04 Jun 1999







----



Jabba the Hutt moved slowly through Mos Espa towards Watto's small

dealership.  //I'm angry,// he admitted to himself.  //Imagine, betting

a slave like Skywalker!  Gardulla was foolish to bet him when he was

three years old, and I told her so.  I thought Watto had more sense.//

Bib Fortuna followed in his master's wake, fidgeting his head tentacles.



As Jabba eased through the door of the Toydarian's shop, he sighed.  //I

like him.  I really do like him.  That's just the trouble, isn't it?//

"Watto."



"Jabba!  I'm honored by your visit."  The parts dealer spoke Huttese as

easily as he spoke Standard: like most natives of Tatooine, he had to if 

he wanted to survive.



"I'm very upset, Watto."



"Have I done something to offend you, great Jabba?"



"You gambled away that young slave of yours, the Skywalker boy!  Watto,

I thought you were smarter than that."



"I thought Sebulba was a sure bet."



Jabba shook his head slowly.  "Never take a sure bet, Watto.  It's a

very dangerous thing."



"I know that.  But it was Sebulba!"



"I know.  I bet on him myself."  He studied the nervous Toydarian for a

few moments before speaking again.  "I'm not here to punish you for losing

Skywalker.  I'm here because you have a good eye for slaves, especially

human slaves, and I need a few.  I can't trust Bib Fortuna here--he only

likes  pretty girls."



Fortuna turned a delicate shade of lilac.



"Well, I can understand why," Watto replied, "but I'm sure you have

enough dancing girls already, great Jabba.  What you need are workers 

and breeders, hmm?"



"Yes.  Come, help me."  He did not mention payment.  Payment was to be

Watto's pleasant surprise at the end of the day.



"Of course."



Watto closed up the shop and followed Jabba out into the streets.  The

slave markets were in Anchorhead, halfway between Mos Espa and Mos

Eisley, Tatooine's two major spaceports.  It would take them six hours

to reach on public transportation.



Jabba, however, had brought his sail barge, and the barge would only

take an hour and a half.  He could see that the Toydarian was pleased

with this development, and chuckled inwardly.  //Not every day you get

to ride on a sail barge, hmm?  And not every day you get visited by the

Hutt.  He's terrified.//



Once onboard the barge, Bib Fortuna disappeared to attend to the

servants, leaving Watto alone with Jabba.



"So, Watto, who did you lose the boy to?"



"A grey-haired man with a broken nose who wanted to buy hyperdrive parts

with Republic credits."



"You never got his name?"



"The boy called him 'Mister Qui-Gon'."



"Qui-Gon's a common enough name."  Jabba snorted.  "Almost as common as

Bail.  Still, I wonder."



"I thought he might be a Jedi, but he never...wait, he did try a mind

trick on me, when we first met."



"Ah.  You should remember, Watto, that anyone who even *thinks* of

trying a mind trick is very likely Jedi-trained, though not necessarily

a Knight.  There are a fair amount of their AgriCorps here; the Hutt

permit them because they're the best moisture-farmers in the galaxy.

One of the AgriCorps members is Qui-Gon Kel, but he's just sixteen, and

your Qui-Gon was older.  No matter.  Just keep an eye on the

Jedi-trained, and you'll do well."



Jabba could see Watto studying him suspiciously from the corner of his

eye.  The Hutt were not known for giving free advice, nor were they known 

for their verbosity.  //Let him be suspicious.  I need his expertise in

slaves, and I enjoy his company.  For the first, I'll pay him; for the

second, I'll give advice.  I was always good at fair trade.//



They reached Anchorhead without any major incidents.  Some Tusken

Raiders watched them suspiciously, but they knew better than to attack a 

Hutt sail barge--retributions for such attacks had wiped out entire

Tusken camps.



The slave markets at Anchorhead spread out into the surrounding desert,

but they were shrinking, already much smaller than they had been five

years ago.  Keeping slaves on moisture farms when droids would do as

well and not drink any of the crop--well, it wasn't efficient.  Only

city dwellers or the very rich bought slaves any more.



Watto and Jabba checked out the general slavers, but found no humans

who, to Watto's critical eye, were worth the price.  The specialty

dealers at the far end of the market had better wares, but they were

more expensive.  There, Watto managed to find two strong boys and a

breeder girl--"She's with child, but the slaver doesn't know it yet," he 

whispered to Jabba.  



"How do you know?"



