Author's Note: This is a character study written for a player character for Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game in the late 1990’s. The characters listed are all from my imagination; details of species, planetary systems, ship types, currency, and political stances are drawn from the game mechanics.

My mother insisted things could always be worse.  My father insisted that somewhere down the road, they would be.  Me, I preferred it when things were worse for someone else, and if I had to work a little to keep it that way, that was okay with me. 

Growing up, I watched my four older siblings disappear one by one, casualties of the thriving slave trade.  Sometimes my parents were “compensated”, sometimes not.  For a while, I thought one of my brothers was going to be smart enough to become a merchant or trader and get off Ryloth, but eventually he was herded off just like the rest.  My parents were fatalistic; better to avoid making a fuss, life will go on.  Whatever.  I didn’t miss my siblings much at first, and eventually I didn’t miss them at all.  I pitied my family for its collective lack of spirit, knowing not much was likely to change their attitudes.  I also began to hate the slavers.  I actually hated the off-world slavers more than I hated the native ones.  Slaving was a fact of life on my world, regardless of whether you were among the sellers or the sold.   To a Twi’lek in the lower classes, being a slave meant you got the unlucky draw, or if you wanted to be optimistic, that you no longer had to look after yourself or your children.  I was disgusted by the Twi’lek complacency about slavery, but there were plenty of beings whose histories didn’t prepare them for it, who were kidnapped instead of being sold, and whose parents would actually miss them when they were gone.

My mother told me that I was lucky, since I was tall and graceful, and Twi’lek dancing girls were in high demand.  They were usually treated reasonably well, if you consider chains and cages humane.  Unfortunately, they also tended to get “used up” rather quickly.  All in all, it didn’t sound like much of a life to me.  When I was young, my brothers had told me it was no use resisting, and that half a life was better than no life at all. I asked them why they were too spineless to join the resistance, because I was going to. They said females weren’t smart enough to be anything except dancers or slaves.  I didn’t agree.  After that, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, having always preferred to listen and learn than prove how much I knew.

Figuring it was just a matter of time before my parents sold me or I simply disappeared, I started studying late at night after dancing, when no one was around.  When my time came, I intended to be ready.  I read contraband manuals on freighter repair, bought with hard-earned credits and other forms of payment I’d rather forget.  I studied piloting and taught myself Basic.  I snuck out one night to a city several hours from my home, and with money I’d saved from errands and several unpleasant dancing jobs, I bought a vibroknife and a small holdout blaster.  Neither was in particularly great repair, but they gave me the ability to practice my shooting and hand to hand fighting. I rigged up a training room in an abandoned cellar near my parents’ home.  An old storage cylinder made a decent target for the blaster, and eventually I became good enough that I could hit nearly the same spot every time from across the room.  I fashioned a kind of person-shaped dummy out of some old cloth, hung it from the middle of the ceiling, and used it to practice knife fighting.  Not exactly effective, considering it never fought back or even squeaked, but better than nothing.  I studied a bit of alien (and Twi’lek) anatomy, to figure out the best ways to incapacitate someone.  I even studied a little first aid, just in case my self-defense training didn’t work out as well as I hoped.

In between workouts, I read about planetary systems in my part of the Galaxy.  I also got plenty of propaganda about the Empire and sketchy information about the Rebellion.  To be honest, I didn’t much care about either.  All I wanted was some way to get off Ryloth and make my own way in the Galaxy, and to be left alone.  I didn’t plan on taking sides, and I’d be damned if I was going to get dragged along either way without any say in the matter.  I wasn’t exactly sure yet what I’d do once I got off planet, but I’d do it for the highest bidder, and only if I felt like it.  The more credits and fewer people I dealt with, the better, as far as I was concerned.  People couldn’t be trusted, but credits never stabbed you in the back.

