It was almost evenfall by the time Fell managed to rouse Cinder from her sleep. Her condition had not worsened overnight, yet Fell still had reservations bringing her along. He attempted to convince the droid to come with them, as well. HK-47 was stubborn as a nerf, however, and kept true to his word in the medbay. One red glare was enough to convince Fell to leave him to rust in the cockpit.
When Fell and Cinder left the The Ashen One, they saw that every landing pad was full. Ships were being turned away. Those that balked or otherwise argued were threatened with being shot down. Fell was not certain if the dock attendants were bluffing, though he did not have much of a want to find out. The sea of people was coming and going was even greater than the day before, and getting back to the Viridian Slug proved a painstaking endeavor. Would be easier to carve through the crowd. Cinder must have felt his scorn. She only looked over and raised a hand. Fell chewed his lip and pressed on.
When they reached the Viridian Slug, they paused for a moment to get their bearings.
"You remember Kregg's directions?" Cinder said. She occasionally fingered at the wound on her side. Did the droid even patch her up?
"Yeah," Fell muttered. He was looking down the road that Kregg had mentioned; sure enough, it turned into an 'L' that led into an empty black void. He turned back to Cinder, his hair flopping about, and he cast a look of disdain at her wound. "Couldn't you just heal that?"
Her look of disapproval would have stung him years ago. It only irritated him now, though he dared not show it. "The Force is not to be called upon for such petty whims," she said. "It will heal soon enough. Pain only makes us stronger."
"Yes, I remember that lesson too. Lead the way master. If you don't keel over." He gave a stupid smirk, then felt a sting as her backhand grazed his cheek.
Cinder led the way and Fell followed close behind, taking in the sights. Where his master held only disdain for Hutt space, Fell found himself enthralled by its beauty. Ord Mantell had been a cesspit; even as a child, he knew that. Nar Shaddaa was a cesspit in a different way, one that still had an alluring beauty to it beyond the novelty of being a shiny and new. As a boy, he had always heard boatswains and pilots speak at great lengths about the streets of Nar Shaddaa and all their delights. When they spoke about Nal Hutta itself, the planet merely lived up to its name. Narsh, as they called it, surpassed even the Glorious Jewel in its beauty.
Back in those days, the planet had still been ruled by several cartels of Hutts. Debauchery was still the order of the day, but they were a special reward for a job well done, or the rare celebration of a Hutt's goodwill. The Hutts were always portrayed as seedy and corrupt on the Holonet, but the spacers that came through the Ghintee Shipyard hardly had anything bad to say.
Though, they had probably never crossed a Hutt. The way Fell had heard it, crossing the Hutts was not a question of your money or your life, but instead a choice between slavery and death. Fell hoped that Cinder would not do anything to earn the ire of this Fat Minister. It was farce enough to have my moment taken by a machine, he thought. To have it stolen by a Hutt would be humiliation beyond measure.
The great buildings and sea of vibrant colors vanished as they reached the shadowy corner and followed its sharp path right. Everything turned to darkened shadow, much like the construction site where they had dueled that Quarren. Even the artificial lights above faded in and out, as if the darkness formed plumes of clouds in certain spots just to block them. After just a few more steps, the shadows were ripped away by a torrent of golden light. It was almost searing, but it made the splendor before them all the more magnificent.
The old Nar Shaddaa Chamber of Commerce loomed before them, a spiraling tower that did not just scrape the sky, but burrowed through it. The central spire splayed out at the bottom, widening and creeping down the sides of the durasteel path. A great set of golden doors made dwarves of the pair of hulking Chevin guards standing sentry.
The spire itself was limned with fissures that bore flakes of precious metals and shards of gemstones embedded within. Silver bands ringed around the central tower, their edges honed and sharp like crescent blades. Each tile on the roof was constructed of red-painted marble. The tiles coalesced into pointed barbs at each corner, turning to rusted knives in the glow of the orbiting spotlights.
