Padmé walks along the electrified fence that encloses the oasis. She did not want to stay with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. They seemed eager to discuss matters that only concern the Jedi Order. The master was not against her presence, for no secrets exist in the eyes of a Force guardian. However, as he himself said in his presentation, some subjects, while not necessarily taboo, are inappropriate. This visit to the temple has clearly not improved her mood. Her fear is still there. The nightmares will be also this night. Though, she remains happy to have learned more about Jedis.

A droid has been following the Queen Amidala for a minute. The child clutches her trembling hand over her blaster pistol, ready to brandish it at the slightest suspicious movement. She knows her reaction is anomalous. Robots make her break out in a cold sweat now. A simple astrodroid shouldn't put her on the verge of fainting! What's worse are those models with glowing eyes. Padmé could destroy one just to stop the glow. All the unfortunate girl has to do is close her eyelids and the image of a mechanical soldier returns.

The sky turn gray and the sand now seems dull. A couple of mandreloukhs are busy checking a gigantic cable, which pops up from the ground, going right into a battlecruiser suspended above the neighborhood. Jabba's guests keep coming steadily. All the small nobility from this region will soon be present. The Hutts make a point of organizing memorable festivities. Their barbarity does not prevent those people from excelling in diplomacy. Populations who distrust Republicans tend to ally themselves with them.

The most amusing thing, if you have this kind of humor, is that the Hutts are recognized by the Galactic Republic! Their representatives hold a permanent presence in the Senate, in preparation for an impending integration. Although, those who are raided fiercely oppose it. The Trade Federation maintains its own political party for this sole purpose: they refuse to accept an hostile civilization until it renounces its traditions. A vain wish, Hutts have control over some of the wealthiest worlds in the galaxy.

That's why this conflict is so complicated: on one hand, federal diplomats are trying to eliminate a threat to their members, most of whom are xenophobic and philistine. On the other, the Hutts allow themselves this luxury of showering the Republic with money it constantly needs, given its government inability to keep a balanced budget. Reason of state demands: you'd better not say publicly they rule over legions of slaves! Officially, they have no army. All mandreloukhs are 'volunteers'.

To add insult to injury, the Hutts hide behind a charity facade. They only seek to promote the cultural heritage of an « unrecognized and unjustly despised multi-millennial nation ». So, our fellows are admirably generous towards all those causes that inspire the peoples of the Core. Artistic patronage is their specialty.

The Federation struggles to match this strategy, coming from a region ravaged for a thousand years by the Dahls raiders. Since the sector is mainly composed of arid planets with an insignificant birth rate, resistance was out of reach for them. They tolerated this terrible daily life without flinching, until one day, when some locals abandoned their ancient customs to found... a corporation! Illiterate nomads became, almost overnight, simultaneously shareholders and employees of an interstellar consortium.

Nevertheless, the Dahls remained dangerous for long. The feds built synthetic armies, using funds raised from their commercial operations, bringing aid to every persecuted territories. They deliver water to the deserts and food to the starving. In exchange, the executive management asks only one thing: « become a shareholder, become an employee! » It doesn't matter where you come from, because « all oppressed peoples are equal in the service of our Holy Federation! » They reacts as a religion. A conservative country with no fixed territory, existing wherever the marketing department decides to maintain offices.

Each planet is a franchise, responsible for a million brands, able to offer its fleets at an unbeatable price. Every product you can imagine is in stock in their warehouses. Its monthly income? More than the fortune of Naboo. The Dahls were crushed and absorbed... only to be replaced by the far more talented Hutts.

The Federation's reputation suffers from its tendency to crush competitors, the pseudo-scientific cult that surrounds its leaders and, most likely, a smear campaign organized by its opponents. The Senate thought it was smart to offer them a monopoly on transportation, thus buying itself a relative peace on the outer rim, which is becoming more hostile every year. In the end, it backfired on the entire galaxy. The Trade Federation obviously refuses to give up what it has been granted, because such a privilege ensures an ascendancy finally equal to the Hutts.

Unfortunately, thinking about this doesn't stop the droid from following Padmé. The girl enters an unfamiliar area. She soon came upon a strange building. The structure's architecture is unlike any other. A noise emanates from it, a sort of hissing buzz. There are barbed wire fences. The child approaches. She discovers dozens of men, women and children in dark uniforms. A score of warriors surround them, vibro-baton in hand. If the name doesn't sound threatening, just touching some flesh with the tip is enough to break bones.