Life settled into a routine of working, dancing, and studying.  I read anything I thought might help me once I had escaped.  I never let on that I wasn’t perfectly content and continued to dance off and on in the evenings, to earn money to buy more study materials.  My mother urged me to work hard to become a superior dancer, because I’d probably get better treatment if I were talented.  For a moment, it almost seemed like she cared that her only female offspring was facing a life at the end of a leash held by some lecherous offworlder.  Almost.  Mostly she ignored me.   She always figured it was best not to get too attached. 

One night, after I’d fallen asleep in the middle of a particularly confusing section of a repair manual, I was jolted awake by loud voices in the hall.  My father and a gruff-voiced male were haggling over a price for my “employment”.  The stranger was threatening to take me away by force if my father didn’t agree to a reasonable cost.  I leapt to my feet and felt under my pillow for my holdout blaster, then swore as I remembered having left it on the shelf in the training room.  Stupid!  I wasn’t going to get far if I kept doing things like that.  I did, however, find my vibroknife.  I slid it carefully into the front of my trousers, hoping no one would think to search a “defenseless” future slave girl.  I picked up a twisted bit of wire from my makeshift repair kit and tucked it under my headband, just as a precaution.  I considered trying to grab a vial of stimulant from the medical kit in the lavatory, in case the slavers drugged me, but decided not to risk it.  Maybe if I were docile enough, they wouldn’t bother.  I did my best to look sleepy, and opened the door to the hall.

A scraggly, foul-smelling human was barking numbers at my father, who was nodding.  When they saw me standing there, rubbing my eyes, their haggling grew louder.  The human came over to me and fondled my lekku, stroked the outside of my thigh, and leered at me.  I’d seen him in the pub where I’d danced two nights before, and he’d leered at me then too.  I cowered back, fighting down the urge to break his fingers.  When my father commanded me to dance for the slaver, I froze.  The last thing I needed was for my knife to drop out of my trousers in the middle of some obscene wriggle!  I pretended to be shy, and made only a few self-conscious moves.  Fortunately, my parents didn’t know me well enough to realize that I was much more aggressive and talented than I was making out.  The slaver, for his part, was more interested in my looks than in my artistic abilities and seemed more than satisfied.

Eventually, they settled on some price for me.  I tried not to listen, and tried not to hate my parents.  The slaver closed some thin shackles around my wrists and a leather collar around my neck and led me off to his ship by the leash.  I followed quietly, with my head down, meek as could be.  I didn’t even try to look back.

His ship was docked at the local excuse for a spaceport, which had only 4 docking bays and one seedy little bar.  I strained my neck to get a look at it.  It was an HT2200 class light freighter, reasonably easy to pilot, nothing fancy or fast, but dependable.  Sloppy lettering on the side proclaimed it to be the Bloody Flux.  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded revolting.  I took a better look at the slaver as he led me up the ramp into the belly of the slave runner.  He was ugly, even for a human, with a nasty scar where his left ear should have been.  His head came up to my shoulder, which made him fairly tall for his species.

Once inside the ship, he opened the door to a cargo bay.  Inside were half a dozen other Twi’leks, all sitting quietly in a huddle near the back wall.  I barely glanced at them.  The slaver undid the collar from my neck and grabbed at my chest before shoving me into the bay.  He laughed coarsely and made some rude suggestions. I turned away from him and wandered toward the other unfortunates, but my lekku waved as I called him the dirtiest string of names in my vocabulary.  None of the others even seemed to notice, much less care. 

As the door slid shut, I turned back toward it and positioned myself at the side that opened first.  I took the wire out of my headband and bent it slightly, working at the locks on my binders.  I glanced up to see if any of the others were watching, searching for some sign of life, but they were too busy wallowing in either self-pity or self-defeat.  I listened for the engines to start up, but heard nothing.  The ugly human must have gone to get more slaves, or get drunk, or do something even less appealing.  I hoped it was another slave, and kept working at the cuffs.

