back and up, slid the mask over her head. She glanced reflexively at the lightsaber settled in the seat beside her. The object both intrigued and repulsed her as it called to her with sinuous promise. Mara knew what would accompany that promise, and it was only thanks to Sari's measured combination of empathy and toughness that she had achieved the nominal peace with which she had navigated the darkest shadows of the galaxy. Sari had warned that push would come to shove regardless of what she said or did, but Mara refused to accept that there could not be a middle way in negotiating with Rotta. Sari had intimated that – as before with the Empire -her usefulness would be her downfall. Mara had reluctantly accepted the saber to placate her. She debated leaving it behind, but with the weapon so present in her awareness, she could no longer take her mind off of it.
A pair of Scyk-class fighters swooped around, taking up position on her flank, and she drew her focus away from her old weapon as the pilots issued commands to follow their vector on approach to Bilbousa. Mara followed the prescribed course as her freighter plunged into the acrid murk of Nal Hutta's upper atmosphere. Viscous rain streaked her cockpit shield as she plunged through the deep, fetid clouds, and minutes later, she emerged beneath the cloud deck on approach to a dilapidated sprawl culminating in several cylindrical towers crowned with dome-like structures.
The two fighters peeled away, leaving Mara to guide her shuttle to the landing pad jutting out from the tallest of the towers. She nudged the ship over the pad and eased the repulsorlifts until the ship settled onto the platform. She spared another glance at the lightsaber, and unable – or unwilling; she could not be certain – to resist the lightsaber any longer, she swiped the weapon and clicked it to her belt. She rose from the captain's chair and stalked out of the cockpit, working her way through the narrow galley to the carbonite sarcophagus secured in the hold. The sarcophagus rose into the air, and she nudged it forward to the loading ramp. After slipping into a raincoat to protect her body suit from the greasy, toxic Nal Hutta rain, she steered the sarcophagus down the ramp onto the landing platform.
At the bottom of the ramp, she took stock of the party awaiting her arrival. A Twi-lek with a lurid grin stood beneath a sheltered portico buffeted on either side by a Gamorrean guard. Mara took it as a relative positive that there were no other guards present, which suggested that Rotta did not have reason to be displeased with her. Mara nudged the sarcophagus forward, and the Twi-lek leered as she approached. He gestured toward her to proceed, and the Gamorreans parted to allow her to enter the shelter of the portico. The Twi-lek walked forward, leading Mara through a large, ornate door into a dimly lit corridor that Mara knew would lead to Rotta's audience chamber. She gritted her teeth as she considered Rotta's insistence on always conducting business with an audience, and her mind ran through well-worn strategic considerations as she pondered what bounty hunter might be present that she might have to contend with.
Moments later, the Twi-lek entered a code, and the door to the audience chamber slid open, flooding the dim hallway with a sticky yellow light. He again gestured for Mara to proceed, and she pushed the sarcophagus into the audience chamber. Rotta the Hutt reclined on a plinth in the back, his face partially obscured by a thick haze of smoke and shadow. Quiet music played from speakers in the place where a band would usually set up shop, leaving Mara to conclude that Rotta's operation was too deep in the thick of conflict to indulge in the usual luxuries. Reclining on pillows before him lounged several scantily clad slaves, each looking resigned to misery. Several sycophants lounged nearby, each cajoling and nagging their own female charges, who responded coquettishly and dutifully. Mara's eyes scanned past those non-threats and noticed several bounty hunters and Gamorreans becoming more attentive as she approached. She paused in the center of the chamber upon the circular mosaic, respecting Rotta's preferred protocol.
The Twi-lek approached Rotta and bowed deeply. He whispered to the Hutt, and after his entreaty, Mara heard Rotta's gravelly rumble, "Prochooda."
Recognizing the permission in the cue, Mara stepped forward as Rotta's plinth drifted toward her into the light. The light caught on Rotta's slimy, fetid skin. He was smaller than Jabba, having not yet reached full maturity for his species. His narrowed, cruel eyes suggested a cunning and savvy beyond his age, born from innate intelligence and the lessons of his father's fall. As Rotta approached, Mara reminded herself that his youth and perceived inexperience had led too many enemies – most of whom were now dead – to underestimate him – a mistake she refused to make.
Rotta's plinth stopped before her, and Mara gazed up at Rotta's imperious visage. He inhaled deeply from a hookah, then exhaled, the smoke adding to the billowing cloud lingering in the room. As he regarded her, she pushed the sarcophagus forward, and Rotta looked down at the frozen form of Gyuti encased in the carbonite.
