Scipio
The chamber was silent but for the faint ticking of a chrono embedded in the wall. Dark stone columns lined the perimeter, each etched with Muun script denoting the profits of ancient conquests. Between them hung long banners of black silk embroidered with platinum threads, spelling the name of the InterGalactic Banking Clan in over a hundred languages.
A tall Muun sat at a desk of polished obsidian. Holo-screens hovered before his narrow eyes, shifting financial flows between a hundred sectors. His long fingers steepled under his chin as he contemplated.
'There is no evidence. But it is him. Who else would dare undermine my dominion here?'
He blinked slowly.
'Perhaps he grows impatient. Perhaps he grows arrogant. Or perhaps… he is testing me. Regardless, his leash must tighten.'
The Muun allowed a faint smile.
'He remains an apprentice. And apprentices must be reminded of who forged their chains.'
Jabba's Palace
The throne room reeked of spiced wine, stale sweat, and rotting meat. Dancers swayed in forced rhythm to discordant notes from the Bith band. A Gamorrean guard snored in the corner, drool pooling on his chestplate.
Bib Fortuna leaned forward as a thin human accountant approached, clutching a datapad, eyes wide with terror.
"Speak," Bib hissed.
The accountant swallowed, voice cracking. "S-sir… there is a problem. The accounts… the accounts on InterGalactic Banking Clan
… they've been seized. Frozen for… for investigation of fraudulent securities filings. Twelve million credits. Gone."
Bib's red eyes widened. He turned to Jabba, translating quickly into Huttese.
The slug's massive tail twitched. A deep rumble shook the throne beneath him. Jabba's yellow eyes narrowed, mucus bubbling at the corners of his mouth. The Rodian dancer before him faltered in her routine, sensing danger.
"Bo Shuda," Jabba growled.
With a flick of his pudgy fingers, he hit a recessed button on his throne. The durasteel panel beneath the dancer dropped away instantly. She gave a piercing scream as she plunged into the rancor pit below. A wet crunch echoed moments later, followed by low growls of feeding.
Bib suppressed a shiver. Jabba rumbled low and long, his anger resonating through the hall.
"Echuta… Fortuna," he growled. "Call… Maul."
Bib bowed deeply. "At once, mighty Jabba."
En route to Jabba's Palace
Anakin sat on the edge of the skiff, arms resting on the cold rail, staring out at the endless dunes as the suns dipped lower behind him.
'They died so fast.'
The wind whipped against his face, making his eyes sting, but he didn't blink it away.
'Gardulla's best fighters. All those guns, all that armour. They thought they were strong. But they weren't. They were nothing.'
He flexed his blistered fingers around the rail, feeling the sharp pain pulse up his arms. It felt good. Proof he was still here. Still stronger than them.
'Maul always says I'm not ready. That I'm too slow, too weak, too soft. But he didn't win this battle. He just charged and killed whatever was in front of him. I broke their lines. I crushed their tower. I was smarter than him.'
A small, cold smile flickered across his lips.
'He thinks he'll always be above me. That he's the Master and I'm just the little apprentice learning how not to die. But he's wrong.'
He watched the sand blur under the skiff, the shadows stretching across the dunes like reaching fingers.
'One day I'll be strong enough to kill him. And I will.'
He shifted slightly, his thigh still aching from where the repeater bolt grazed him earlier.
'Sidious knows. He knows what I can become. That's why he chose me. That's why Maul only trains me for him. Because he knows I'll be better than Maul ever was.'
He rested his chin on his arms, eyes half closed against the wind.
'Master Sidious sees everything. He understands what I am. What I'm meant to be. He doesn't waste time beating me down to prove he's stronger. He already knows he is. But one day… I'll stand at his side, not below him.'
His fingers drummed lightly on the rail, feeling the deep hum of the engines through the cold metal.
'They thought they were strong. And I broke them. When I break Maul, Sidious will see I'm ready. Ready to be his real apprentice.'
A quiet certainty settled in his chest, warm and fierce.
'Soon.'
