Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi V: Allies Page 16

  “Shohta?”

  “Yes, mistress?”

  “Your first job as my … my slave,” and she stumbled over the word, “will be to appear on cam with me. For a holovid newscast.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never performed,” he said, shifting his feet and looking nervously. “I’m more of a personal attendant rather than a theatrical performer, although many of my people are known for their thespian skills.”

  “You’ll come on the newscast with me,” Madhi repeated, “and you’ll just answer whatever questions I ask you. It won’t be difficult.”

  He bowed, deeply, elegantly. “As my mistress commands, I will obey.”

  “I wish all the subjects I interviewed were as cooperative,” Madhi quipped automatically, then sobered. “No. No, I don’t.”

  “Eleven minutes,” said the cam operator.

  Madhi waved at Shohta. “Come on, follow me.”

  Seven minutes later, just as dawn was coming, they were several meters away from the watering hole. Krain had positioned the shot strategically, so that it caught some of the establishment without actually including the name. Neither would they mention it. Nothing that had happened inside was illegal, at least not on Vinsoth, and both Tyl and Madhi had been around long enough to know one only riled someone when necessary for the story. And it wasn’t necessary this time.

  Madhi stood with her microphone, looking as fresh as if she hadn’t knocked back nearly a liter of highly alcoholic Twi’lek liquor less than a half hour ago. Shohta stood off to the side, looking poised but uncomfortable. He brushed nervously at his robe.

  “And go,” Krain said.

  “I’m standing here in front of an intoxicant establishment in the capital city of Umalor on Vinsoth,” said Madhi. “The dawn is breaking for this city, but there is still not much light being shone on the institution of slavery that has continued without change for thousands of years on this planet, where the Chevs have enslaved the Chevins. Some would argue that it’s a very civilized arrangement. That the Chevins are well taken care of, that their culture is respected and allowed to flourish.”

  Madhi’s gaze grew intense. She made no effort to stifle her feelings. “Honest reporting compels me to admit that most Chevins are indeed well treated. Indeed, their lives might be easier than those of many free beings elsewhere. But they are not free beings. They are property, they are owned, and they can be bought and sold … even submitted as bets in a card game.

  “In fact,” she continued, “I myself was involved in a game of chance just an hour or so ago. And I’d like you to meet what was offered as currency.”

  Shohta moved hesitantly into the cam range, glancing uneasily back and forth between the cam operator and Madhi. She smiled up at him briefly, then returned her intense gaze to the audience she always envisioned as gazing back at her on the other side of the lens.

  “We know the clichés of what happens when someone doesn’t have money in a game of chance. Jewelry gets put on the table. Sometimes deeds to property. Shohta is property, and now, according to all the laws of this planet, he belongs to me just like my jacket does. Shohta,” she said, turning to him, “You spoke very eloquently earlier of all that you had to offer me as a slave. Can you share that with the viewing audience?”

  “Of course, mistress,” he said promptly, looking relieved. This was something he was comfortable with, even proud of. “My name is, as you know, Shohta Laar. I am trained to be a personal attendant. I cook, clean, manage personal affairs such as errands and schedules, and conduct interviews of other slaves you might desire to purchase, among other things.”

  “I see,” Madhi said. “And you said earlier you had a pedigree? Can you tell me more about it?”

  “This marks me as a descendant of one of the most sought-after slave families,” Shohta said, lifting an arm to show a welded-on bracelet. It was beautiful, as such things went. “I can date my lineage back several dozen generations. The Laar line is a pure-blooded one.”

  “Good breeding,” Madhi said.

  “Very,” Shohta said.

  “And you think I’ll be happy with how you serve me?”

  “I do hope so, mistress.”

  “And what could I do to you, if I was unhappy? Legally?” Madhi watched him intently, and Shohta began to squirm, ever so slightly.

  “I—well, you own me. You could do anything you wish.”

  “I could beat you? Starve you? Whip you in public?”

  “Not in public. Behind closed doors, yes.”