Both of the Chevin appeared to be sleeping when Fell and Cinder finally got to the great door. Their faces were so long that their chins scraped the ground beneath them. In mammoth hands, they held great bardiches upright, bearing glistening half-moon blades of brass and gold.
"What business have you with the Fat Minister?" the one on the left said in groggy Huttese. Fell knew enough of the simple words; he pieced together the rest. He inched his eyes open, just barely, before closing them again.
"The party, you idiot," the one on the right said. Their voices were so throaty that it sounded as if they would retch gravel.
The left one snorted. "Are they even on the guest list?"
Fell slipped his hand on the pommel of his lightsaber. Cinder glared at him but he ignored it. Keep your peace to yourself; I'll get out of here alive no matter what it comes to.
"What do you care about the guest list?" the one on the right smacked his lips, launching spittle from his gaping mouth onto Cinder's robes. He waved his bardiche at the door. The blade hit it with a deafening clang of gold on gold and, at once, the great door began to squeal as it was dragged open. The great glow of light began shining ever brighter as the door opened more and more, until the two of them were almost blind.
"What are you standing there for?" the Chevin on the right said, the same one who let them in. His eyes twitched when they did not immediately head inside. His next words came out in Basic, though not easily. "No party outside; party inside. No waste time." The other one started snoring before Fell followed Cinder inside the palace.
There was no shortage to the amount of light inside Durgulla the Hutt's palace, but they found themselves much less blind once they had made it inside. At once, Fell could tell this place had housed many Hutts. Great balconies, boxes, and holes had been carved into the stonework interior. When there had been more than one Hutt on Nar Shaddaa, doubtless each of these housed a single Hutt and their court. But now, there was only the Hutt on Nar Shaddaa, and he had turned the former courts to little realms of debauchery. Fell looked into one above him, to his right, and saw a gaggle of women sitting on a circular sofa, passing a hookah pipe between one another, several others slumped over. Below that, a multi-armed droid bartender was dishing out drinks from each of its sixteen hands to a ceaseless storm of patrons. One keeled over as he took his drink, slamming his head into the edge of the bar's quartz counter. The next in line trampled over him to get at his next drink.
The great hall went on for ages, with the sights becoming more and more grotesque to behold. A great sea of dancers swarmed the foyer, swimming in an ocean of passion. Some simply danced; others were friskier, clawing and pawing at one or several others. A Zabrak girl found herself surrounded by a motley crew of suitors. She teased them all one way or another. A shirtless, obese Gran dragged himself on his distended gut after a serving boy before passing out from exhaustion. Cinder stepped over him, looking down in disgust.
"How does one get to such a state?" Her face was curled up as she turned to Fell.
"Perhaps they enjoy it," Fell said. He winced as he felt the heel of his boot graze the flabby skin hanging off the Gran's back. His relief was almost as immense as the man's girth when he turned back and saw that the Gran had not awakened.
"Base pleasure is one thing," Cinder said. "This is a realm beyond. These people are slaves of the worst kind."
"More than likely they came from nothing," Fell said. He looked off to the right, and saw another den larger than the others, perhaps carved out for a larger, more powerful Hutt. This one was replete with dining tables, stacked high with dishes and morsels. He watched the people seated around them feast ravenously. He almost regretted his words.
"And then, they were given all that they could ever want," Cinder said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked off to her left, towards a string of food leading up to an immensely swollen Togruta. She shook her head. "They know nothing of restraint."
A couple of Gamorreans staggered out in front of them. One proceeded to vomit his feast at Cinder's feet. His partner pulled him away, squealed out something that should have been an apology in the grunts and squeals of Gamorrese, and drunkenly swayed off. Cinder looked almost as green as the pigs had been, and no small reason why. The smell that stung Fell's nostrils stunk like a nerf slaughterhouse. They kept walking and, faintly, they could make out a massive humped shape in the distance that could only be one thing.
"De wanna wanga?"