It was night when they arrived. The desert cold seeped through the palace gates as Maul and Anakin entered. The throne room was thick with incense smoke and the sickly-sweet stench of rotting food. Dancers twirled mechanically, eyes vacant. Jabba's rumbling voice rolled across the hall, his tone furious. Bib turned to Maul, bowing low.
"Mighty Jabba welcomes you back," he began, voice trembling, "but… there is grave news. The InterGalactic Banking Clan… they froze his accounts. Investigation for… fraudulent securities filings. Twelve million credits are gone."
Jabba's yellow eyes turned to Maul. He growled a long, guttural string of Huttese, his voice trembling with rage and panic.
Bib translated quickly, bowing as he spoke. "Mighty Jabba begs your aid. His enemies humiliate him. His operations… paralyzed. His expansion of pod racing enterprise halted. His soldiers unpaid. He says… he cannot recover from this alone."
Maul remained silent, his face unreadable. Beside him, Anakin's blue eyes flickered across the blood-spattered tiles and the quivering slaves. His thoughts burned cold and bright.
'Look at him. All that power… all those slaves… yet without his precious credits, he's nothing. A fat slug trapped in his own palace.'
He tilted his head slightly, staring at Jabba with calm disgust.
'Pathetic.'
Maul entered the sealed chamber and activated the holoterminal. The projection flickered to life, illuminating Sidious' hooded form.
"My master," Maul said, bowing his head. "Jabba's assets have been frozen by the InterGalactic Banking Clan. His operations are stalled. He begs intervention."
Sidious was silent for a long moment, his face hidden in shadows.
"This is of no concern," he said softly.
Maul's brow furrowed. "What are your orders?"
"Assist Jabba. Establish new trade routes. Cement his dependence upon us. The Desilijic clan must come under our shadow. Gardulla remains useful. Humiliate her further. Strip her influence, but leave her alive."
Maul nodded. "It will be done."
Sidious' voice dropped lower, almost tender. "And the boy?"
"He learns quickly. His power grows stronger by the day," Maul said, glancing back toward the door.
"Good. Feed his hatred. Shape it. Break him, if you must. Only then will he be worthy."
The transmission ended.
Jabba sat slumped on his dais, his massive bulk quivering with each wet, rumbling breath. The throne room reeked of sour spice smoke, rotting meat, and stale sweat. Around him, advisors argued in desperate, clashing voices. Bib Fortuna stood at his side, lekku flicking nervously as he translated the chaos.
"…racing contracts in Mos Espa seized by Gardulla's agents—"
"—mercenary groups demanding triple pay to join any further assault—"
"—Bestine vaults secured, yes, but worthless if we can't ship the spice out—"
A human accountant waved his datapad frantically. "We found enough credits and uncut spice in Bestine to fund ten campaigns! But if the trade routes stay closed, it rots in storage!"
Then the throne room doors groaned open.
Silence fell instantly.
Maul entered, his robe stained with ash, blood, and sand, the dark hem dragging across the mosaic tiles. His yellow eyes swept the advisors with cold indifference. Behind him walked Anakin, his steps silent, his gaze distant and hard.
Even the Gamorrean guards lowered their eyes.
Maul stopped before Jabba's dais. His voice cut through the room like a blade.
"We will open new spice routes at dawn. Anyone who stands in our way will be removed. Permanently."
A Rodian logistics officer coughed softly, adjusting his stained tunic with trembling hands. "Bestine's spice… it is a great victory, my lord. But—without Mos Eisley's ports, we can't ship anything out. We… we need to secure the docks, the eastern landing fields, the customs guilds—"
Maul's gaze snapped to him, sharp and unblinking. The Rodian flinched and looked away, his throat bobbing in terror.
Jabba rumbled low, mucus dripping onto his chest. His massive tail flicked with impatience. He barked harsh words in guttural Huttese.
Bib bowed his head, translating quickly. "Mighty Jabba says… your victory in Bestine has restored his faith. The credits and spice there will fund your next move. But he demands Mos Eisley secured before the cycle turns. Otherwise Bestine's wealth is useless."