  Madhi was relentless. “I could, if I owned your children, beat them in order to punish you?”

  “Yes, you could.”

  Madhi’s eyes bored into his. “I could … kill you? Force you to be … involved with me?”

  The slave was clearly uncomfortable now, but he squared his shoulders and answered the question. “Anything you wished. I am yours to deal with as you see fit.”

  “Anything I wished,” Madhi repeated. “Because I had good luck in a game of chance, I now have a living, breathing, thinking, feeling being that I could do all manner of things to just because I wanted to.” She regarded him for a moment more, then turned back to the cam. She could feel the heat of indignation in her face, and hoped it came through despite the makeup.

  “This is the ugly reality of slavery. Oh, the Chevins let the Chevs paint, let them perform their traditional plays, so they can make money off the paintings and performances. They are overall decent to their slaves—because you don’t damage valuable property. Maybe the Chevs are lucky. But they’re only as lucky as the people who own them decide they are. What if Shohta here isn’t lucky?”

  She turned back to him. Shohta’s eyes widened, but he stood still. He was, Madhi mused with a pang, a very well-trained slave indeed.

  “Well, I am going to do whatever I want with you, Shohta. And do you know what that is?”

  He licked lips that had gone slightly dry. “No, mistress. Please tell me, that I may obey.”

  “I’m going to free you.”

  His jaw did not quite drop, but his eyes widened even further.

  “Do you want to be freed?” This was the moment, and she knew it. If Shohta said no, he was happy being a slave, then this whole thing would have backfired. She’d have to scrap the whole segment and start over, and the most important thing to her—the wants and needs of those who were the actual slaves—would mean nothing.

  For a long time, he didn’t speak. Then he looked her in the eye.

  “A kindly mistress is still a mistress, and a comfortable cage still confines,” he said, quietly. “Yes. Yes, I wish to be free.”

  Madhi blinked rapidly. Her voice, when she turned back to the cam, was quite unprofessionally thick.

  “Then consider it done,” she said. “And later today, when businesses are open I will make it formal. I’ll be hiring you as a member of my staff, if you would like. Otherwise, you are free to go wherever you wish.”

  “I think … I would like to be … employed by you,” he said, turning over the phrase on his tongue with not a little awe. He bowed, deeply, as he had been doing all his life. But when he straightened, there was a new expression on his face. One of pride, of confidence, of gratitude that had nothing to do with subservience. Madhi couldn’t help but smile.

  She was sure that on the next world they went to, the Freedom Flight would decide to make actual physical contact. And Shohta Laar would be right beside her when they did.

  SOLO SAFE HOUSE, CORUSCANT

  THREEPIO WAS ACTING WEIRD.

  Allana did not think it was a malfunction, but he was definitely behaving in an unusual manner. Over the last couple of days, he had seemed both more pleased and more annoyed than usual. Threepio was always a little annoyed about something, or else he didn’t seem to be able to be happy. That puzzled Allana, but she had encountered living beings who were the same way, so she simply filed away this insight into the droid’s personality without further worry.

  But
recently, the golden protocol droid didn’t seem to be annoyed with anyone else. He seemed to be annoyed with himself, and that, Allana knew, was most definitely unusual behavior.

  With Anji padding along on silent paws at her side, she’d begun observing Threepio. Someone else might have called it “snooping,” but Allana knew it was simply observing and gathering information. Someone might have tampered with his programming. Or he might need adjusting. But she was able to admit that the main reason she was observing and gathering information was that she was bored. She’d had such an exciting time on Dathomir, even with the dangers she’d faced, that to come home, even with Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Jaina, seemed terribly dull in comparison. Too, while she understood the need for these temporary rental lodgings, she missed the familiar comforts of the Solos’ real apartments.

  Grandpa had found her pouting over her lessons just the other day and when she had explained this to him, he’d nodded to her.

  “Know just what you mean, kid. But even the best of ships need downtime for repairs.”

  “I’m not hurt or in need of repairs,” Allana had said.

