Star Wars: Underbelly

The pulsing ebb of electronic music rocked the air of the crowded streets more like a force of nature than a melody. Even a few meters outside Coruscant’s hottest dance club, one could feel their heart rate be forcibly sped up from the air pounding through their chest in time with the tempo. Rax walked forward with determination, ignoring the grumbling mob of party-goers in cheaply made glamour clothes waiting in the line that wrapped around the block. Many of them were identical—clone troopers on leave. Differentiated only by scars, tattoos, and haircut. All of them whistled at her, called out to her, and quickly forgot her in favor of more receptive and nearer women.

Rax was young and pretty and had selected as tight an outfit as she could tolerate; she’d get in first and she’d get in free. The skies were dark above the planet, but down this far, nobody could ever tell if it was day or night. The whole planet was one big city, everyone liked to say. But it built the wrong image in people’s heads. One could not traverse Coruscant like they could a typical city, not even a supersized metropolis. Each few levels down was practically its own nation with its own governance or gangs. And only a few miles of the big city could even be considered important: if a Separatist invasion claimed ownership of the part of the planet opposite the Senate and Jedi Temple, one could be forgiven for believing the planet unoccupied.

Lots of people shuffling about in a city shaped maze the size of a planet. Trillions of tragedies happened every day and just about all of them, statistically, were either accidents or natural. Statistically there were twenty-million citizens for every one peace officer. Three-hundred million for every one criminal investigator. People sometimes wondered what was to come of the clones after the war was over. Rax had a decent idea of where they could be useful.

Rax approached the entrance, neon blue and pink smoke rolling from the grand entryway. A well-muscled Neimoidian in black armor guarded the door in front of her labeled VIP. His bright orange eyes, split horizontally by a wavy red stripe, Scanned her over, wrinkled green face shooting her a particular look. “That’s far enough.” He declared with the usual sharp attack of a Neimoidian accent.

His palm opened up in a motion indicating her to stop, revealing a tattoo of tendrils terminating around a circle. The small icon had become an obsession of Rax’s. At first she’d thought nothing of it. Just another memetic she paid no mind to at all. If she ever did spare a thought for it, it was that the design was likely a cheap and easy stencil that had some stylistic appeal. It looked cool and wasn’t hard to copy.

But it kept popping up in the vicinity of another pattern. She was in the right place. Iona was here before she disappeared. This would be Rax’s fifth visit to the club. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she was ready to blow the whole thing wide open.

She clutched her small purse tightly and stopped when she was told, making sure to stomp her feet in the process to jiggle her chest more provocatively, which some patron in the other line leered with the subtlety of men who knew they would likely die virgins on a forgotten backwater. “I’ll need to check your purse.” The guard said.

Rax giggled, waving her open hand in front of her. “It’s ok! I don’t have any weapons in here.” She laughed like it was a joke, even as she felt the tug of the force briefly linking their minds. The guard was bored, tired, and did not approach her with any real conviction, leaving her feeling confident that her mind trick would succeed. This was her first time bringing a weapon into the club.

“It’s ok.” He waved her through. “You don’t have any weapons in there.” She gave him a ditzy smile and pranced her way through the threshold.

“Hey lady!” One clone shouted after her. “Neimoidians are what started this war! Why don’t you come give a show for the boy’s who’re gonna end it!” His brothers cheered in agreement, their voices instantly drowned out by the music, thrice as loud inside in the building.

Immediately Rax felt more naked than the last four times. There was a short man in Republic officer uniform unsubtly staring at her, leaning against the wall by the entrance with a dark drink in his gloved hand. Would he have a tattoo under the stuffy uniform, she wondered?

Nalwatta Katta was both a timeless mainstay and hot new thing of Coruscant’s night life scene. Rax didn’t have all the details, but apparently it had once been the property of Ziro the Hutt, recently renovated and reopened under new management. Its past wasn’t much important, however its reputation was: loud music, ‘safe’ compared to other clubs, and being the favorite of the sluttiest girls in the system.

It was a disgusting thing to hear. Sluttiest girls in the system? She had bawked when she had first been told. What would Iona, a Jedi Knight, have been doing at a place like that? She had chalked it up to crass and vulgar marketing. But every time she asked a girl with the Tendril Sun tattoo where the best place to party was, they always said Nalwatta Katta. And they always dressed in ways that exposed more than their tattoo.