It took me a lot longer than I’d expected to pick the locks open.  The ones I’d practiced with weren’t nearly as difficult.  I’d have to remember that in the future.  I was just sliding the knife out of my trousers when I heard footsteps coming up the gangway.  Pressing as closely against the wall as I could manage, I gripped the knife tightly and gritted my teeth.  The door to the bay slid open, and a very young Twi’lek girl was pushed inside.  I barely registered the tears on her face or the bruises on her lekku as I grabbed for the human’s arm where he still held her leash.  He let out a startled yelp, and before he could fully recover, I smashed him in the face as hard as I could with the fist that held the knife.  Pain seared my knuckles, and blood gushed from his nose.  He snarled, and dropped the girl’s leash.  She merely whimpered, fell to the floor, and curled up into a ball.  I cursed as I stepped over her, and swung the knife at the human.  He leaped at me just as I brought up the knife.  It jabbed into his side, but it was a shallow wound.  He gasped and staggered back, only to trip over the girl.  I took the opportunity to leap on top of him and slit his throat. 

I struggled to my feet, looking at the mess I’d made.  I felt lightheaded, and I turned and threw up against the wall.  I stood there shaking for a few minutes, then began to laugh.  Now I’ve never had much of a sense of humor, and I certainly wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but I felt good.  I searched the slaver’s pockets, came up with a little over 350 credits, a set of keys, some trinkets, three Imperial permits, and a Wanted poster with his scarred face on it.  His name was Jessup.  I turned around, trying to decide what to do.  The young girl was still on the floor.  I felt a twinge of pity for her.  Had she been a little older, I’d have ignored her, figuring she got what she expected and earned.  As it was, she just looked miserable.  I picked her up and carried her over to the others.  They still hadn’t moved.  I wanted to yell, shake them, slap their faces for being such lifeless idiots.  Instead, I set the girl down as gently as I could, and walked out into the corridor.  I kicked the slaver’s carcass in the head as I walked past.

The ship was on the large side of small, or the small side of large.  It had four cargo bays, empty except for the few slaves.  It had two large gun turrets on the top and bottom.  I poked my head into the cockpit, which was messy, but seemed to be in good repair.  There was a very illegal heavy blaster in a holster on the pilot’s seat.  I strapped it on and drew it.  It was much more comfortable in my hand than the little holdout I’d had, though it would be more difficult to conceal.  I sat down and looked at the controls for a moment.  It was different seeing them in a real ship instead of on a screen, but they were familiar.  The power readings were at full strength, and there was a course laid into the hyperdrive.  I pulled the Wanted poster out of my pocket and checked to see where the bounty was offered.  Before I left the cockpit, I started the calculations for a jump to the system, where I planned to unceremoniously dump the slaver, in exchange for a few credits and a lot of satisfaction.  I went and checked the galley, finding it stocked with some edibles and many more drinkables.  I popped open a bottle of lum and leaned against the wall, thinking.

After a few minutes, I wandered back to the cargo bay to check for movement.  The young girl had uncurled, and was sitting miserably with her head on her knees, sobbing.  The rest were ignoring her, and each other.  I went over to her and offered her my hand.  She looked at me uncertainly, but took my hand, and I pulled her to her feet.  I led her to one of the sleeping quarters and tucked her in bed.  Her name was Rella, and she asked if I was going to hurt her.  I told her my name, K’yla DanTharr, and that I wasn’t going to hurt her.  She seemed satisfied with the answer, though she continued to sob.  I thought about returning her to her family.  I knew that was probably what she wanted, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  What would be the point?  It would only delay the inevitable.  To give her hope, only to have it taken away a year or two later… that would be cruel.  I left her there to cry herself to sleep and went back to the others.

