The more we looked, the more we found Jubba's shit everywhere. Once we knew what to look for – and we'd gone into a full-blown frenzy upturning everything – we found the faint “JHS” monogram printed on a tag or imprinted somewhere innocuous. The fucking cups we drank from, the fucking chairs we sat on, the fucking datapads we worked on, most of the fucking clothes strewn across Sally's floor, even her fucking nurse scrubs, the fucking shoes, the fucking lamps, the fucking clocks, and even the fucking bed we'd fucked on. All of it was Jubba's and all of it came from the slave pits. Fucking hell.
Sitting in the wreckage of her room, unable to touch or look at anything around us, we inevitably questioned our sanity: what if “JHS” stood for something else? Maybe something Powaah-related or inspirational like “Joyous Happy Saints,” or something nonsensical and safely meaningless like “Jumping Heirloom Savories”? What if the purse had been some twisted coincidence? What if we'd just destroyed her room like a couple crazy people? Hahahaha... Upon closer scrutiny, we couldn't see any visible writing on any of the tags or Jubba's actual name anywhere, so, with a few nervous laughs, we'd calmed ourselves down.
But, just as we were about to clean her room up and chalk the mess up to our paranoia, I accidentally squeezed one of the tags, causing it to light up up and activate a cheap blueish-white holo-recording. Though the holo was no larger than my hand, we could easily identify the cheerfully waving figure of a grotesquely corpulent man reclining on a rattan beach chair in front of a thatch hut – The Hut, presumably, where Jubba had legendarily (so the press claimed) started his first business that eventually became his massive, all-encompassing empire of shitty stuff. A heavy, basso voice could be heard from the holo, as Jubba laughed and drawled,
“Huh... huh... huh... huh! Thank you for purchasing a fine product from Jubba's Hut of Stuff, where quality meets affordability! Huh.... huh... huh... huh!”
It was a fucking outrage. What the fuck was the Rebellion doing supporting a barbaric corporation like Jubba's? Haven't there been enough people like Sally and I who have survived and escaped the horrors of their slavery? Haven't there been enough reports and exposés and even two full-length documentaries detailing their rights abuses, exploitative practices, destruction of minority species and desecration of countless planetary ecologies? This is a Rebel facility for fuck's sake! We should be fighting against evil like Jubba's, not to mention boycotting their goods at the very least. It was outrageous. Outrageous! FUCKING OUTRAGEOUS!!!
We burst into patient hall, screaming and hollering, demanding to speak to Dee-Three-Pee-Oh about the facility's completely unacceptable and unethical purchasing practices. Disheveled and somewhat on the crazed side, Sally yelled at the droid, as I stood silently behind her, having decided that given my past history with Dee-Three-Pee-Oh (and also that my mental state wasn't entirely suited for making an argument (though I wasn't too sure about Sally either...)), it would be best if I took on the role as the strong silent-type, standing in solidarity and demonstrating my outrage through my frowning and crossed arms.
“It's an outrage! An outrage! It's everywhere! Even HERE!” Sally said, ramming a hypo into Dee-Three-Pee-Oh's face and pointing at the JHS logo on it.
“Nurse Sally, that is indeed a hypo-injector, what is your grievance with it?” the droid buzzed calmly, as it assessed the situation of having two angry flesh-beings in front of it. “You appear to be in need of sedation...”
“This... All of it... Everything here was made by Jubba's corporation. Everything is a product of slave labor. We can't have this here! It is unacceptable!” Sally screamed.
“Nurse Sally, your complaints have been registered and will be duly investigated,” the droid said, holding out a placating arm, as the other was cocked behind its back and holding a hypo-injector that I guessed Dee-Three-Pee-Oh was calculating if it had enough morphine to use on the two of us.
“Don't you brush this under the rug, you fucking machine! I demand that the purchases from Jubba's corporation be stopped immediately!” Sally shrieked, thrusting her index angrily in front of Dee-Three-Pee-Oh's lifeless eyes.
“Nurse Sally, may I remind you that you are being demeaning. I am not merely a machine, I am a droid...” the machine said, attempting to shift the focus on to Sally.
“The fuck you are! If you were more than a machine, you'd know how disgusting of a company Jubba's is,” Sally spat, and then pleaded, “At the very least, we should stop buying from them! Find another supplier!”
“Nurse Sally, Jubba's Hut of Medical Supplies is a reliable and affordable source of supplies for this facility. The financial considerations...” Dee-Three-Pee-Oh explained.