A great orb of a Sullustan waddled over to them. He was awash in rich burgundy velvet and silks that swaddled him like an overgrown babe. A great golden chain dangled down around his left arm, doubtless tracing its origin back to some jewelry on his neck that was hidden underneath his puffy jowls and multitude of chins. In his other hand, he held a great, gem-encrusted silver goblet filled with wine as red as his robes.
Cinder leaned over to Fell. "How much Huttese do you know?"
He shrugged. "Just the simple things," he whispered. He turned back to the Sullustan and spoke in clumsy, unaccented Huttese. "We need to speak with the Fat Minister. We're looking for work."
The Sullustan cocked his head as if he struggled to understand. All the flab on his face rippled like jelly. He let out a boisterous laugh, then turned around and bid Cinder and Fell to follow.
"I take it he understood," Cinder muttered low under her breath.
"Long as he leads us where I think he is."
Fell kept close behind the Sullustan. Cinder, meanwhile, fell behind, her nose crinkled. Their guide stunk, and not just of wine. They grit their teeth and bore it. They stopped before a great dais which seated the most gargantuan Hutt either of them had ever seen. The Sullustan climbed up next to his liege, panting slow and heavy from the effort, and whispered something in his ear. The Hutt's eyes went wide and he let out a thunderous guffaw. The entire room turned and looked over for a moment. Fell felt all of their eyes upon him and his master. Even the band in the corner, who had been deep into some avant-garde composition, stopped playing and looked. Time stood still. Then, in the blink of an eye, everything was back to normal: the band picked up right where they left off, and all the other patrons resumed their indulgence.
The Fat Minister lived up to his name. His sheer height made his kinsman seem snails in comparison. His girth was enough to cover not just one, but two daises placed together to form a throne. His arms, one of which flailed about aimlessly towards a steaming cauldron, were the size of baby Hutt slugs. His behemoth tail did not become long and thin as it grew closer to its end; the final length of his tail was almost as wide around as a normal Hutt's body. He was flanked on all sides by various attendants and dignitaries, most of them near as bloated as he was. The Sullustan stood at his master's side next to a trio of slave women, each collared at the neck and linked to a split chain that disappeared underneath their master's tail. Fell thought it odd that none of them looked too starved.
He grabbed a squirming fistful of giant insects from his cauldron and shoved them into his mouth. "Why do you stand before me?" He said through an overstuffed mouth. He scarcely even chewed the bugs; some fell out of his mouth in pieces and the others looked as if they willingly crawled down his gullet.
What in the hell do I make of this monstrosity? Fell found himself dumbstruck. He feared he would blunder himself before the Hutt and have Cinder and himself in the same position as Kregg.
"Fat Minister, we come seeking the release of Marcus Kregg," Cinder said in Basic. He had hesitated too long. She looked over at Fell and sighed, her eyes stabbing his heart.
The Fat Minister loosed his guffaw again. He shouted a command and one of his attendants brought forth a protocol droid. The thing was not quite HK-47's age, but it was old. Its panels were bright orange, splattered with green and purple paint (at least, Fell hoped it was paint) as if he had been used for an art project. Instead of photoreceptors, it had two giant compound eyes buried in the sides of its narrow head.
The droid whirred to life. "CB-99 protocol unit, active." Its tone was artificially cheerful to the point of parody. "I shall serve as liaison for our illustrious lord and his guests. To whom do I share the pleasure?"
Fell felt a slow, churning pain in his bowels. They had not thought of names to accompany their cover story. Neither he nor Cinder thought any one would ask.
"I am Lya Moonsunder," Cinder said, putting Fell's worries at ease. "And this is my nephew, Jariah. We are wayward travelers, come to Nar Shaddaa in search of the great smuggler Marcus Kregg. We learned that he was indebted to you, Exalted One, and seek to free him of his obligation."
