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Description

I’ve been wanting to experiment with some longer pieces of writing, so here’s Part One of a new series which I’ll be posting over the next few days...

Part II here: www.deviantart.com/kydnio12/ar…

Salta is an OC and previously appeared here: www.deviantart.com/kydnio12/ar…

Artwork created from various Star Wars & DC comics

The Smuggler Queen’s Bounty

PT I – The Bounty Posted

‘A bounty,’ said Salta Drarn, standing on the bridge of her luxurious ship. A fleet of haulage freighters hung in space before her wide viewing windows. ‘A generous bounty for the slug’s head – that should solve our problem.'

Rakk, the head of the Drarn Consortium’s security operations, hesitated.

‘The Hutts have a lot of sway on the Outer Rim,’ he said. ‘Maybe negotiating -’

‘Negotiate?’ Salta scoffed. ‘The Drarn Consortium is the largest smuggling operation in the galaxy: we don’t negotiate with Outer Rim hoodlums. If the slug won’t compromise he’ll pay the price.’

‘It may be difficult,’ said Rakk. Salta turned to him, a flicker of irritation crossing her lovely face. She was as tall as he was, her statuesque figure straight and proud, every inch the Smuggler Queen. The nickname suited her - her dark hair was cut short like the spacer she was, but the elegant gown she wore was more attuned to the high society of Coruscant, where she spent much of her time managing the expansion of the Consortium and its legitimate fronts into the Outer Rim.

Despite her youth, Salta was one of the most successful shipping magnates in the Core, having turned her mid-level family shipping concern into a galaxy-spanning behomoth by the age of twenty-nine. She was no longer used to subordinates questioning her judgement.

‘Then offer more money,’ she said. ‘A million credits. It’s worth it to end the delay on our spice shipments.’

Her red lips twitched into a smile.

‘Besides,’ she said. ‘It’ll remind the other scum what happens to those who cross us.’

*

Jabba the Hutt took a long draw on his hookah pipe and breathed thick-scented smoke into the foggy atmosphere of his yacht.

‘This inner-core smuggler,’ he said. ‘The one who calls herself the ‘Smuggler Queen’. What’s her name again?’

‘Salta Drarn,’ said the majordomo, though they both knew that Jabba was quite aware of the name. ‘She’s led the Drarn Consortium these past few years, and -’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Jabba. ‘And the bounty was for a million credits?’

‘Aye,’ said the majordomo. The old slug took a another puff of spiced smoke.

‘I suppose I should be flattered,’ he said. ‘But in truth, it seems rather low.’

He waved a flabby hand at the subordinates who clustered around the bridge. ‘All right. Bring it here.’

A group of green Nikto henchmen approached his repulsor-sled, bearing between them a large crate which they placed carefully before their master. He nodded assent, and the flunkies broke the seals upon the box and flung it open. Thick steam rose from within, and the Nikto wrinkled their snouts at the acrid smell. The contents of the box had been lying sedated, but the reaction of the gas with the oxygen aboard the yacht would be sufficient to wake them. Jabba nodded, and his men upended the box – and Salta Drarn tumbled onto the deck before her bounty.

She sprawled there for a moment, moaning faintly. Jabba watched impassively, though his heavy lids flickered a moment with appreciation as he noted his captive’s torn gown and long, slender legs.

‘Give Rakk my compliments,’ he said. ‘Tell him he’s chosen wisely.’

The majordomo nodded as Salta, groaning, rose to her knees. Her gown was disarayed, barely containing the abundence of her firm figure. Jabba took a slow, deliberate draw on his pipe.

Salta blinked at the smokey bridge, her hazel eyes uncomprehending for a moment. Then they lighted upon the unmistakeable bulk of Jabba the Hutt, looming over her like some predatory beast, his dark eyes gleaming with ill-intent. Her breath caught a moment in her throat. But she wasn’t called the Smuggler Queen for nothing – a moment later and she was standing at her full height on the deck before him, glaring around the room with angry eyes.

‘My dear Salta,’ Jabba drawled. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Of course, I’ve heard a great deal -’

‘Drop the act,’ Salta snapped. ‘I’m here because of treachery. No other reason than that.’

Jabba chuckled.

‘Your airs and graces are slipping,’ he observed. ‘No matter. I have plans for you,’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Salta, icily. ‘Let me pre-empt them. I’ll ransom myself. The sum of the bounty is yours, for my freedom.

Jabba sucked on his hookah as though considering. And then -

‘No,’ he said. Salta shook her head. She should have expected this. There was always haggling on the Outer Rim.

‘The figure is generous,’ she said.