"Nee chooda?" Rotta said, his voice sounding like a cat purring beneath decomposed gravel.
Mara switched on the translator in her mask, and heard the electronic voice in her ear piece ask, "Dead?"
Mara nodded slowly. Rotta responded jovially, and Mara listened to the translation say, "Ah, my silent knife. Well done!," The praise never reached Rotta's eyes, and shortly after, he added, "Dead, 5,000 credits. Alive 10."
"You didn't tell me that the target was a Toydarian slave trader cutting side deals with you," Mara said, keeping her voice as measured as possible. She felt a subtle shift in the room, and she noticed the bounty hunters and guards casually fanning out around her.
Her translator relayed Rotta's response, saying, "Since when did you care who your target was?"
"Since when were you involved in human trafficking?" Mara retorted.
"A businessman does not leave money on the table," the translator intoned. "Black Sun and Crymorrah make themselves the enemies of the Republic. We graciously accept this gift. My silent knife slices away this piece and that, and the Hutts grow strong." Rotta leaned forward, leering, and rumbled, "I am grateful."
"You lied to me," Mara said in a controlled growl.
Rotta feigned surprise, and in a mocking tone, which the translator washed away, said, "Did you not realize that this is a business? What strong ethics you have - for a professional murderer."
"You said you'd never get into trafficking. You said –" Mara accused.
"Things change, my dear knife," Rotta said, his gaze growing darker and more serious. "Ethics never trump prosperity."
Mara stole a glance around the room, noticing the bounty hunters and guards tensing. She turned her focus back to Rotta as he said, "Your next assignment."
The Twi-lek stepped forward and activated a handheld holoprojector. The device projected another Black Sun operative, whom Mara recognized as being part of the organization's inner circle.
"The Pykes remain preoccupied with establishing spice lanes on our old territory, but we will deal with them in time. The Republic will soon turn its might on Black Sun and Crymorrah, who misread the signs and thus grow bolder. Crimson Dawn is an afterthought. As the Republic slaughters the Black Sun, and the Pykes overextend themselves, we wait, slicing away this piece and that," Rotta explained.
"Slice it yourself," Mara said, and she slapped the device out of the Twi-lek's hand.
She felt another ripple of tension around her, but she kept her eyes locked on Rotta. He held her gaze, a burning anger lingering behind his controlled, imperious demeanor. Without warning, he broke into a deep laugh, which deflated some of the tension from the room.
Rotta's laughter trailed away, and he replied, "Ah, Neeta. Such amusement." His expression grew serious again, and he said, "There is no walking away. You, with your shiny new ship, your high tech weapons – you have that because of me. Your stature, your reputation – because of me. There's nothing you have that I cannot take away. Challenge me –" Rotta said, shaking the chain of the nearest female slave. The chain scraped her back and she winced in pain, "And you will find yourself in chains."
Mara glared at Rotta, then spared a glance toward the woman. She strove desperately to hide her disgust and fear, and Mara felt a swooping sense of rage pass through her. In a recess in her mind, she heard the echo of a guttural voice calling, Do it! A shiver passed in recognition of the voice, and she felt something dark and animal roiling inside her, longing to come out.
"To hell with prosperity. I'm done," Mara growled.
Rotta held her gaze, and she saw his fury growing behind his bulbous, glossy eyes. She knew he was moments away from issuing the order, and she heard the scuffling and clicking of safeties disengaging on numerous blasters. She closed her eyes, touching the animal inside her with her mind. The animal growled eagerly, and the floor trembled.
As the chamber shook, Rotta's eyes went wide before he recovered his composure. The guards and bounty hunters around the room looked to each other uneasily. Mara relaxed her hands by her side and allowed the locked door dissociating that old part of her to open. She imagined Sari beside her, whispering I told you so. Mara shook away the thought of Sari as she felt the old, familiar, heady, terrifying rush. It was back. And with the power coursing through her, soon he would be back as well. As if on cue, the old, familiar voice hissed in her ears: Do it! Now!
"I'm walking away now. Try to stop me, and I'll do to you what Han Solo did to your father," Mara purred.
"Enough!" Rotta bellowed, and the bounty hunters lifted their rifles to fire on Mara.
Mara reacted instinctively, whirling around in a flash and unleashing a cascade of lightning from both of her hands. The lightning arced across the audience chamber, throwing back the hired thugs into the walls. Several sickening crunches clashed against the crackling static as bodies dropped to the floor, and she released the lightning, leaving the thugs to convulse and writhe in agony from the unsuspected attack.