As I came through the cargo bay door for the third time to find the other would-be slaves still sitting in the same position, my irritation at the tiny group peaked.  I took the keys I’d gotten from Jessup’s pocket and opened all of their restraints.  Then I began to yell, loud and long, for them to get their useless, worthless entrails off my ship. My ship.  I was mildly gratified to see them jump in unison.  All my frustration poured out of my lungs and off the tips of my lekku as I screamed and gestured.  I shouted that if they were smart, they’d learn to defend themselves, and if they weren’t, they could just wait in the spaceport for the next slaver to dock and climb aboard as soon as they opened the hatch.  They scrambled to their feet, looking at me and the door.  I pulled my knife and new blaster for effect, brandishing them in their direction, raising my voice even louder.  Suddenly, they took off in a herd, running for the door, down the hall, and out the ramp.  I followed and closed the hatch behind them.

I have never really been sure why the spaceport gave me clearance to take off, since the ship was registered to a single male, and I was obviously a female, and since presumably the entire cargo had come bolting down the gangway just moments before I made the request.  Maybe they were just used to not asking questions.  I didn’t question my fortune at the time, leaving the surface of my home planet for the first and last time in my life.

I made it to the spaceport at Dal Alnoth, where some Quarren was offering a meager but acceptable price for the slaver’s head.  I brought him just that:  his head.  He seemed amused, and offered me employment.  I declined and told him all I wanted was the ship and the bounty.  He asked me what I planned to do about the shields, which needed replacing, and about living expenses, including docking fees and money to clean out and restock the ship.  I considered; counting the 10,000 credits I got for Jessup’s head and the 350 I pried out of his pockets, I probably had just about enough for shield replacements and supplies, with a thin margin left.  I would have left it at that and hoped that I could scrounge up enough cargo business to make ends meet, but the Quarren hinted rather broadly that inexperienced spacers weren’t exactly sought after.  I was reasonably sure he was also going to make some comment about “female pilots”, but he let it drop.  I had to smile, though.  I can’t imagine what ran through people’s minds when they realized I was a freighter captain and at least one-time bounty hunter and not a slave girl.  After some rather lengthy haggling and bluffing, I wound up borrowing 50,000 credits from him for start-up costs, and for tacit permission to operate out of his jurisdiction.  I knew at the time that I’d be regretting it when the payments came due, and when I calculated how much interest I was going to owe him, but at the time it seemed like the best deal I could get.

The trading was good.  I renamed my ship the Gross Miscalculation, in honor of its previous owner’s final mistake.  I made a reasonable name for myself as fair, direct, and more or less honest, if a bit sour.  I kept to myself, lacking even a co-pilot, and rarely asked questions.  Because I knew when to mind my own business, the Imperials used my services from time to time.  I’m pretty sure that’s why they also tended to overlook what little smuggling I did.  They paid better than most of the other clients I hauled for anyway.

I took up relatively permanent residence in a cantina called the Fool’s Run.  Hauling cargo and the occasional passenger, I made enough money to keep myself comfortable, despite my continual losing streak at the Sabacc tables and the outrageous payments to the Boss, which I always made on time.  I even paid for Rella’s placement as a barmaid and dancer, an occupation she seemed to enjoy, now that it was her choice.  She wasn’t overly bright, but I was sure she’d be okay, especially since the Boss’ majordomo seemed to have taken a genuine liking to her.  I figured in two or three years I’d make enough money to be out of debt, which no doubt irritated the Boss greatly, but despite my lack of gambling talent I was good with money and had no intention of being in this situation forever.  It was really just another form of slavery, although less restrictive than most.  After seeing a bit more of how the Galaxy worked, I learned a little sympathy for slaves, even of my own race.  I never learned sympathy for the slavers, but I learned there were worse things I could do to them than kill them on sight.

I figured maybe someday I’d pick up a co-pilot, if for nothing else than to have someone to work the guns when I ran across the occasional pirate, or just to have someone around to blame when things went badly.  At the moment, I didn’t have much use for anybody else outside the Sabacc tables and semi-friendly drinking bouts in the Run.  Eventually I’d amass enough money to wander the Galaxy and get as far away from the Empire, Rebellion, and trouble as I could manage, or maybe I’d decide to settle down on some planet and run a nice comfortable business.  Once in a while, I wondered if my parents missed me.  Usually, I doubted it.