‘I’m sure all your figures are,’ said the Hutt, with a chuckle, his swampy eyes rolling over Salta’s torn gown. Salta suddenly felt a cold stab of fear beyond her anger. She suppressed it.

‘I won’t waste time bargaining,’ she said. ‘Name your price and I’ll meet it. You know I can.’

‘There will be no price,’ said Jabba. ‘I’ve no intention of ransoming you.’

Salta stared a moment. The fear rose within her. She forced it down.

‘I won’t beg for my life,’ she told him, throwing back her head. ‘You won’t have the satisfaction. You’ve not earned this victory.’

‘Such fine words!’ said Jabba, his tone mocking. ‘But again you misunderstand. I’ve no intention of taking your life, my dear – not until I’m done with it.’

‘You talk in riddles,’ Salta snapped. ‘What do you want?’

Jabba snapped his fingers. A flunky emerged from the shadows bearing a length of rusty iron chain. Salta looked at it in confusion.

‘What,’ she began, and then remembered something of the lurid rumours she’d heard about her captor. There was an object on the end of the chain – a hinged circlet, hanging open. Almost like a collar. But it couldn’t be -

‘Jabba -’ she began.

‘Silence,’ said the slug. His tone was suddenly sharp, and despite herself Salta felt almost compelled to obey. Horror welled in her belly as the cruel swampy eyes met hers.

‘A slave speaks when spoken to,’ said Jabba, taking the leash. He motioned. The guards seized Salta and tore her gown away. She was too stunned to resist – not that she would have stood a chance.

‘You’ll regret this,’ she said, crossing her arms across her exposed breasts. Jabba chuckled, and licked his lips as the guards pushed his naked captive towards him.

‘I’m sure,’ he said.

The collar snapped shut around her neck. It was icy cold against her bare skin. For a moment she reeled with the horror of it – she was on a leash! Her gaze rose helplessly to the huge mountain of pustulance holding the other end – and then she turned to the assembled chuckling courtiers.

‘The bounty!’ she cried. ‘I’ll pay the whole bounty to whoever frees me -’

The chain went taut; sharp pain shot through her neck as she was brought stumbling to the foot of the repulsor sled.

‘I told you not to speak, slave,’ said the slug, sternly. ‘Next time you disobey I’ll have you beaten.’

He paused a moment, as if daring her to test him. She gazed up at him in horrorified silence, and his huge mouth split into a cruel smile.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘And remember – from now on you call me Master.’

Description

I’ve been wanting to experiment with some longer pieces of writing, so here’s Part One of a new series which I’ll be posting over the next few days...

Part II here: www.deviantart.com/kydnio12/ar…

Salta is an OC and previously appeared here: www.deviantart.com/kydnio12/ar…

Artwork created from various Star Wars & DC comics

The Smuggler Queen’s Bounty

PT I – The Bounty Posted

‘A bounty,’ said Salta Drarn, standing on the bridge of her luxurious ship. A fleet of haulage freighters hung in space before her wide viewing windows. ‘A generous bounty for the slug’s head – that should solve our problem.'

Rakk, the head of the Drarn Consortium’s security operations, hesitated.

‘The Hutts have a lot of sway on the Outer Rim,’ he said. ‘Maybe negotiating -’

‘Negotiate?’ Salta scoffed. ‘The Drarn Consortium is the largest smuggling operation in the galaxy: we don’t negotiate with Outer Rim hoodlums. If the slug won’t compromise he’ll pay the price.’

‘It may be difficult,’ said Rakk. Salta turned to him, a flicker of irritation crossing her lovely face. She was as tall as he was, her statuesque figure straight and proud, every inch the Smuggler Queen. The nickname suited her - her dark hair was cut short like the spacer she was, but the elegant gown she wore was more attuned to the high society of Coruscant, where she spent much of her time managing the expansion of the Consortium and its legitimate fronts into the Outer Rim.

Despite her youth, Salta was one of the most successful shipping magnates in the Core, having turned her mid-level family shipping concern into a galaxy-spanning behomoth by the age of twenty-nine. She was no longer used to subordinates questioning her judgement.

‘Then offer more money,’ she said. ‘A million credits. It’s worth it to end the delay on our spice shipments.’

Her red lips twitched into a smile.

‘Besides,’ she said. ‘It’ll remind the other scum what happens to those who cross us.’

*

Jabba the Hutt took a long draw on his hookah pipe and breathed thick-scented smoke into the foggy atmosphere of his yacht.

‘This inner-core smuggler,’ he said. ‘The one who calls herself the ‘Smuggler Queen’. What’s her name again?’

‘Salta Drarn,’ said the majordomo, though they both knew that Jabba was quite aware of the name. ‘She’s led the Drarn Consortium these past few years, and -’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Jabba. ‘And the bounty was for a million credits?’