Mara unclipped the weapon from her belt and ignited it. A guard rushed at her from Rotta's side, and she pulled him toward her, using his momentum to slice him in two with her lightsaber. The rush of power thrilled her, and she drew from the deep well of anger and pain as she somersaulted over the chain binding the slave to land on the edge of Rotta's plinth. Rotta waved his hands back in terrified shock, and she thrust her lightsaber forward, holding it inches from the slimy folds of his throat.
Another guard rushed forward, and Mara extended her free hand. She swung her arm around, and the guard flew off his feet and slammed hard into the wall; several cracks reverberated in the room from his broken bones.
"I warned you," Mara growled.
Rotta's eyes darted back and forth wildly at the crackling red blade inches from his throat. He looked at her in terror, then said, "You'll die for this."
"Then I might as well kill you and be done with it," Mara said.
She raised the weapon in the air to bring it down on Rotta's head, and as she brought her arm down, Rotta cried, "Stop!" The lightsaber came to a halt inches away from the bridge of his nose, and he opened his eyes slowly before blinking them shut again against the angry glare of the lightsaber.
Rotta's chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. Mara pressed closer, and the blade singed the skin between his eyes. He barked in agony, and as his chest heaved in panic, Mara grunted, "Where's Gideon."
The question spiked Rotta's terror, and he stammered incoherently. She pressed, shouting, "You're selling Force-sensitive children to Gideon. Tell me where he is!"
The lightsaber blade singed his skin again, and Rotta shouted in pain. One of the guards behind her began to stir. As he struggled to his feet, Mara reached her free hand out behind her and blasted the guard with lightning.
"I don't know," Rotta stammered in basic.
"DON'T LIE!" Mara roared as Rotta attempted to shrink.
"The children go through a middle-man. Never the same twice. Gideon doesn't stay in one place for long. He was on Nevarro, then he vanished. I don't know where he is," Rotta grunted, speaking rapid Huttese.
Mara withdrew her weapon a few inches away from his face. "You listen closely, you cowardly piece of filth," Mara said, her voice low and radiating with menace. "Anybody you send after me will die, and then I'll come for you. I'll slice an inch off of your tail every five minutes until I make it all the way to your filthy tongue. And we'll do it silently – just the way you like it. Are we clear?"
Rotta stared back at her in terrified disbelief.
"ARE WE CLEAR?!" Mara roared. Rotta nodded timidly.
Mara stepped back and swung her lightsaber into the chain binding the slave attached to Rotta's plinth. She slashed through two other chains, and as she backed away from Rotta's plinth, she said, "Ladies? Would you care to join me?"
The slaves looked at Rotta, who was still stunned, then at each other. In unison, they rose from their cushions and followed Mara as she turned from the room.
Rotta the Hutt watched them leave the room, and as they left, he turned his bulbous head toward his Twi-lek advisor, who had cowered in the shadows, hoping to avoid notice. He breathed heavily as he tried to regain his composure, but as his anger surged at the woman making a fool of him, he growled weakly, "Kill her!"
Mara strode forward through the darkened hall toward the rumbling Nal Hutta rain ahead. She felt the women she had liberated falling behind, and she shouted, "Keep up!"
She heard the scuffling as the women picked up their paces, and she reached the exit leading back out to the portico and beyond to the landing platform. The red blade of her lightsaber erupted, and she slashed through an unsuspecting Gamorrean guard. Several armed guards prowling a catwalk above the ship turned toward the sudden disruption, and she pulled at them through the Force, sending them tumbling over the sides to crash onto the greasy landing platform with a sickening crunch. Another Gamorrean guard charged at her from behind the ship, and she reached out with the Force, lifting him up by the throat. The Gamorrean emitted a choked squeal, and she waved her hand aside, sending the guard cartwheeling over the side of the platform and down into the misty depths below the tower.
She took up a position at the base of the boarding ramp, providing cover for the women scrambling onto the ship. A blaster bolt erupted from the catwalk, and she deflected it back, landing a clean blow to the Weequay guard who had fired upon her. The guard crumpled, his blaster clattering away uselessly. The last of the freed slaves entered the ship, and she stormed after them, closing the ramp behind her. She stalked past the frightened women huddling together into the cockpit, where she kicked on the ship's systems. Moments later, the ship was ready to lift off, and she nudged the repulsorlifts, lifting the ship into the sky.