The club was the size of a city block, and its true shape was difficult to discern. The lights flashed and pulsed so rapidly that everyone’s movements looked to be happening as if one photograph at a time. Rax had to shield her eyes and blink hard and often just to stave off a headache. To cover the scent of sweat, the fog machines were laced with a perfume of sour candies that burned the back of Rax’s nostrils. It was likely fifteen degrees warmer inside just because of the bodies all crammed so close together.

The force was telling her something, though. She was being watched. An incorporeal tug from the direction of the short GAR officer at the entrance. She seemed to have caught his attention with her outfit. Unsafe. She would pull away from him for now and watch for other leads. If nothing else turned up, she’d let him drag her down into the next level.

The only points of sustained light were the spheres of green light suspended above the dance floor, inside of which danced women in states worse than nudity. Some danced in a manner more akin to rhythmic masturbation. The other point were the bars, which were more like a single bar recessed into and running along all the walls.

The mere act of existing in such a place was disorienting. Without even having a drop, Rax felt drunk and lost. Pushing through the crowd of wet skin and friction, Rax forced her way past a blue-skinned Twi'lek grinding against and kissing a clone soldier. There were similar sights all around her. Rax wondered if it was something in the air, though the force warned her of no toxins save the perfume and she felt no different. The only common denominator were the tattoos. And this was where to get them.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” The bartender asked, using one of his four massive hands to scratch behind his neck. Each of his arms was nearly as thick around as Rax’s torso.

“I have an appointment with Zeed?” She said curiously, pulling the small card from the front pocket of her purse. The bartender looked at it and examined its authenticity under the light.

“What time’s your appointment?” The bartender’s voice boomed almost as loud as the music.

“I was hoping for a walk-in.” She said the passphrase. She’d seen it happen a few times each night. Someone presented a bartender a card, or had one presented on their behalf, usually by an upset looking individual. Said they had an appointment, then answered with something decidedly not a number.

The bartender handed her the card back—one a girl had dropped the night before—and nodded, reaching into a small leather pouch on his hip. “Elevator. Negative eight.” The bartender said, tossing a small access token befire immediately removing her from his attention and walking off to help another patron.

It took every ounce of restraint in her body not to rip her lightsaber from her purse and run it through the man who’s gloved hand suddenly rested on her shoulder. His mouth came close to her ear, wet breath tickling her ear so he could be heard over the music. “I think you should come with me, instead.” It was that Republic officer.

Rax maintained her composure. If the Jedi taught her anything it was how to pretend like she wasn’t searing with rage. “Not interested.” She shook free of his grasp.

“You’re making a mistake!” He shouted, reaching to grab for her again. Rax’s heart jumped, feeling the leather of his gloves tighten around her shoulder, only for her to duck quickly away into the crowd of sweaty bodies. She tried not to run. Instead lifting her hands up in the air and pretending to dance along with everyone else. Slowly, she found her way back to the lobby, where she dropped all pretense and leapt into the elevator, which she shared with a yellow skinned Twi’lek with the deepest blue eyes. Around her exposed belly button was a Tendril Sun tattoo, its tendrils all snaking sharply down toward her privates save the two on top, which slithered around her hips and converged presumably down the crack of her rear end. The thinness of her top suggested she also had some piercings.

“Whatever you’re running from,” the woman said as soon as the doors were closed. “Consider making this one of them.” Rax looked at the Twi’lek suspiciously. Was she warning her, or was she here to test her? Rax knew better than to trust someone with the mark. She had to be there to test people.

Rax reached the access card toward the terminal, which beeped and began descending the elevator to the negative eighth floor. The elevator was lined with gold and carpeted with blue velvet, illuminated probably by the only lightbulb in the building with a warm shade. The music was barely a thump and it felt like she were on a different planet, entirely.

“You don’t know me.” Whatever was driving people into this conspiracy, it wasn’t just something that happened. Maybe debts to gangsters, likely people displaced by the war getting stuck in brothels for asylum. Whatever it was, Rax needed to seem desperate. Willing. Then they would lower their guards around her, let things slip. Tonight would be a massacre, but only after she figured out how the operation worked. Who was organizing it. Where was Iona?

Sex trafficking people from all around the galaxy felt too simple for the Republic to have not investigated on their own doorstep. “Whatever it is, there’s better wa—“

“Shut up!” Rax shouted at the girl. It was safer to assume this was a test. If the girl was genuine, then she’d be free in less than an hour. If she was a test, then Rax was going to pass.

The girl nodded, resigned. Her blue eyes cast down to the floor. “Don’t get a big one. And don’t get any piercings.” She said. The elevator stopped at floor seven, door opening to reveal a rusted out maintenance hall. “It’s not too late to follow me.” The girl walked out, slipping her fingers down the front of her skirt. That solidified in Rax’s mind that the girl had been a test. Why keep up the act? Why touch herself?

