STAR WARS: LEGACY

VIOLENT NEGOTIATIONS: chapter one

This story takes place one year before EPISODE V.

Sand and dust whipped up in the air as the X-wing starfighter descended onto the harsh ground. The landing struts extended from compartments on the ships underbelly and touched the ground with a crunch and a crackle - the ground was so baked by the oppressive sun. In a compartment just behind the cockpit, an Astromech pipped and beeped. The droid was white with a domed, silver head and had blue panels placed on its chest and around the bottom of it's head. Honestly, he would resemble a wheelie bin if not for the two legs that stretched from either side (and one that extended from the bottom) of his main body.

The droid's name was R2-D2.

In reply to the beeping, the pilot replied: "I know Artoo, we're home."

The pilot clambered out of the cockpit and stood on the front of his starfighter. From here, he could see further than he could on the ground - five feet below. Three or four miles away was a city patrolled by Imperial stormtroopers : Mos Eisley. In the distance, a large extravagant palace stood, consisting of multiple domed buildings and garages. That was the pilot's destination. He removed his helmet to reveal slightly ovegrown, blonde hair and boyish good looks. He was wearing a yellow jacket and brown pants. At his belt hung a blaster and an exotic, ancient weapon: a Lightsaber.

His name was Luke Skywalker.

"We're back on Tatooine."

Whether Tatooine was ever a pleasant planet was debatable, but there was no doubt that it had festered in its unpleasantness since the fall of the Republic. Shops and banks collapsed, poverty abounded. Even the previously booming Podracing business had plummeted. If you wanted success on Tatooine, there was only one employer you could turn to: Jabba the Hutt.

Unfortunately, the business Jabba dealt in was not one that served respectable clientele. Everyday, you would be dealing with the scum of the underworld - making alliances, trading weapons, organising back street deals of Gliterstim. Jabba was, without a doubt, one of the smartest, most powerful and most dangerous gangsters in the whole galaxy.

He also had the appearance of a giant green slug.

Slime slopped down his fat sides and drool made its way down his wide chin. His eyes were red and bloated from substance abuse. Roles of fat tripped over each as they made their way down his chest. A ten tone tail trailed behind him instead of legs; the underside of which was very sensitive and therefore he paid for the best rugs to cover the floors of his palace. All of this was finished by a pair of chubby green arms disproportionately small compared to the rest of his body. In conclusion, he was a fat, mess of a Hutt but one with enough money and power to change the outcome of wars.

But Luke Skywalker only wanted Jabba's drugs.

Medicine, to be specific. Reports stated that one of Jabba's Palace's lower rooms was stuffed to the brim with huge caskets of Bacta. The medicine would help save the lives of a thousand rebels - allowing them to fight another day. It would provide invaluable help in the war effort if allowed to be transfered to the rebel's base on Hoth. But Luke doubted Jabba would allow that.

He'd grown up on Tatooine. His aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had raised him, taken him through his childhood years. And then the harsh sand had eroded away that child and given birth to a young man. That is what Tatooine had done for him. Anything else was owed to Ben Kenobi.

However, if all the years he had spent in the desert sun had taught him one thing, it was that Jabba the Hutt bargained with no one. He did not negotiate, he did not cooperate. The morbidly obese and morbidly greedy slug got what he wanted. Always.