The protocol droid repeated back what Cinder said in the Hutt's own tongue. As the Fat Minister grabbed another clump of insects, he rested a finger the size of a nerf sausage against his lips. Before he could speak, another of his attendants whispered something in his ear. The Fat Minister shouted something, flecking the other man with globs of slobber and chunks of half-eaten food as he turned and scurried off. His great red eyes went back to Cinder before he spoke fast and loose in a dialect of Huttese that Fell could not even hope to understand.
"The Illustrious Durgulla the Fat wishes to let you know that Kregg is not for sale," CB-99 translated. "The debt he owes can never be repaid." The Hutt spoke again and the droid continued. "My master wishes to know one thing, esteemed guests. Are you Jedi? He says you have the 'the look'."
"Yes," Cinder said, without hesitation. Fell stopped himself from opening his mouth.
The Fat Minister's eyes widened like ovals. A smile crawled across his serpentine lips and he started to open his mouth, but then ripped his gaze away. Fell and Cinder heard the rattle of chains and then looked to where the Hutt's gaze had gone. His attendant had returned, bringing behind him a row of five slaves. Each of them were all but withered, their skin stretched taut across brittle bones. One was a Lethan Twi'lek, and her lekku were little more than emaciated worms hanging limp off the back of her head.
The Fat Minister shoved his pudgy fingers up to his mouth and looked over the menagerie. A massive tongue swept over his lips, sending streams of green slobber down his chins. His eyes flitted between the slaves and his guests. He shouted a command in Huttese and the whole of him seemed to shake.
"The Exalted One is currently choosing his pick of the Undercity for this week," the attendant said to Fell and Cinder in their own tongue. His voice was cold and his words crept out like rime across windows. He was a Pantoran, with deep indigo skin and strange ritual markings upon his face painted in bright orange.
"I see," Cinder said.
Fell could not seem to figure out where his attention was needed: on the Hutt, on his master, or on these slaves. He worried for them most of all. What of the ones the Fat Minister did not pick?
"The Illustrious Durgulla the Fat wishes to let you know that he will consider releasing Kregg for a nominal price." The protocol droid's chipper voice caught Fell off guard.
He's trying to keep us distracted. "What's his offer?" Fell said at once. Cinder looked over with a look that bid him shush, but he ignored her and kept his focus on the droid. "Tell me."
The Hutt hmmed and hahed over his choice before finally picking the Twi'lek girl. Fell caught a glance at her as she was unchained. Horribly malnourished and pathetic as she was, her red skin was still striking. He had seen a hundred Rutians in his lifetime, but probably only two other Lethans.
"Lord Durgulla the Fat begs your forgiveness, but he does not take your statements at face value," the droid said. Fell was not even looking at him, instead watching as the slave girl made her way up to the Fat Minister and wrapped her arms around him. It was like watching a child hug their parent. It spurred Fell's jealousy. "He seeks you both prove yourself Jedi."
"How?" he barked at the droid. He felt Cinder's hands cup his shoulders and tried to calm down. "What does he ask?"
The Hutt tapped his fingers against the slave's back. Fell balked when the Hutt proceeded to shove a handful of the insects in her mouth. She ate it with a wide smile. He saw Cinder gag out of the corner of his eye, then found himself hearing the protocol droid again.
"Bring him the head of Mandalore and a lightsaber."
Cinder shook her head. "What?"
"I shall repeat," CB-99 said, raising a clawed hand and pointing it towards them both, "Lord Durgulla the Fat will erase Marcus Kregg's debt if you return here with the head of Mandalore and a lightsaber. Need I elaborate further?"
"Quite," Cinder said. Her glower echoed Fell's own thoughts on this folly.
The Hutt mumbled in that same incomprehensible dialect as the droid translated. "Mandalore the Unassailable disrupts our trade routes in the Mid Rim, causing swarms of refugees to flock to Nar Shaddaa. This disrupts our supply chain. The disruption of our supply chain interrupts the flow of credits. When there are no credits, no happiness can flow among the people. An unhappy population means Lord Durgulla the Fat will have to take drastic measures to keep the peace. He is a jovial and happy lord and, for as long as possible, would wish to avoid taking action against his own people."