The doors closed and Rax drew in a sharp breath as the elevator descended once more before coming to a sudden stop. But the doors didn’t open. A hiss sounded from the vents, startling the breath out of her. They were gassing her! So much for waiting for her moment, she needed to cut the door with her lightsaber immediately!

But her purse was gone. How could her purse be gone? A Jedi’s lightsaber is their life, Master Kenobi had used to say. But I’m not a Jedi, anymore. I’m sorry, Iona…

***

“You’re sure, Mistress?”

“Positive! Oh, stupid girl probably never even knew she was force sensitive! How lucky.”

“Should we send her to the others at Sapphire’s Kiss?”

“Of course! All the Jedi go to Mommy Kloany. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves! Tattoo first. Oh, more anesthesia. They tend to be resistant to this sort of—“

Rax became numbly aware of a stinging pain all around her body. As if some creature had scratched its claws across her body. But she was too numb, too exhausted to even open her eyes. The real pain was in her pelvis, though.

“Oh, up the dosage. She’s waking and we haven’t even finished with her penis.”

Once more, Rax felt time pass around her. When she next awoke, she awoke more suddenly and with only some more energy. There was a high pitched cry of two blaster bolts near to her. Rax felt like she were swimming through a fog in her brain. She knew, consciously that she was in danger. But her body just couldn’t move. She could only think two thoughts a minute. There were upset voices, a man and a woman’s, but Rax couldn’t hear what they were saying. They must’ve been in another room.

With great effort, her numb and heavy hand managed to drop itself on her face in an attempt to move the nebulizer pumping her system with tainted air. She couldn’t close her fingers. There was a hiss from behind her and the force indicated someone had entered the room. Was Iona as scared as she was right now? Had they taken her in the same manner?

Rax felt soft fingers wrap around her hand, pulling it away from the mask. A frustrated tear rolled down her face. She needed to get out. She should have been more patient, just like her master had always said. “Shh… it’s ok. You’re safe, now.” A familiar woman’s voice said, a hand grabbing the nebulizer mask and pulling it off Rax’s face.

The first breath of oxygen Rax took immediately returned feeling to her fingers and toes. The woman was holding her hand and gently rubbing her shoulder. “Breathe.” She cooed. “Breathe.”

Only a few moments later, Rax’s eyes fluttered open and she saw the deep blue eyes and bright yellow skin of the woman from the elevator. She smiled down kindly at Rax, but the familiar face put Rax back into fight mode.

Lacking any coordination or deeper connection to the force, Rax rolled over and off the bed she’d been placed on. She crashed to the floor, a burning sensation coming to her cheek. She didn’t know this place, but she needed to get to the elevator and get out.

“Careful!” The woman shouted, but Rax began writhing like a slug toward an overturned toolbox in desperate search for a weapon. “Oz!” The woman shouted for someone. Rax pressed on, limbs growing more cooperative with each breath. Her arm leapt forth and yanked the toolbox to her body, tools spilling out of its top. Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal of a hydryospanner and she began mustering what little grace her wobbly legs could muster to get to her knees.

The door opened once more with a hiss. Another familiar face. The short GAR officer stepped in authoritatively. Clutched in his hand was her little black purse. He’d taken it from her! At the bar when she ran! Rax tried reaching out with the force to pull it, but the man kept his fingers tight around the strap and she lacked the strength to pull harder.

“Master Jedi,” the man slowly lowered the purse to the ground. “A hydrospanner is hardly a weapon befitting you. If you kill us, you get no answers.” He released his grasp and Rax instantly called it with the force. The bag slid across the floor, pulled by the saber that suddenly flew out of its maw and into her open palm.

The area around her was bathed in indigo light and the familiar comfort of being armed granted her the strength to hop to her feet. She was becoming aware of her nudity but hid her embarrassment to maintain control of the situation. The other two were already on the ground, sliding their blasters across the floor toward her. Something was wrong. Why just surrender to her? They had DC-17 pistols with stun settings. They didn’t need to arm and then surrender to her.

“Where are we?” She demanded, trying to maintain an intimidating posture while she waited for her fine motor controls to return.