Before Maul could reply, a scout burst into the throne room, armour streaked with sand and sweat, helmet clutched to his chest.
"My lord… forgive the interruption—"
Maul turned to him, eyes narrowing.
The scout swallowed hard, voice shaking. "We've lost all contact with Mos Eisley command. Comms went silent midday. No runners have returned. Last report said Gardulla's mercenaries reinforced the central plaza and docking bays. Armoured speeders, repulsor tanks, and at least four repeater cannons guarding the southern gate."
A ripple of alarm spread through the gathered lieutenants. The Weequay slammed his datapad onto his palm.
"I told you! Bestine is nothing without Mos Eisley. The trade routes flow through its docks. If we can't move spice from there, we may as well burn it all now!"
Maul ignored them. His gaze was fixed on the scout. "Estimated enemy numbers?"
The scout swallowed again. "Three full companies, my lord. More could have arrived since we lost contact."
The room fell silent under the weight of his words.
Anakin's fingers curled against his belt, feeling the blistered skin pull tight. His eyes flicked up to Maul, silent, calculating.
'Three companies… better than Bestine. More to kill. More to prove myself with.'
Jabba growled, slamming his fist against the side of his throne, sending a spray of foul liquid from the bowl beside him. He spoke in deep, furious Huttese, his massive body quivering.
Bib leaned forward urgently, voice tight as he translated. "Mighty Jabba says Mos Eisley must be retaken before dawn. Bestine's victory is meaningless if the southern ports remain under Gardulla's control. He demands your plan. Now."
The advisors fell silent, all eyes on Maul.
Maul's expression didn't change. Slowly, he nodded.
"We march tonight. Assemble every mercenary group, every enforcer crew, every slave guard able to hold a blaster. Deploy the repulsor tanks and siege cannons from Bestine. We will strike Mos Eisley before dawn, before Gardulla forces can entrench further."
His gaze swept the room with silent contempt.
"Half of them will die before reaching the gates. I don't care. The city will be taken. The docks will be ours. Prepare your men."
He turned sharply, robes whispering across the stone floor as he strode from the hall. The advisors parted in trembling silence. Anakin followed without a word, his small boots echoing softly against the tiles.
As they left the throne room, the voices behind them rose in frantic discussion—logistics, convoy orders, deployment rosters.
Outside, in the darkening courtyard, war drums thundered. Slave overseers shouted, lining up chained work crews to prepare rations and weapons crates under torchlight.
Scimitar Landing Pad
As Maul and Anakin prepared to depart for Mos Eisley, the desert wind tore at their cloaks. Anakin's eyes never left Maul's belt.
Finally, he spoke.
"Can I have it back?"
His voice was quiet, lacking arrogance—just cold hunger.
Maul regarded him silently before unhooking the saber and holding it out. Anakin took it with small, pale fingers, the hilt heavy in his grip.
"This is not your blade," Maul said softly. "A true Sith bleeds his crystal. Until you kill a Jedi and bleed yours, this is nothing but metal and plasma."
Anakin looked at the weapon.
'Nothing but metal… until it cuts through your throat, Maul. Until it takes everything you ever thought was yours.'
He clipped it to his belt and nodded once.
"Understood."
They boarded silently. The ramp sealed behind them as the Scimitar engines howled to life, kicking up a storm of ash and sand that swallowed them whole.
The Scimitar descended silently, its engines whispering death over the sleeping city. The landing struts extended, slamming into the duracrete pad of Port 17 with a metallic echo that cut through the dry night air.
Waiting below stood an alien overseer, a tall Givin with hollow eye sockets glowing dimly in the lamplight. Six human guards flanked him, blasters raised, armor plates rattling as they shifted nervously.
The boarding ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss, the smell of scorched metal and ozone billowing out into the night. Shadows pooled within the ship's hold until two dark figures emerged: Maul at the front, robes fluttering like shredded black wings, and behind him, smaller, silent, Anakin.
The overseer stepped forward, skeletal face flickering in the lamplight. "This port is closed by decree of Gardulla Besadii the Elder. Remove your vessel from restricted landing space or face immediate seizure."