“Fuck that! Purchasing from Jubba's is against the facility's charter of ethics!” Sally threw what was certainly her strongest card. With a charge like that, Dee-Three-Pee-Oh had to take it seriously or face the facility's board members.
“Jubba's Hut of Stuff Incorporated is a respectable company...” the droid said, repeating the company line.
“Bullshit! Jubba's is slave company!” Sally said, inching closer to Dee-Three-Pee-Oh, and progressively pinning the droid against the wall, making me nervous with the vivid moment of deja-vu.
“Nurse. You are mistaken. As a Doctor, I am trained to critically analyze the legitimacy of reports and studies, and the ones you mention have never been proven,” Dee-Three-Pee-Oh said, attempting to gain the upper-hand through condescension.
“Never been proven?? Are you crazy? How many people have told you about our experiences? How can you deny that?”
“I have verified the datasphere, and reliable sources have assessed that their practices are sound and ethical.”
“Those are the company's bullshit reports you're reading!”
“They are from independent agencies...”
“You stupid fucking machine! I was there! We were fucking there! We were Jubba's slaves!” Sally screeched in exasperation, bursting into tears and slamming her fist on a trolley-full of hypo-injectors and spilling them onto the floor.
I tried pulling her away, but Sally refused to be touched, and I watched helplessly, as she began stomping and crushing the hypos with a maniacal look of vengeful satisfaction. From the corner of eye though, I spotted Dee-Three-Pee-Oh approaching Sally slowly, almost as if it was going to console her – but then, an electric alarm coursed through me, as I noticed the hypo in the droid's hand. Oh, no! It was going to sedate Sally! I had to stop it! Throwing myself at the droid, I yelled,
“You get away from her, you bastard!” I pushed the the droid away from Sally, while also knocking the hypo from its hand.
A whole lot of yelling and arm-waving followed, much of it mine and Sally's, as our hope that our complaint about a violation of ethics would result in fundamental change degenerated into a series of shoving and cursing. Admittedly, given our agitation, we should have anticipated that we weren't going to make the best case.
“Unhand me! You are in violation of Protocol 2 slash 6...”
“Stop the purchases! Stop them now!”
“...entitled 'Healthy Staff Relations and Constructive Dialogue...”
“They're slavers! It's completely unacceptable to be buying from them.”
“Cease and desist you activity! You are disrupting the efficiency of...”
“Never! We demand justice! We demand to be heard!”
A voice finally managed to pierce our wild brouhaha with, “Hey! Hey! HEY! Knock it off! Let the damned droid gimme my morphine!”
Turning around to curse the interrupting person, I instead gaped in awe and said, “Kenobei? Ben Kenobei?”
“Yeah, I'll be your fucking mother too, if you shaddup and gimme my morphine,” growled a frail, grey-bearded man from the bed across from us. With the tubes and blinking machines attached to him, it was hard to tell for sure, but it had to him! Who else had his famous all-knowing and patient eyes. “What the fuck is hold-up here? Dee-Three-Pee-Oh, get over here!”
&nbs
p; “I am coming, Patient Kenobei. There has been an unforeseen delay,” the droid doctor answered immediately, as it shoved the two of us aside and headed towards Ben with a hypo that had survived Sally's wrath. “I will call security, and all will return to normal soon.”
“It goddamned better,” snarled the old man, sinking back into his bed. As I stared at the wasted husk of a man, I wondered if this really was the man Louke had talked about; the man Louke had described was a noble, wise man who commanded respect with his very presence – not this mockery of a man with matted, unkept hair who, “Keeeuh! Keuuh! Keeeuuuuh! Rrrraaachtttt... ptuuuh! What're you looking at boy?”
I took a step away from the disgusting man's phlegm that had landed too close to my feet, and shook my head, “You can't be Ben Kenobei.”
“What the fuck would you know, delivery-boy?” the man sneered, lifting his sleeve to bare a bony shoulder for his much craved shot.
My face reddened, as I replied, “I know Louke Skywalker himself! I knew him on Tattoo-ine and served with on Hawth! Ben Kenobei is a noble person! He's a wise man who...”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah... I heard the bullshit stories too. I fucking made 'em up,” the whithered man snickered, relaxing now as the morphine took effect. “Who the fuck do you think came up with the idea to use a fucking bullshit Powaah cult as a front? Even got Solo in on the show.”