  “No, not physically. But sometimes you need time to kick back and take a breath before plunging into things again,” he’d said.

  “You don’t seem to.”

  He’d grinned, that grin that always seemed to provoke an answering smile and a sort of softness on her grandmother’s face.

  “Yeah, well, you gotta remember, I got a couple of years on you.” He’d tweaked her nose and she giggled. “I firmly believe that by the time you’re my age, you’ll have seen and done so much you’ll find even all the excitement we had on Dathomir to be boring. But for right now, I think a little quiet time is good for little girls.”

  “Grandpa, I just turned eight!”

  A strange look flitted across his face, and she felt a little pang from him in the Force. “That may be, but you’ll always be my little girl.”

  Allana thought she understood. “Just like Jaina will be, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “And … like Jysella is to Mirax and Corran. Even though she is a brave and experienced Jedi Knight.”

  The sorrow increased, and Anji fidgeted, agitated by the emotion. The little nexu’s ears flattened slightly and her spines rose.

  “Grandpa,” Allana said patiently, “We’ve been over this. You can’t feel bad. It upsets Anji.”

  Han grinned again and pulled Allana into his lap, snuggling her tight. She laughed, and she felt his mood lighten as well, the sadness giving way to profound love. “Okay, how’s this then. You don’t get mad at me when you’re all grown up and able to toss me around with the Force, and I still call you my little girl.”

  She laughed happily. “You got a deal, Grandpa.”

  But her grandfather wasn’t always there to be a silly distraction for her, and besides, Threepio’s strange behavior was ever so much more interesting than this whole “breath-taking” thing Han had told her about.

  She would overhear the droid talking to himself, or sometimes to Artoo. He would say things like, “Goodness, I should request an upgrade, this is taking far too long!” or “Such a relief to be doing what I was designed to,” or “Oh dear, oh dear, perhaps a newer model would serve the Solos better. I am positively decrepit and tragically outdated.”

  That, he never said to Artoo.

  Now she saw him glancing around, his photoreceptors taking in everything. She ducked back behind the wall before he turned in her direction. Anji looked up at her, and Allana put her finger to her mouth. The cub did not make a sound. Twice a week, Allana and Anji worked with a professional nexu trainer. The animals could be trained as hunting companions or guard animals, and with four eyes, responded very well to visual signals. In order to keep her beloved companion with her on her prowling, Allana had quickly trained Anji to respond to the nearly universal signal for silence.

  She listened until she heard the clanking, whirring sound of Threepio walking away into the study. Allana felt a little pang of disappointment. It looked like Threepio was about to do nothing more dramatic than relay a message for her grandparents.

  Still, that could be interesting, too. She moved through and leaned up against the wall of the study, listening. It was probably going to be boring.

  And then she heard her uncle’s voice. “Threepio! It’s good to see you.”

  Luke?

  “Master Luke, sir! I, too, am very pleased. I am delighted to report that I was able to do as you requested.”

  Requested? Wasn’t that the same as “help”? And wasn’t Grandma Leia not supposed to be helping Luke? But they’d gone to Dathomir … Allana was so confused.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “I can tell it to you now, if you’d like.” Allana’s eyes grew wide.

  “Actually,” Uncle Luke was saying, “could you just transmit it to me? I want to be able to listen to it more than once, and at a time and place of my own choosing.”

  “Ah! I quite understand, given the clandestine nature of this information.”

  Clandestine was a big word, but Allana knew it. This was just getting better and better. Allana was both excited and worried. She didn’t want anyone getting into trouble—not Luke, not Grandma, not anybody. But at the same time she needed to know exactly what was going on.

  “I dislike eavesdropping,” Luke continued, “but when you have Sith on your ship, well, I dislike not knowing what they’re planning even more.”

  “Indeed, Master Luke. You working with the Sith! Who would ever have thought it! It is a unique situation, and may I say that it is one which I had never anticipated encountering.”