Maul didn't even slow his stride. His yellow eyes locked onto the alien, cold and dead as molten sulfur.
"You will grant clearance," he said softly, his voice carrying power like a blade sliding through silk. "You will ignore us. You will tell no one we were here."
The Givin's mouth twitched. The guards shifted uneasily, glancing at each other. One stepped forward, raising his rifle slightly. "What the hell did you just—"
Maul turned his gaze to him.
"Forget," he whispered.
The man's eyes glazed over instantly. He lowered his rifle, face slack.
Maul moved on. Anakin followed, glancing back at the guards as they stood confused, staring at nothing. His small hand brushed his saber hilt, feeling its cold weight.
'Weak minds. Easy to break. Easy to control. But strength is more than this cheap trick. Real power… real power doesn't ask. It takes.'
They disappeared into the shadowed alleys of Mos Eisley.
They moved through the sleeping streets, black robes trailing across dusty permacrete. The Dowager Queen loomed above them, its ancient colony hull rusted and stripped bare in places, towers of scrap and makeshift homes clustering around its base like barnacles. Patrols moved along every street—mercenaries in worn but clean combat harness, disciplined movements, heavy blasters held ready. These weren't the Bestine thugs. These were soldiers.
Anakin's eyes flickered from face to face as they passed shadows.
'They walk like warriors. Heavy footfalls. Eyes always forward. Training.'
He tasted the faintest edge of fear in the Force as he passed a Nikto sergeant barking orders to a squad near a collapsed water tower. But it was contained fear. Disciplined. Controlled.
They reached the old Desilijic base. Smoke still rose from shattered walls and burned-out speeders. Bodies lay scattered in blackened heaps, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Mercenary patrols walked between them, blasters at low ready.
At the central plaza, Gardulla's might gathered. Seven repulsor tanks idled under towering floodlights, armored speeders parked in defensive wedges. Checkpoints covered each gate, but the southern gate was bristling with fortifications—makeshift towers, camo netting, repeater blasters mounted on sandbag nests.
Maul gestured for Anakin to follow him down a narrow side alley, away from prying eyes. His voice was low.
"The tanks are mine. You will eliminate the repeaters at the southern gate. Leave none operational."
Anakin nodded once.
'Seventy men. Maybe more. No cover. No towers to collapse this time. If they see me… I die here.'
His heartbeat slowed as he drew in a long, silent breath.
'But they won't see me.'
Maul activated his comlink. The scratchy voice of a Klatooinian lieutenant crackled through.
"Lord Maul… ETA for main force is two hours. We're moving fast but… the men are tired. "
"Then they will rest in death," Maul snapped. "Double pace. You attack the southern gate on my signal."
"Yes… yes, my lord."
Maul ended the transmission. His yellow eyes burned in the shadows. "Go."
Anakin moved through the maze of rooftops, silent as the desert wind. His small feet padded across duracrete tiles as he slipped between shadow and darkness, cloak fluttering behind him.
Below, the southern gate bristled. Four repeater cannons covered overlapping arcs, each manned by a team: a gunner and a spotter hunched beside ammo crates and sandbag walls. Patrols walked in rigid formations between them, blasters slung ready.
Anakin crouched atop a cracked vent tower, the smell of oil and rust thick in his nose. He closed his eyes, letting the Force spread outward.
'Don't sense me. Don't hear me. I am not here.'
He opened his eyes again, pale blue burning in the gloom.
He dropped silently onto the metal catwalk behind the first cannon emplacement. Two humans sat inside the small prefab shack, one scanning a flickering holoscreen of the gate approaches, the other leaning against the wall cleaning his blaster.
"—I'm telling you, Goro's gonna screw up the shipment manifest again," the scanner operator grumbled, tapping the screen irritably. "Last time he got us six crates of rifle scopes and no rifles."
The cleaner laughed softly. "At least he didn't order those thermal dets by accident again. Half the depot staff are still deaf in one ear."