Is this one of those famous « whistle houses »? The ones Anakin was talking about? That would be where the Hutts train their slaves. They must charge a lot for the service. A morbid curiosity attracts the kid. An arm reaches through the fence to firmly grasp her wrist:

« Help... help us! »

The voice blows out almost unintelligible words. The queen tries to catch a glimpse of the speaker, hidden behind a plasteel box. She recognizes his beard... it was the captain for sale on the market!

« You... you're from the Republic? Get this message to Coruscant! Please save my crew! »

The man holds out a torn piece of cloth, shoving it into Padmé's pocket.

« Hey! Slacker! What the hell are you doing back there? Return to your position for the next drill! » Screams an overseer.

The poor bastard staggers away. The little girl stands still. She doesn't dare to take his message out of her pocket to read it and prefers to walk away from this filthy place. After a short walk, the girl realizes that this cursed machine still follows her! Suddenly she stops, turns around and takes out her blaster to point it at the robot. The thing stops. Its eyes shine! Why the hell do all manufacturers have this habit?

« Please go back to Wakko Wakko's domain! You are not safe. Please go back to Wakko Wakko's domain! »

The child, frightened by the stare, fires a warning shot.

« Get the hell out of here! »

The droid does not move.

« Please go back to Wakko Wakko's domain! »

A second shot is heard. This time it's not from Padmé. The robot collapses, its head shattered. Behind him appears an imposing mandreloukh accompanied by three comrades.

« Jawas have no respect for anything! Now they're sending their droids to swipe our gear all the way here! Damn it! »

The giant kicks his heel into the metal frame, then notices the girl. His bone helmet prevents the fighter's face from being clearly seen.

« Well, what are we doing alone with a blaster? And an expensive one! Sport shooting? Gorgeous! »

The girl steps away, as the men slowly circle her like raptors.

« Who is your owner, precious wonder? We'll take you home. »

« I don't belong to anyone. I am... » Padmé falls silent before she says something stupid.

The girl must not reveal that she is Queen of Naboo! No one would believe it... no, worse, she'll be in big trouble if anyone actually listens! The Hutts will keep her prisoner for months! Plenty of time for Naboo to be nothing but ashes.

« You are? Oh, someone important, I guess! Clever, even! What shall I say, smart... who got lost in one of Jabba the Hutt's slave quarters. Where only his serfs are allowed to enter. That said, this will soon be your fate. Your weapon, down! »

They yoke up their blasters, when a male voice detonates:

« What the hell did you do? By Brek! What will Jabba say? »

The mandreloukhs turn to see a young man. The girl recognizes his face, she just saw him at the temple: it's Owen.

« You bunch of idiots ! You just messed up one of Jabba's droids! He was in charge of... damn... oh damn! »

The warriors tense up. They look at each other, realizing they may have made a big mistake. The kind that costs a life.

« We don't... »

« Stop! Be quiet! Don't say anything! Listen, no more talk about Wakko Wakko's servants not knowing how to be helpful: I'm going to solve this catastrophe. You, you leave! No, better: I haven't seen anyone! Understood? »

« Yes, young man. » Retorts the giant while making sign to his colleagues to follow. They disappear in seconds.

« Hell... you can't go an hour without triggering a cataclysm! What are you doing with a blaster in your hand? You think you can take down mandreloukhs with your gadget? Put that thing away! »

The girl complies. This teenager has an incredible authority in his tone!

« Padmé, right? »

« Yes. »

« My mother is inviting your group to dinner tonight. My fian... Beru is going to tell the other long-eared clown. Answer? »

« Okay. I'll be there... » She whispers softly.

« Good, come with me! You must not stay here, it's dangerous. »

They return to Wakko Wakko's workshop. As they arrive in front of the oasis, Owen exclaims:

« I have to go. Got work to do. Seriously... someone should teach you some resourcefulness, kid! An adult won't always be behind to fix your idiocy. »

The young guy walks away grumbling, leaving her hanging. Resourcefulness, huh? She sits on a metal carcass, extracting the message from her pocket. The cloth is covered with faded words: names, a number and a location. A silly thought crosses Padmé's mind, the kind that doesn't go away. As a representative of the Nubian people, she knows that she must embody all their values abroad. Honor dictates one course of action: these people must be freed, and the Queen already knows how to do it.