Marlow: Smuggler in Jabba's Employ

“There ain't but one or two places in the galaxy more fun than Jabba's," the old smuggler said as the small party of men trudged up the path toward Jabba's weather worn palace. "Sure, the booze tastes like that nasty homebrew Jarvas makes from our engines and the rooms ain't exactly the Grand Imperial, but you'll never have a better time between jobs than here."

To Marlow, the youngest of the three smugglers, Jabba's Palace was sounding less appealing by the minute – not that he could back out now. At 23 Standard Years old, Marlow was the newest addition to the crew of the Pulsar's Wink, nearly a full decade younger than his shipmates. As the small group trudged uphill from Jabba's motorpool, where they had left their speeder, to the palace's main entrance, they crossed out of the shadows and into the blazing heat of Tatooine's mid-day. The three older mercs continued on unfazed, but Marlow quickly felt beads of sweat breaking out underneath the old bandana he kept tied across his forehead. Not wanting to damage its faded red fabric (a mark of his clan back on his home world), the young spacer whipped the bandana off and ran his hand through his long, unruly chestnut hair, trying to cool off in the oppressive heat. Tucking the bandana into a pocket, Marlow took several long steps and caught back up with his comrades.

Perched at the top of the hill, at the end of the long path up from the motorpool, Jabba's palace was perfectly illuminated in the sun. Sure, Zarren had told him the place was centuries old, but to Marlow the place looked downright ancient. The blowing sand of Tatooine seemed to coat the exterior of the palace walls and domes, limiting its colors to various shades of brown. The durasteel walls were cracked and chipped, and parts of the roof panels were missing.

"It sure doesn't look like much, does it?" Zarren turned to Marlow at the top of the climb, just meters from the palace's hulking door.

"Not really, no." Marlow wiped another round of sweat from his forehead. The shadows cast by the palace were just a couple meters ahead…

"Just wait, kid. Once we're inside, you'll see how much fun you can have here. Hold here, gentlemen. I'll go let the doorman know we're here."

Zarren was practically giddy with excitement as he dashed up toward the door. Marlow took the opportunity to slide forward into the glorious shade.

Jarvas shook his head slowly, "He thinks he has this big secret to share with everyone he brings here. You wanna know what makes this palace so much fun for people like Zarren?"

Marlow was not sure he wanted to know the answer, but curiosity got the better of him. "Sure." He said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The bearded Jarvas leaned in close to Marlow. "It's the girls," he whispered mischievously. "Jabba keeps dozens of girls in the palace. They dance, serve food and drink, and Jabba will have them make you very comfortable…if you pay him enough."

Marlow's eyes darted toward the palace door, where Zarren was talking to a security droid that had emerged from a porthole. " girls?" He whispered back to Jarvas, visions of nubile bodies swimming through his head.

"Oh, yes. Jabba gets them from all over the galaxy. Mostly humans and Twi'leks, but some others. Zeltrons, Theelin, Omwati… You'll see that he likes pretty decorations."

"Isn't that illegal?" Marlow hissed. He didn't want to get caught up in some Imperial raid.

"I don't know what Jabba's legal arrangements are, and I don't really care. They're hot, they wear almost nothing, and they give a good time. Hells, Zarren himself has even had us deliver a couple to Jabba." At the palace door, Zarren's negotiations concluded, and he was calling them up. Jarvas wrapped an arm around Marlow's shoulder and pulled the young smuggler along as they started forward. "There are only two rules with Jabba's girls. One: Don't take a girl to your room unless you pay Jabba first. Second: Don't even touch his favorite."

"His favorite?"

"Jabba usually keeps one of his girls for himself; usually the hottest piece of ass he's got. Puts her on a leash connected to his throne. Has her sit up there with him, feed him, dance for him and…whatever else he wants."

Marlow started to open his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. When the group reached the threshold of Jabba's palace, a deep grinding noise erupted from the doorway which would have drowned out any reply he could have made to Jarvas.

Zarren turned to his three crewmembers as the door rumbled open, revealing a long, dark hallway inside. "We talk to Jabba first, get our payment, and then it's time for shore leave!"

Marlow followed his crewmates into the dark entryway of the palace, relishing the cool (albeit stale) air the hallway provided. As they moved deeper into the long hall, dim, flickering lights in several alcoves came to live, providing just enough light to guide their way. Close enough to the light to be visible yet far enough to retain a shadowy intimidation, several burly Gamorrean guards wielding vicious-looking vibroaxes stepped into view. Marlow thought he could hear them growling faintly.

Easy, now, the young spacer thought to himself, they're just part of the show. Act cool. Even though he was 1.8 meters tall and of a muscular build, Marlow felt dwarfed in the presence of the pig-like brutes. As the group passed the guards, Marlow let out a breath he had unwittingly been holding.

Up ahead, the hallway branched off in three directions. In the left and center passages, hallways continued, lit by the same dim alcove lamps. A much brighter light emanated from an archway on the right side of the split. From inside the archway, soft lounge music drifted out into the hall, occasionally punctuated by the sounds of laughter, and sometimes a deep, resounding, booming baritone voice.

Well, that must be the great Jabba the Hutt…

Before the group reached the archway, a tall, pale Twi'lek male strode pompously through the archway. He glided his way to Zarren and immediately struck up a hushed conversation.

And that must be Bib Fortuna, the right-hand lackey.

From inside the arch, another round of laughter, followed by the deep, rolling voice. This time, however, Marlow thought he heard another voice. A soft moan. A feminine moan? Marlow looked over at Jarvas, but the older spacer was focused on Zarren's conversation with the major domo. Marlow noticed his left leg was starting to shake from anxiousness and he was starting to sweat around his armpits. The young smuggler was immediately grateful for choosing to wear a light jacket over a dark shirt for this trip. Hopefully Zarren our, Sith forbid, Jabba wouldn't notice his discomfort.

Marlow snapped out of his personal worries, but before hecould turn his attention back to the inside of the archway, Fortuna curtly bowed to Zarren and glided off through the arch.

"We arrived right on time," Zarren grinned at his compatriots. Jabba is just finishing his early afternoon meal, and Fortuna will announce us when he is done. Marlow, do you understand Huttese?"

"Uh, a fair amount," Marlow replied, trying to act as seasoned as possible, "I did a little work for Kroba before I signed on with you. Learned a lot then."

"Good. We won't have to use a damn translator droid. Jabba understands Basic, of course, but he will only speak in Huttese. He doesn't mind us speaking Basic to him, but he does not respect those who don't bother to learn his language."

Zarren looked directly into Marlow's eyes, "Last tip. You're here to watch and learn. Don't speak to Jabba unless he asks you something directly. Stand behind us and don't stare too hard at the decoration. He'll see it and know he can manipulate you." Behind them, Fortuna appeared again at the doorway, gesturing them forward. "You'll do fine, kid."

Marlow's stomach suddenly lurched. He willed his legs to move as he fell in line behind Jarvas and walked toward the archway.

As he crossed through the archway, Marlow heard Fortuna call out, "Your High Exaltedness! I present Zarren Stavic, independent spacer, and his crew."