“Haan? Haan Solo? You know Haan? That's fucking bullshit!” I sputtered at the thought, as I watched Dee-Three-Pee-Oh leave the patient hall. The droid was probably getting the guards, which meant Sally and I should be leaving too, but I felt compelled to refute what the old man had to say.
“Fuck you, boy,” the old man said defiantly. “I was the one who started the whole organization. I found all the contacts and made all the money to start it up. I brought 'em together. I was the one who recruited Louke to the Rebellion and introduced him to Solo. Do you think that lick-spittle shit Louke could have built a narcotic cartel and start a war alone? I was the brilliant one who started it all. War and drugs. Best way to make money.”
A hand gripped my arm tightly, as I listened to the madness the old man was spouting. I vaguely heard Sally's voice asking, “What did he say?” but I was too focused on the words that kept spilling out,
“That Louke's a traitorous fucker. Got rid of me, soon as he had a chance,” Kenobei laughed mirthlessly. “Just didn't have the balls to kill me outright so he threw me aside to this shit-hole planet and drugged me up so I won't be a problem. Fucking regime change. Got rid of all the people who used to at the head of the organization. Just like poor Yodda. An overdose gave the guy a stroke and now he can't even talk right any more. Right, Yodda?”
An high-pitched, trilling voice answered from a shriveled midget of a man lying on the bed beside us, “Morphine there not be! Where be the fucking droid? Pleased I am not! Pleased I am not!”
“It's coming, it's coming. Don't worry, Yodda. They won't want us talking for long,” Kenobei said, placating the delusional midget, who bore a sickly shade of pale green. Similar grumbling and complaining could be heard as the other patients' morphine wore off. “Louke told 'em to keep us high so we won't be able to say or do a thing. Guess I should thank you for my first moment of lucidity in a year.”
“You're fucking lying,” I whispered.
“No, I ain't. You wanna to know why there's so much of Jubba's shit here?” Kenobei said pointing at Sally now with a gnarled finger. I felt her stiffen by my side. “How do you get blind 'soldiers' who kill themselves doing what you say? You give 'em a cause like the Powaah, right? Sure, that's the easy part. But you gotta make 'em fanatics to make 'em real loyal. So what do you do? Make 'em suffer together, make 'em go through something horrible, make 'em do something together that's insanely awful. Who’d you kill? Anyone good? Sometimes they have them torture some loser, but you don’t seem the type. Usually they target some loser fucking alien no one will care about. It’s only after that and only then, come in and save them. Feed 'em the Powaah then and they'll follow you like dogs and even thank you for it. Ooooo, Rebellion! Thank you! Ooooo, thank you so much! Let me fight for you! Ooooooo! That was my idea, boy! I set up the deal with Jubba!”
“Let's get out of here,” I said to Sally, trying to turn us both away, but neither of us budged when Ben continued taunting us with,
“I'll bet stormtroopers brought you in to Jubba, right? Who do you think tipped them off? Shit, Louke and his gang got the Empire to bring you guys to Jubba so they can be the “saviors” to pull you out,” Kenobei snickered. “It's a great fucking deal: Jubba gets free slaves, and then, when they become useless, Louke or Haan or whoever comes in and collects a whole bunch of dedicated soldiers all rip-raring to fight against the Empire. So, of course, the Rebellion would keep a contract with Jubba. He's our best business partner!”
“This way! In here!” Dee-Three-Pee-Oh's urgent, buzzing voice ordered, storming into the room along with two guards and pointing angrily at Sally and I. But, before the droid could order us taken out, a cacophony of moaning voices demanded its attention,
“Doctor! My shot, where's my shot?”
“Help me... the pain... please...”
“Where am I? What is this place?”
“O, please, my arms... Doctor, where are my arms?”
“Someone please, tell my mother... tell her I'm here...”
“Please stop the pain... please stop the pain...”
I watched as Dee-Three-Pee-Oh rushed from patient to patient, administering shots, and calling on the guards to hold down the ones that had begun thrashing. With the droid distracted, it was the perfect time to get away, start a new life, anything for fuck's sake, but everything – my mind, my body, my will – had ground to a numbing, paralyzing stand-still.
It was only when I watched Sally rush forward to one of the guards, snatch his blaster and point it to her head that I could move again. Soon afterwards, I was sprawled on the ground, holding and sobbing over Sally's dead body.
CHAPTER 19