"Can smell it.  Slaver also thinks she's stupid.  She's not.  Watch her

eyes.  She knows exactly what's going on.  She even knows I know she's

pregnant."  The girl, watching them, smiled.  "See?"



Jabba nodded and let Watto do the bargaining for the three slaves--four

slaves, really, but the seller didn't know that.  //He's very

good.  No wonder he has some of the best slaves on the whole planet.

What a prize these will be!//



As they led their purchases away, Watto flitted around Jabba nervously.

"These slaves are, ah, they will be excellent workers if treated

fairly.  The only way I've found to get good slaves and keep them that

way is to treat them well and make them think you value them as

individuals."



"I can trust your word on this.  I saw how much work you got out of the

Skywalker boy."



Watto's fluttering got a little less nervous, and they reached the sail

barge in good time, with the slaves in tow.  It had only taken four

hours to find the slaves, and Jabba chuckled to himself again.  //I'll

have to pay him handsomely for this!  Cut my search time in half, and

even if I lose the girl and the baby in childbirth, I'll still have

gotten a good price on those boys.//



As they boarded the barge and turned the slaves over to Bib Fortuna, the 

girl turned and smiled at them again.  In perfect Huttese, she said "My

thanks.  If you treat me well, I will bear you many strong children."

She bowed and disappeared, following the boys and Fortuna into the

depths of the barge.



Watto chuckled.  "She knows her worth, that one.  Told you she was

smart." 



The barge took off, skimming close to the ground.  The fine grit of sand

stung Jabba's face and body as he and Watto left the outer platform of

the barge and headed for Jabba's quarters inside.  "Join me for a drink,

Watto," he said.



The Toydarian's nervousness returned.  "Of course, great Jabba."



Inside his quarters, Jabba settled on a huge mobile pallet, and Watto

found a comfortably cushioned stool.  "You've done very well," said

Jabba, as he pulled some Corellian spice ale from the refridgeration

unit in the base of the pallet.  "Now, let's see.  I should pay you for

this, since I plan to use your services again in the future.  You saved

me almost 2000 on those slaves; I'll pay you that plus one child out of

the girl."



Watto flitted his wings in surprise.  "I did not expect--"



"I like you, Watto.  But I wonder.  Why aren't you a slaver?"



"I was once.  Too many bad people in it.  And too many slaves are

dangerous.  An exhaust system won't try to kill you in your sleep, hey?"



Jabba laughed.  "Good point."



They sipped their ales slowly.  //I'm really enjoying his company,//

thought Jabba.  //If he was a Hutt, I'd...well, really, what's stopping

me?//  He looked at the Toydarian meditatively.  //Nothing.  I don't

want to hurt him.  I'll need his services in the future.  And there's

nothing I plan to do that will hurt him...//



He reached out and ran a stubby finger along Watto's left wing.



The junk dealer jumped and stared at Jabba, his eyes both surprised and

wary, his wings pressed back.  "Great Jabba..."



"I won't hold it against you if you say no.  I need your skill as a

slaver.  But...if you wish..."



Watto eased his wing back within Jabba's reach.  "What, hey?"



Jabba moved the platform closer and kept stroking the wing.  The

Toydarian moaned softly as Jabba's hand moved to the joint where the

wing met his back and then traveled down to his tail, rubbing the

sensitive skin above the base.  Watto shivered at the touch and flitted

off the stool, closer to Jabba.



"Sensory patches down the sides," Jabba said, and felt Watto's long-toed 

feet begin to stroke.  He drew light circles above the sensitive tail

with his fingers and felt Watto's smaller body jerk in response.  "Ah,

that's good," the dealer murmured, his toes dancing over Jabba's skin,

finding the smoother sensory patches and teasing them.



Jabba knew his hemipenes were starting to extrude, and that his sensory

patches were slick with egg-fluid.  Watto's feet stroked more gently as

Jabba began to shudder. 



The Hutt pulled Watto closer, still rubbing the tail with one hand,

and removed the brown wrap the Toydarian wore over his cloacal bulge.

Then he carefully caressed the bulge, running his finger over its tender 

edges, until Watto growled low in his throat and convulsed, his feet

sliding rapidly over Jabba's moisture-slicked sides.  The huge gangster

moaned and his entire body vibrated, his wet, reddish hemipenes

twitching in unison.  //Sand and water,// thought Jabba, //he's damn

good at this.//



Out loud, he merely cuddled Watto close against his side and said "Maybe 

you should sell the dealership and come work for me full-time."



"Maybe," said Watto.  "You never know when you'll need a friend."



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The End.