"And the lightsaber?" Fell said with a sigh.
"My lord says one of your own would be sufficient." The droid stuck out a hand, first towards Cinder and then towards Fell, as if to test if they would hand one over. He drew it back when they did not oblige. "Otherwise, you must bring one from elsewhere. Lord Durgulla the Exalted simply wants one for his private collection. It would make an exquisite addition to his gallery, and guests would love to see such a device."
"Fine, we'll bring him both," Fell said. He waved his hand and turned around. Cinder grabbed him by the arm and gave him a stare of disbelief.
"Have you gone mad?" she said, keeping her voice hushed. She looked up at the droid and sighed. "We have more questions."
The Hutt muttered something amidst a spray of spittle. "The Lord Durgulla will take no more questions today," the droid said. "He does ask that you return with the items requested, or not at all. Jedi are bad for business, and he would sooner have you off Nar Shaddaa to maintain the peace."
"As you say," Cinder said as she began to usher Fell out.
Fell turned around and shouted back at the Hutt. "Next time we're here, there'll be a Mando's head at your feet!"
The two of them did not speak until they had made it back to The Ashen One. Cinder climbed up into the ship well ahead of him. She was waiting in the cargo hold by the time Fell got up the ramp. Her initial backhand caught him across the cheek, but he caught the second and grabbed her hand before it made contact.
"Let go of me, you damned fool," she said. He saw it now. She was crying. "Do you understand the gravity of what you've done?"
"Why would I not?" He let go of her and watched her fist curl, as if she were about to punch him. "It's the only way to free our man."
"I would sooner slaughter every degenerate in that bordello before accepting a bargain to which I did not even know the terms." Cinder began to pace, breathing deeply. "Did he even give you any terms? There were none that I heard." She groaned. "He had our attention divided, you even knew this, I felt it in your thoughts. Were there terms?"
Fell sighed. "No, just what was said. Bring him the head of Mandalore and a lightsaber."
Cinder threw her head back and sighed. Her hair fell loose from its clasp and began to tumble down like a golden wave. "This leads us to not one, but two questions, boy. There are several Mandalorian clans operating in the galaxy. Where do we find the one this specific Mandalore is leading? If they are currently rampaging across the galaxy, we have no lead." She approached Fell and clapped both her hands on his shoulders. The look in her eyes told him she really wanted to pop his head like a grape, so he did not answer her.
"And the second," she continued, biting her lip, "is how in the seven names of Hell do we kill Mandalore and bring back his head? The leader of the clans is not just some dandy in a fancy suit of armor. He's a seasoned warrior who sits on a throne of corpses. And you, my naive, stupid apprentice, think to challenge him and claim his head? Who trained you? Certainly it was not me."
Fell opened his mouth to reply, but Cinder cupped a hand around it. He felt her fingernails dig into his skin and the welts of blood that bubbled underneath.
"Finally, we do not even know if the Hutt spoke true," she said through gritted teeth. "We did not have a translator droid to accompany us. HK-47 is senile and borderline sentient, yes. But it is only because of this petty, childish fighting between the two of you that he would not accompany us."
Her face twitched in anger, then she raised a hand and began to curl the fingers. Fell began to feel a slight tightness closing in around his throat. But it was over before it began. He heard Cinder sigh, choke back tears, and watched her as her arm fell to her side.
"Go make up with that damned droid, you fool." She did not even look at him, and that wounded him more than anything else. "I will see if I can get us out of this mess you've made."
She sniffled and walked towards the cargo ramp. Without a word, she let it lower and slipped back out into the city streets.
Fell made his way over to the cockpit, where HK-47 sat stiff in the pilot's chair. He thought the droid was inactive. When he stuck a finger out to poke it, the droid closed a fist around Fell's wrist and was about to snap it.