‘Aye,’ said the majordomo. The old slug took a another puff of spiced smoke.

‘I suppose I should be flattered,’ he said. ‘But in truth, it seems rather low.’

He waved a flabby hand at the subordinates who clustered around the bridge. ‘All right. Bring it here.’

A group of green Nikto henchmen approached his repulsor-sled, bearing between them a large crate which they placed carefully before their master. He nodded assent, and the flunkies broke the seals upon the box and flung it open. Thick steam rose from within, and the Nikto wrinkled their snouts at the acrid smell. The contents of the box had been lying sedated, but the reaction of the gas with the oxygen aboard the yacht would be sufficient to wake them. Jabba nodded, and his men upended the box – and Salta Drarn tumbled onto the deck before her bounty.

She sprawled there for a moment, moaning faintly. Jabba watched impassively, though his heavy lids flickered a moment with appreciation as he noted his captive’s torn gown and long, slender legs.

‘Give Rakk my compliments,’ he said. ‘Tell him he’s chosen wisely.’

The majordomo nodded as Salta, groaning, rose to her knees. Her gown was disarayed, barely containing the abundence of her firm figure. Jabba took a slow, deliberate draw on his pipe.

Salta blinked at the smokey bridge, her hazel eyes uncomprehending for a moment. Then they lighted upon the unmistakeable bulk of Jabba the Hutt, looming over her like some predatory beast, his dark eyes gleaming with ill-intent. Her breath caught a moment in her throat. But she wasn’t called the Smuggler Queen for nothing – a moment later and she was standing at her full height on the deck before him, glaring around the room with angry eyes.

‘My dear Salta,’ Jabba drawled. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Of course, I’ve heard a great deal -’

‘Drop the act,’ Salta snapped. ‘I’m here because of treachery. No other reason than that.’

Jabba chuckled.

‘Your airs and graces are slipping,’ he observed. ‘No matter. I have plans for you,’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Salta, icily. ‘Let me pre-empt them. I’ll ransom myself. The sum of the bounty is yours, for my freedom.

Jabba sucked on his hookah as though considering. And then -

‘No,’ he said. Salta shook her head. She should have expected this. There was always haggling on the Outer Rim.

‘The figure is generous,’ she said.

‘I’m sure all your figures are,’ said the Hutt, with a chuckle, his swampy eyes rolling over Salta’s torn gown. Salta suddenly felt a cold stab of fear beyond her anger. She suppressed it.

‘I won’t waste time bargaining,’ she said. ‘Name your price and I’ll meet it. You know I can.’

‘There will be no price,’ said Jabba. ‘I’ve no intention of ransoming you.’

Salta stared a moment. The fear rose within her. She forced it down.

‘I won’t beg for my life,’ she told him, throwing back her head. ‘You won’t have the satisfaction. You’ve not earned this victory.’

‘Such fine words!’ said Jabba, his tone mocking. ‘But again you misunderstand. I’ve no intention of taking your life, my dear – not until I’m done with it.’

‘You talk in riddles,’ Salta snapped. ‘What do you want?’

Jabba snapped his fingers. A flunky emerged from the shadows bearing a length of rusty iron chain. Salta looked at it in confusion.

‘What,’ she began, and then remembered something of the lurid rumours she’d heard about her captor. There was an object on the end of the chain – a hinged circlet, hanging open. Almost like a collar. But it couldn’t be -

‘Jabba -’ she began.

‘Silence,’ said the slug. His tone was suddenly sharp, and despite herself Salta felt almost compelled to obey. Horror welled in her belly as the cruel swampy eyes met hers.

‘A slave speaks when spoken to,’ said Jabba, taking the leash. He motioned. The guards seized Salta and tore her gown away. She was too stunned to resist – not that she would have stood a chance.

‘You’ll regret this,’ she said, crossing her arms across her exposed breasts. Jabba chuckled, and licked his lips as the guards pushed his naked captive towards him.

‘I’m sure,’ he said.

The collar snapped shut around her neck. It was icy cold against her bare skin. For a moment she reeled with the horror of it – she was on a leash! Her gaze rose helplessly to the huge mountain of pustulance holding the other end – and then she turned to the assembled chuckling courtiers.

‘The bounty!’ she cried. ‘I’ll pay the whole bounty to whoever frees me -’

The chain went taut; sharp pain shot through her neck as she was brought stumbling to the foot of the repulsor sled.

‘I told you not to speak, slave,’ said the slug, sternly. ‘Next time you disobey I’ll have you beaten.’

He paused a moment, as if daring her to test him. She gazed up at him in horrorified silence, and his huge mouth split into a cruel smile.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘And remember – from now on you call me Master.’