Blaster bolts splashed harmlessly off the ship, repelled by her shields, and she gunned the throttle, shooting forward into the murky night. Her scopes picked up a quartet of Scyk-class fighters lifting off ahead of her, and the ships rotated into a firing position to intercept. She kicked her ship into a roll and dove down toward the city. She pulled up before the rooftops, and hurtled above the squalid encampments on Bilbousa's outskirts, allowing the blaster bolts to scatter past her into the tenements below. She toggled the twin guns on the top of the ship into auto-target, and she threw the ship into full sublight, screaming off into the wilds of Nal Hutta with her dorsal blasters peppering the cloudy skies. One of the Scyk's took a full blast, and it exploded. The blast illuminated the clouds as she shot past, and the other three Scyk's shot off after her, throwing their throttles open in an attempt to keep up.
Mara reduced her speed slightly, allowing the Scyk's to catch up. As they neared, she released a charge from the back of the ship. The charge drifted backward, and she timed its drift until it neared the trio of ships. As the ships reached the charge, she triggered the detonator, and a sonic blast erupted, tearing through the ships. The flaming wreckage tumbled downward, swallowed by the dark Nal Hutta swamps.
Mara pulled the ship straight up and gunned the throttle. More ships were rising from Bilbousa, but they would not be able to reach her before she arrived at her jump point. A frigate ahead was attempting to change course for intercept ahead of her, but the clumsy, lumbering contraption – a Hutt construction, she noted – was moving too slowly to match her vector. She shot past the likely intercept point, and once clear of the planet, she pulled her hyperdrive lever back. The ship shot into hyperspace, leaving a thoroughly stirred mynock's nest behind.
As soon as the ship shot into hyperspace, she leaned back, releasing a breath she did not realize she had been holding. Her hands trembled, and her mind raced. Adrenaline coursed through her body, and the angry beast inside feasted on the adrenaline, longing for more. After five years with Sari of study, meditation, tough – sometimes hard – love, and a desperate determination to move on, the Force was with her again.
Kill them. Kill them all. Destroy the Skywalkers.
His voice echoed through her mind, and she shut her eyes, willing the voice away. A rolling cackle of laughter mocked her attempts, and an image of the Emperor standing above her in a dark room, laughing at her fear and vulnerability, intruded into her mind.
There is no escape, child.
The voice echoed in her mind. Or the memory did; she could not tell. The past felt present, and the present felt remote. The surge of adrenaline built, and her hands shook.
"Stop it!" she screamed into the control panels.
"Neeta?" spoke a timid female voice behind her.
Mara turned, her heart racing like a rabid animal's. The woman shrank back, clearly terrified. Mara recognized the terror in her eyes, and her rage deflated suddenly, leaving her empty and hollow – exhausted beyond capacity.
"Are you ok?" the woman asked. Neeta swooned and keeled over, collapsing onto the floor.
Mara awoke the next day, her body aching and her head pounding. The ship hovered above a quiet, darkened planet with scattered lights indicating settlements. It took her a moment to remember the destination she had programmed into the nav computer. The name surfaced in her mind: Dantooine.
She looked around at the women gathering around her, all of whom looked both relieved, concerned, and frightened.
"What happened?" Mara asked. She reached her hand up to her face and realized that her mask was missing. It sent a jolt of fear through her as she recalled the Emperor's voice, so clear and so present.
"You passed out," one of the women said. She was older and hardened, and the other women seemed to look to her for guidance. "The ship came out of hyperspace hours ago, but since there's nobody around, we let you sleep."
Mara pushed herself into a sitting position and worked to reorient herself. The gaze of the women made her uncomfortable, and she willed herself through her aches back onto her feet. She grabbed her mask and pulled it back over her head. She turned back to the woman who had become the de facto leader of the freed slaves and said, "This is Dantooine. I know people on the far side of the planet who can help you."
Mara jammed her elbow into a compartment on the side of the galley. It sprung open, and she reached in, removing a large box. She set the box down on a shelf and opened the lid. She did a quick count, then removed several handfuls of credits. She divided them into a stacks of twenty, and left them on the shelf.
"One stack each," Mara said. "After I drop you, you're on your own.
Mara turned from the galley, not waiting for a response, and she entered the cockpit, shutting the door behind her. Minutes later, she was on the surface near a small settlement. She opened the boarding ramp and waited until the women had gathered in a field away from the ship. They gazed up in the cockpit, confused but grateful at their abrupt release without any goodbye. Mara nodded, then kicked the ship off the ground, gunning it back into the empty space.
As the ship shot into the night sky, she plugged in the coordinates to Nevarro, gripping the steering column against the creeping, encroaching rage swirling inside her.