Anakin moved behind them in a silent blur. His saber never ignited. Instead, his small hands snapped out, driven by the Force. Two wet cracks echoed in the tiny shack as their necks broke instantly. Their bodies slumped forward, eyes staring at nothing.
He exhaled once, steadying his pulse.
'No mistakes. No noise. Not until I'm done.'
He moved shack to shack, cannon to cannon. Each team died silently—necks twisted, throats crushed with a single pulse of the Force, bodies dragged behind crates or thrown into dark corners.
At the fourth and final cannon, a Twi'lek gunner turned just as Anakin entered. His eyes widened in alarm, mouth opening for a shout.
Anakin didn't think.
The Force surged through his limbs as his hand snapped out, crushing the man's windpipe so violently that cartilage and blood exploded outward in a red mist. The spotter reached for his sidearm, but Anakin's boot caved in his chest before he could draw, ribs shattering inward with a muffled crunch.
He stepped outside, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his neck into his robes. He lifted his comlink and spoke only one word.
"Done."
Elsewhere in the city, Maul walked calmly onto a raised pedestrian viaduct overlooking three of Gardulla's tanks parked below. Two Nikto gunners sat smoking beside one turret, laughing as they passed a flask back and forth.
Maul raised his hand.
Their laughter died instantly. Their eyes glazed over as he twisted their minds with the Force.
"Turn your guns," he whispered.
Slowly, mechanically, they swiveled their tank's main blaster toward Gardulla's other soldiers massed around the plaza edge. Before any could react, the tank fired with a thundering boom, vaporizing a group of five soldiers in a flash of molten durasteel and liquified flesh.
Panic exploded in the ranks.
The first sounds of battle reached Anakin as a faint tremor under his boots. Then came the screams.
Jabba's forces charged the southern gate in a feral wave. Over two hundred men stormed forward under flickering floodlights, blasters roaring, war cries echoing through the narrow streets.
Gardulla's soldiers scrambled into position.
"WHERE THE HELL IS CANNON FIRE SUPPORT?!" screamed a Nikto sergeant as he ripped his repeater from its tripod, eyes wild.
"IT'S NOT RESPONDING—IT'S DEAD!" shouted another, ducking behind a sandbag wall as blaster bolts peppered the concrete around him.
The first line of defenders fired disciplined volleys, dropping Jabba mercenaries left and right. Bodies crumpled to the sand, blood seeping into the dust as the tide of men pressed forward relentlessly.
Two repeater blasters still hidden in side alleys opened fire, mowing down a dozen attackers in seconds, severed limbs and charred torsos piling against rubble walls.
Anakin saw it from above.
He leapt across rooftops, saber igniting with a snap-hiss that cut through the battle's chaos. A sniper team perched atop a half-collapsed cantina never saw him coming. His blade sliced through the Bothan spotter's chest in a single arc. The Rodian gunner turned, only to have his head cleaved diagonally from crown to jaw, brain and skull splitting apart with a wet hiss of vaporized bone.
Gardulla's battered forces fell back in disorder toward the plaza, relief flooding their expressions as they spotted the seven tanks rolling out to meet them.
"They're ours! They're ours! Fall back! Form ranks by the plaza gates!"
But then the tanks' turrets turned.
The world erupted in molten plasma fire.
The front ranks of Gardulla's retreating soldiers vaporized instantly, reduced to burning scraps of armor and ash in a single deafening blast. Panic spread like wildfire through their ranks as the tanks advanced, cannons roaring, tearing men apart in bloody sprays that painted plaza walls red and black.
"NO—NOOOO—STOP FIRING—"
They didn't stop. They couldn't.
The tanks rolled over bodies, crushing limbs and skulls beneath durasteel treads as the surviving mercenaries scattered in every direction, only to be cut down by flanking squads of Jabba's troops surging through the shattered southern gate.
The fighting moved to the central plaza. Gardulla's final two companies regrouped near the old starport tower, armored speeders forming a barricade line. The tanks advanced under missile cover, one repulsor tank exploding as a rocket struck its fuel cell, the blast wave shredding thirty men around it into chunks of flesh and twisted metal.