"Don't do it," Fell said. He had had enough. "Let me go, droid. I want to speak to you."
HK-47 stared up at him. If the droid were human, it would have raised its eyebrows. "Query: State your piece, meatbag. I fear we have little to discuss."
Fell slumped down in the copilot's chair. He breathed deep. "I've done wrong by you, for no good reason. Out of a childish contempt for machines, I believe." He stammered at first, struggling to find the words. "I'll focus on treating you with the respect and dignity you deserve." He had always hated machines. A lifelong fear had been instilled on Ord Mantell by roving pirates and their assassin droids. It had evolved into contempt as life went on.
"Repudiation: Fleshy meatbag, you of all people should be aware that respect is not doled out on a whim." HK-47 looked over at his rifle, which was slumped against a wall panel. "Resignation: Despite this, I accept your apology. Confession: I must also admit, I came at you much too harshly earlier today. For some strange reason, my master is fond of you. It would not do for me to kill you, as it would make her very upset."
"I understand," Fell said, bobbing his head in agreement. "She did ask me to kill her, you know."
"Refutation: Even if she did, I could not allow that. I am programmed to prevent the death of my master at all costs."
"How has that gone for you?" Fell said. It came out much sharper than he intended, and he followed with an apology.
"Confession: I admit, it has gone rather poorly. Most of my masters have died, and for almost two thousand years I have sat inactive, in a form of what you organics describe as 'penance'. Explanation: I am programmed to immediately deactivate in the event of my master's demise, you see. Conjecture: In the interest of my own self-preservation, I must ensure that my current master survives as long as possible."
The droid did not move, but his glowing red eyes bored deep into Fell's soul. It was unnerving, to say the least. "Admission: I have no wish to spend another thousand years in stasis. I am ancient by your meatbag standards of time, and I do not wish to squander another millennium of killing. You may mistake this for attachment. You may even call this 'love' - bah. Confession: Yes, I do admire the master. She reminds me much of my creator: willful, headstrong, brazen, yet cunning, well-versed in strategy, and surprisingly adaptive and resilient for a meatbag.
"Confession: Yet, when I listen closely in the dead of night, sometimes I hear her do that pitiful thing that all organics do. Crying. She might be able to hide it from you, but a droid never sleeps. Commentary: It presents me with a moral quandary, you see. One that I absolutely detest. My dastardly protocol instincts kick in, and I wish, abominably, to go to her and provide protection."
"I have heard no such thing," Fell said. Cinder? Cry? Today was the first time he had seen her shed tears, and those were from frustration, not sadness.
"Mockery: Oh, I know what you are going to say." There was a buzz and then he spoke back to Fell in his own voice. "'But you're an assassin droid? Shouldn't you be incapable of feelings?'
"Answer." HK-47's voice returned to its normal monotone cadence, "Yes, I should be, but I was reprogrammed by the master upon my reawakening. Clarification: A large portion of my misanthropy was cut out, my personality permanently, and regrettably, altered from its original state." HK-47 raised his arms and approximated a shrug. "Conjecture: Perhaps, as I do, she acts in the interest of her self-preservation. A protector against a potential foe."
"Against me?" Fell said. He began to wonder if he could beat the droid in real combat. Machines aged true enough, but had the years taken any meaningful toll on this one? "Or is she protecting herself against you?"
"Answer: I cannot say for certain. The Sith are wont to kill each other. Malak tried to kill Revan, Revan killed Malak, and the cycle has repeated for several thousand years. Query: Why would you two be any different?" The droid paused and then seemed to scan Fell up and down, head to toe. "Challenge: When your time comes, Nico, you will have to go through me."
Fell jumped to his feet and drew his lightsaber. The silver blade beamed out towards the droid, who looked up at it as if he had seen a thousand others like it. "How do you know that name?"
The droid crossed his hands and set them in his lap. The red of his photoreceptors smudged into the light of the silver blade until it was pink. "Rejoinder: I have already told you. I hear her cry."