  Allana’s eyes grew as big as the saucers that held their evening hot chocolate. That couldn’t be right. Her Uncle Luke Skywalker would never work with the Sith!

  “Well, you’re not exactly encountering them, Threepio. I hope you’re able to stay well out of it.”

  “I share that hope ardently, Master Luke. I feel like I need a nice hot oil bath after translating such an unpleasant conversation.”

  So it was true. A wave of fear and confusion rushed over Allana. Anji lifted her head and hissed, her spines raised, agitated by Allana’s emotions. Allana winced and grabbed Anji, trying to calm her, but the cub was still young and imperfectly trained, and when Allana’s hands closed on her too hard, she yowled and struggled to free herself. Allana released her, and the cub scooted off a distance, fleeing on too-large feet, before sliding to a halt and turning around, mewing pathetically for her master.

  “Oh! Who’s there! Mistress Allana!” Threepio hastened to the doorway. Allana made no attempt to hide herself. She stared up at Threepio, a mixture of emotions warring within her. She could see past him into the room, where a small hologram of Luke Skywalker stood on the desk.

  “Threepio?” the miniature Luke was saying. “What’s wrong? Allana?”

  “What are you doing here?” Threepio scolded.

  “I might ask the same question of you,” Alanna retored. “Both of you.”

  “It goes against the polite conventions of eighty-seven-point-four percent of known cultures to listen to a conversation not intended for one’s aural receivers,” Threepio continued indignantly.

  Allana ignored him, marching up to the hologram of Luke. She was crying, and that upset her because she didn’t want to cry; she wanted to be calm and in control like her mother and grandmother would have been. She wanted to ask proper questions.

  Instead, what burst out of her was a sobbing, “Uncle Luke, why? Why have you gone over to the Sith?”

  Luke’s face, barely a centimeter high, softened with compassion. “Oh, honey, it’s not what you think. I’ve not gone over to the dark side. I promise you.”

  “Then why?” The cry was anguished. “What are you doing even talking to them? Why is Threepio sneaking around to talk to you?”

  “It’s very complicated,” Luke said. “Threepio, you still there?”

  �
�Indeed, Master Luke.”

  “Go get Han and Leia. I think they need to explain everything to Allana.”

  “Of course.” The droid sounded relieved to have an excuse to leave. “I’ll go fetch them immediately.” Servos whirring, he hastened out of the room.

  Allana almost staggered, gripping the back of a sofa for support. “Grandma and Grandpa know about this?”

  “Well, some of it,” Luke said, and smiled a little. “I hadn’t … exactly asked permission to use Threepio to help me translate the Keshiri language. That’s what the Sith I’m working with speak. It would have put your grandparents in an awkward position. So I just went directly to Threepio.”

  Allana knuckled at her eyes, trying to make sense of all this. “I know about spies,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Is … is that what you are doing? What you asked Threepio to help you with?”

  “Sort of like that,” Luke said.

  “So … two of them, right?”

  “Actually, a whole lot more,” Luke said. “It seems that there is a whole planet of Sith out there.”

  Before Allana could actually fall from shock, a pair of strong arms went around her and lifted her off the ground and into a bear hug. Allana struggled at first. She was still confused, and angry, but after a second or two when it became clear that Han’s stubbornness—and strong arms—weren’t going to release her immediately, she relaxed into it. Her arms went around his neck and she placed her soft cheek next to his scratchy one. He held her for a long minute, then set her down. Leia was kneeling, and Allana hugged her tightly as well for a long moment. Leia drew back, touched the girl’s cheek reassuringly, then rose, holding Allana’s small hand tightly in hers as she turned to face her brother. Artoo had followed them into the room and had come to a halt beside Threepio. He tweedled curiously at his humanoid-shaped counterpart, but Threepio waved a hand in a not-now gesture.

  “Threepio said you needed to talk to us, that Allana was upset.”

  “I’m afraid I was borrowing Threepio’s fluency with six million languages to have him translate a Keshiri conversation,” Luke explained.