Armored speeders charged Jabba's lines, blaster cannons mowing down infantry in long, bloody swathes. Two tanks fired in unison, turning the lead speeder into a molten crater that burned so hot bone ash fluttered down like snow.
Anakin ran through the chaos, eyes locked onto a towering column holding up a balcony over the plaza's east side. His boots thudded against broken tiles as he leapt, driving the Force into his muscles. He slammed into the column with an outstretched hand. Power ripped through stone and duracrete. The entire pillar fractured with a scream of tearing metal, collapsing in an avalanche of rubble onto an armored speeder below.
The speeder's repulsorlift core ruptured as it crumpled, the detonation blasting a dozen soldiers apart in a spray of liquified metal and shredded organs.
At the heart of the plaza, the command tower fell under assault. Maul tore through the entry guards in seconds, saber flashing in precise arcs that severed heads and arms before screams could even leave their throats. The wounds burned instantly under the saber's heat, flesh and bone burned black where it sliced. The smell of charred blood and vaporised fat filled the narrow entryway like an acrid fog.
Inside, alarms wailed. The Trandoshan commander, a scarred brute clad in thick blast armor, raised his scattergun with a guttural hiss.
"You die here, scum!" he roared, slamming the weapon's charge forward. The concussive blast shredded a console where Maul had stood a second before.
Maul blurred into motion, his saber spinning through the air. The glowing blade sliced the lizard's legs off at the knees, burning through bone and scale alike before returning to his hand in a single fluid arc. The commander fell forward with a heavy thud, stumps blackened and smoking where his legs had been severed. He let out a hoarse scream of agony, claws scrabbling against the floor.
"P…please…mercy…mercy…" the Trandoshan wheezed, eyes wide and unblinking with primal terror.
Maul tilted his head slightly, regarding him with cold, predatory indifference.
"There is no mercy," he said softly.
He ignited his saber again and impaled the commander through the back. The blade burst from the lizard's chest, searing through spine and heart in an instant. Smoke curled from the wound as the Trandoshan convulsed once before falling still, internal organs burned beyond recognition.
A technician cowered under the console, sobbing. She raised trembling hands.
"Don't kill me… please… I'm just an engineer… I don't even fight…"
Maul reached out with the Force, lifting her off the ground. She thrashed in silent terror, gasping for breath as her throat constricted under invisible pressure.
"Then you are useless," he said coldly.
With a flick of his wrist, her neck snapped sideways with a loud, wet crack. Her corpse slumped to the ground, eyes frozen open in glassy horror.
He deactivated his saber and turned toward the reinforced door leading to the rooftop comms array. Behind him, the command chamber filled with the stench of scorched flesh and burned scale, alarms still wailing into the silence of death.
Activating his commlink, he spoke in a low growl:
"Tower secured. Begin purge of the plaza. Leave none alive."
"Yes, Lord Maul," came the Nikto captain's eager reply amid distant screams and blasterfire.
Outside, Jabba's mercenaries flooded the plaza with relentless fury. Blaster bolts lit the square like lightning. Gardulla's forces scrambled for cover behind durasteel crates and smouldering speeder husks. A Gamorrean mercenary cleaved down a Weequay gunner with an axe that split the screaming man's skull open to the jaw, bone fragments spraying outward.
"Push forward!" bellowed the Nikto captain, his vibroblade dripping with flesh as he ripped it from the belly of a dying Rodian. "Kill every last one of these Gardulla scum!"
Maul emerged from the tower, red blade igniting with a hiss. Two Klatooinians charged him with vibro-pikes. He sidestepped the first, severing his arm at the shoulder in a single burning sweep before twisting into a savage horizontal cut that sliced through the second from hip to opposite ribcage. There was no blood spray, only a blast of superheated steam as flesh and organs burned instantly, leaving the corpse's torso split open in a smoking blackened cavity.
"Please…no…no!" whimpered a Gran enforcer, crawling away on hands slick with his own blood after a blaster bolt tore through his thigh. Maul walked calmly to him, his yellow eyes flickering with contempt. He raised his saber and brought it down in a brutal overhead stroke that cleaved the Gran's skull clean in two, burning through bone to the neck. Steam curled up from the corpse as the severed halves fell apart soundlessly.