“We’re aboard a small smuggling ship. Just above Coruscant.” The man answered simply. A ship? Good news and bad, she supposed. Easier to hijack a ship and fly off someplace than to fight her way eight stories up a nightclub.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To our ship. You’ll be safe there.” The man, even with his hands up in the air, looked directly in her eye and maintained perfect posture while crouching. “I had no idea the Jedi were conducting their own investigation. We’ve been spending years observing Succubus’ Den, I’m sure we could help each other. We could be an asset.”

Rax paused. Investigating? He hadn’t been a creep, he had tried to warn her! The idiot disarmed her trying to help. “If you hadn’t taken my lightsaber—“

“The fate for Jedi is much worse.” The woman interrupted. She was far less composed on her knees. Her thighs rubbed together and she seemed to be continuously bouncing in place. She didn’t look Rax in the eye, and she almost looked distracted by some itch she wanted to scratch with the twitchy hands she kept raised at her head.

“That trick you pulled at the door—“ the man pulled her attention back to him. “If they gassed you and found a lightsaber, we wouldn’t have gotten a chance to rescue you.” He said, resolute.

“So the Republic’s investigating this…”

For once, his eyes broke contact, looking to the floor. His face was washed with woe and he shook his head. “It’s just us.” He motioned his two fingers to indicate himself and the girl. “But now that the Jedi are, we can get some serious commitment—“

“The Jedi aren’t investigating.” Rax disengaged her lightsaber. “It’s just me.” Her draped an arm across her breasts, her free hand cupping in front of her nether which had been shaved bare and smooth. A new and unwelcome sensation.

“Gaia, please, find something for our friend to wear. I’ll get us docked with the Lancer.” The man slowly lowered his hands, making no effort to reach for his blaster or stand without a signal from Rax. For a moment, she eyed him cautiously. She didn’t trust him. He’d disarmed her just before her assault. Still, he didn’t strike her as an idiot. And if he had a tattoo, it wasn’t in the typically visible places.

And the girl, Gaia, her emotions were as clear to Rax through the Force as water. Shame, yes, but pity. Sadness. She wasn’t troubled by a fear.

Rax reached with the force and slid the man’s DC-17 back across the durasteel floor, stopping at his knee. “You lead me into another trap,” she waved the hilt of her saber lightly, her arm still pushing her nipples, “I decompress us.” The man nodded, returning the blaster to its holster.

Gaia stood in time with her compatriot, and while he went toward the cockpit, Gaia went to a nearby closet. She opened the door and produced a dirty yellow set of coveralls. “All there is, I’m afraid.” She apologized, extending the hangar to Gaia.

Rax snatched it and jabbed her chin at a far corner, encouraging Gaia to keep her distance while she dressed. She didn’t think the girl would attack her, but Rax was still groggy and didn’t want to be slow to answer such an action. Gaia wordlessly complied, turning and facing the corner. With her back turned, Rax immediately started clumsily slipping her feet into the leg holes. Remarkably, the coveralls were roughly her size. And even though they felt greasy and crusty, Rax was desperate to be covered again. In less than a minute, she slid her arms through the holes and pulled the front over her chest.

“Don’t zip it up.” Gaia warned. “The tattoo doesn’t like being covered.”

Rax looked down and saw a circle surrounding her navel, tendrils around it a black ink that looked severely faded, even on Rax’s milk white skin. Despite Gaia’s instruction, Rax immediately zipped the jumpsuit to the neck. It had been a little snug, even before zipping, but Rax preferred the uncomfortable tightness to the discomforting exposure. Especially of that tattoo.

She had one. A Tendrill Sun. That mark of taint and evil was now made a part of her body. Rax felt tears come to her eyes. Her body had been violated, permanently marked, perhaps. And she was definitely not the first.

“What does it—“ Rax suddenly doubled over, a searing pain erupting from her stomach. It was beyond physical. It was as if the very Force itself were burning her outside of just physical space. “Ah! Make it—“ she fell to her knees. The pain was intense and beyond real. She couldn’t even resist as Gai rushed over and tore the zipper all the way down to the groin. Air colder than ice seemed to blow across the ring, cooling it instantly and making the pain disappear.

“The ring,” Gaia’s soft fingers traced the circle around Rax’s tummy. “Must always stay visible. The closer to a ring something is, the less it likes being covered.”

Rax looked up at Gaia, examining her body. Sure enough, her midriff also sported a sun like Rax’s, though the tendrils were much darker and bigger. She’d seen some who had one between their breasts, or just above their pubis. The tattoo, at least on the women, was always proudly displayed in suggestive places. Was that why? Was everyone feeling that?

“What the hell is this?”

“Oz can explain the conspiracy, Nort can explain the science. I’m just another victim trying to help.”