Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 05_ Allies - Christie Golden [66]
Madhi shook her head. Her mop of white hair became even more tousled with the gesture. “No,” she said. “No need to wait.”
“But, uh … this … being here …”
“Shohta?”
“Yes, mistress?”
“Your first job as my … my slave,” and she stumbled over the word, “will be to appear on cam with me. For a holovid newscast.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never performed,” he said, shifting his feet and looking nervously. “I’m more of a personal attendant rather than a theatrical performer, although many of my people are known for their thespian skills.”
“You’ll come on the newscast with me,” Madhi repeated, “and you’ll just answer whatever questions I ask you. It won’t be difficult.”
He bowed, deeply, elegantly. “As my mistress commands, I will obey.”
“I wish all the subjects I interviewed were as cooperative,” Madhi quipped automatically, then sobered. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Eleven minutes,” said the cam operator.
Madhi waved at Shohta. “Come on, follow me.”
Seven minutes later, just as dawn was coming, they were several meters away from the watering hole. Krain had positioned the shot strategically, so that it caught some of the establishment without actually including the name. Neither would they mention it. Nothing that had happened inside was illegal, at least not on Vinsoth, and both Tyl and Madhi had been around long enough to know one only riled someone when necessary for the story. And it wasn’t necessary this time.
Madhi stood with her microphone, looking as fresh as if she hadn’t knocked back nearly a liter of highly alcoholic Twi’lek liquor less than a half hour ago. Shohta stood off to the side, looking poised but uncomfortable. He brushed nervously at his robe.
“And go,” Krain said.
“I’m standing here in front of an intoxicant establishment in the capital city of Umalor on Vinsoth,” said Madhi. “The dawn is breaking for this city, but there is still not much light being shone on the institution of slavery that has continued without change for thousands of years on this planet, where the Chevs have enslaved the Chevins. Some would argue that it’s a very civilized arrangement. That the Chevins are well taken care of, that their culture is respected and allowed to flourish.”
Madhi’s gaze grew intense. She made no effort to stifle her feelings. “Honest reporting compels me to admit that most Chevins are indeed well treated. Indeed, their lives might be easier than those of many free beings elsewhere. But they are not free beings. They are property, they are owned, and they can be bought and sold … even submitted as bets in a card game.
“In fact,” she continued, “I myself was involved in a game of chance just an hour or so ago. And I’d like you to meet what was offered as currency.”
Shohta moved hesitantly into the cam range, glancing uneasily back and forth between the cam operator and Madhi. She smiled up at him briefly, then returned her intense gaze to the audience she always envisioned as gazing back at her on the other side of the lens.
“We know the clichés of what happens when someone doesn’t have money in a game of chance. Jewelry gets put on the table. Sometimes deeds to property. Shohta is property, and now, according to all the laws of this planet, he belongs to me just like my jacket does. Shohta,” she said, turning to him, “You spoke very eloquently earlier of all that you had to offer me as a slave. Can you share that with the viewing audience?”
“Of course, mistress,” he said promptly, looking relieved. This was something he was comfortable with, even proud of. “My name is, as you know, Shohta Laar. I am trained to be a personal attendant. I cook, clean, manage personal affairs such as errands and schedules, and conduct interviews of other slaves you might desire to purchase, among other things.”
“I see,” Madhi said. “And you said earlier you had a pedigree? Can you tell me more about it?”
“This marks me as a descendant of one of the most sought-after slave families,” Shohta said, lifting