A Twi'lek mercenary fired point-blank into the chest of a Gardulla heavy gunner, then stomped on his helmeted face until the visor shattered inward and bone crunched under her boots.
Above, the spires of Mos Eisley crackled with flaming debris as rockets streaked overhead. Civilians screamed in the distant alleys, though no one dared interfere. Maul turned toward the last cluster of defenders near the fountain, his face a mask of silent predation.
"Kill them," he commanded in a voice devoid of emotion.
The mercenaries obeyed with vicious joy. Blades rose and fell, hacking limbs from bodies, vibroaxes splitting torsos apart with wet cracks. A dying Rodian reached out to Maul as if begging for mercy. Maul caught his hand, pulled him forward, and rammed his saber through the Rodian's gut until the tip burned into the stone beneath, the smell of scorched organs filling the night air.
All that remained was the whine of dying breath and the faint crackle of flames licking shattered speeder chassis. Maul stepped forward, boots echoing against the blood-slick plaza as he surveyed the carnage, unbothered by the wails of the dying.
"Secure the perimeter," he ordered, voice like grinding stone. "No survivors."
Victory
The sun rose over Mos Eisley as silence settled. Bodies littered the plaza in tangled heaps. Fires burned unchecked, black smoke coiling into the dawn sky.
Anakin stood amid the ruin, chest rising and falling, saber humming softly at his side. His leg bled freely from a glancing blaster shot, but he barely felt it.
Gardulla's Fortress
Gardulla Besadii sat upon her golden platform, her massive bulk shifting restlessly among stained silken pillows. The throne room smelled of stale meat and burned spice resin. A dozen mercenary captains lingered in uneasy silence near the pillars, avoiding her gaze.
Before her flickered the blue holo-projection of a tall Muun. His elongated head and narrow mouth remained perfectly still as he regarded her.
Gardulla's tail twitched with frustrated rage. Mucus bubbled at the corners of her mouth.
"They took Mos Eisley!" she snarled in Huttese, voice trembling with anger and fear. "My docks, my spice warehouses, my markets—gone! You said Jabba's assets were frozen. You said he would break without credits."
The Muun inclined his head slightly. His voice remained calm, each syllable clipped with practiced precision.
"Jabba's primary operating accounts remain under Banking Clan seizure protocols. His liquid reserves in Bestine, Mos Espa, and Nar Kreeta are locked pending investigation for fraudulent securities filings."
Gardulla hissed softly, her wide mouth quivering. "It means nothing if his mercenaries hold my city. I need reinforcements. Credits to rehire what I've lost. Weapons to re-establish control."
The Muun was silent for a moment, as if considering her words purely from a financial perspective.
"The Banking Clan is prepared to extend an emergency operational credit facility of twenty million credits, under standard syndicate recovery terms with preferential adjustments recognising your historical repayment compliance."
Gardulla's eyes flicked up, hopeful but wary. "Terms."
"Collateralisation against your Nar Shaddaa spice levy futures and Nar Kreeta mining quotas. Base annual interest rate of 6.5%, compounded quarterly. Principal repayment structured over sixty standard months with no early repayment penalties. Minimum monthly instalment required to avoid penalty fees. Failure to maintain payments will trigger collateral claim enforcement and Banking Clan administrative oversight of collateral revenue streams."
Her massive tail twitched with relief. The terms were harsh by civil standards but highly favourable compared to typical underworld emergency lending rates.
The Muun continued, his thin lips unmoving.
"Funds will be available within three standard hours upon biometric authorisation. Use them efficiently. Stability in your territories benefits our mutual interests."
Gardulla swallowed thickly, her mouth curling into a trembling smile. "You… will not regret this."
The Muun inclined his head fractionally.
"We do not regret calculated investments."
The holo-projection flickered out, leaving Gardulla in silence. Her heart thudded heavily within her bulk, half from relief, half from terror at what failure would mean.