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Leia met Han’s eyes and shrugged.

The turbolift doors opened and everyone surged out, almost getting stuck in the doors. Jaina was the first out from their group, having been the last one to wedge herself in when the turbolift doors were closing, and Leia heard her daughter’s annoyed voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd.

“Oh, for the love of …”

Leia actually laughed when they emerged. The décor, the lighting, the ambient noise—a dull heartbeat with a barely audible, tension-inducing sound from some wind instrument in the background—all conspired to set the scene for anticipation of something dreadful. It was so over-the-top it was positively ludicrous.

The lighting was slightly tinged with red, casting a slightly bloody hue on everything they would see. The walkway that stretched before them was bare metal, and their feet clanged ominously as they moved forward. The ramp was narrow, forcing everyone to proceed single-file. It did have banisters, and cross sections so that patrons could either linger at a particular pen or move steadily across the entire viewing area. A quick perusal proved that everything was quite solidly built.

But below—protected by force fields, thick transparisteel so cleverly lit it was all but invisible, and security measures that would have given the designers of a third Death Star pause—were creatures that, despite the precautions, would have unsettled any viewer. The designers of the area had not needed the silly mood-setting tricks to get the desired result.

Leia felt a sense of unease as the crowd moved steadily toward the first viewing pen and wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake in bringing Allana to this part of the exhibition. Not because the creatures themselves were alarming to behold, although they were, but because of why they were here. These were animals that had been captured or bred as a display of their owner’s power, and none was trained to win the title of Most Placid in Show. They would likely be kept in uncomfortable conditions during their short lives, their innate tendencies toward aggression fostered. They would probably be mistreated and die painfully in gladiatorial combat on worlds where such entertainment was legal. Of course the owners would sign contracts assuring that their new purchases would never be used in such a fashion; Leia knew better than to assume any of those promises would be honored.

She wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Allana how sick and cruel some beings could be to animals.

They were almost over the first viewing pen now. While the ceilings over the animals were transparisteel, the partitions between pens were thick duracrete. No one wanted to take any chances with one species getting into another’s pen. The placard hovering in the air announced that this was a reek. Leia braced herself for the inevitable bad pun from Han about the creature’s name, but it didn’t come. And from that alone she realized her husband shared her concerns. His big hands were on Allana’s shoulders, letting her move where she wanted, but protectively there.

Allana stood up on tiptoe, the banister being sufficiently tall that she couldn’t otherwise see over it, and peered down at the animal. It was large, with mottled red skin on its head, neck, and chest. Two horns curved out on either side of its massive jawbone and a single huge central horn jutted from between its eyes. The solitary animal paced for a bit, then, grunting, pawed at the grassy matter it had been given to sleep on. It looked up at the throng gazing down on it, opened its mouth—it had jaws strong enough to snap a humanoid limb in a casual bite—and bellowed at them, then moved to one of the rocks in the pen to sharpen its cheek tusks.

“Why aren’t the reeks out in the riding animal pens?” Allana asked. “They’re bred to be pack animals, aren’t they? And I thought their skin was supposed to be brown. Is this one hurt?”

Leia and Jaina exchanged pained glances. Jaina spoke first. “Well, yes they are pack animals. And they’re usually fed plants.