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| Cruel World by Beldar |
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This was the saddest day of the rancor-keeper's life.
Had he known how difficult and deadly the Jedi would be - a Jedi! He hadn't seen one since he was a boy - he would not have sent out his favorite beast.
Of course, it was undefeated in decades of gladiatorial games and ritual combat, and never had problems beating (and eating) humans. It seemed the obvious choice, and besides, it was Jabba's favorite, too.
Did the Jedi care that he had killed a nurturing mother, the keeper thought as he looked into the sad eyes of the two young rancors he now had to care for alone. Fortunately, the two-meter-tall beasts were old enough to be raised without constant care, there in the catacombs below Jabba the Hutt's palace.
The keeper barked a command and gestured with his whip. The young shuffled to one side as a large boxy track-wheeled droid rumbled in.
The top of the droid slid open. The keeper sighed as he reached inside and pulled out bloody chunks of meat. He threw them to the young rancors, which leapt upon them greedily. He tossed several pieces to they wouldn't fight each other.
Tears came to the keeper's eyes. He was among the few who knew, who understood. In the wild rancor culture the whole pack would consume the flesh of the fallen one - on Tatooine no meat goes to waste. The elders would then stack the bones in their secret place.
Such rituals were nearly lost among the domesticated beasts.
"Keeper!"
He looked up toward the voice and saw a dug in an upper chamber. In dug dialect the word was the same as that for one who shovels pudu in the bantha stables. Since he could never tell if he was being respected or insulted, he never liked dugs.
"You're a free man now," the dug said. "Jabba is dead."
The keeper was about to shout that this was no time for jokes, but realized that no one joked about the death of a Hutt - not in this way. "The Jedi?" he started to ask.
"The Jedi!" the dug spat back. "He and his woman and the smuggler are leaving Mos Eisley right now. Jabba's barge is ashes, and his bloat is in the middle of it."
"All others dead, too?"
"A few lucky ones got out," the dug answered. "I picked them up out of the desert. So there were survivors, not that the Jedi cared."
The keeper's hatred for the Jedi grew with each word the dug said. The supposed keeper of the peace had not only killed his rancor queen, but had now put him and his young beasts in danger as well. He would have to prove himself all over again to the Hutts as they battled each other for the now-vacant position of top crimelord.
The dug seemed to be thinking this, too.
"You will be quite valuable," he said, "in the days to come."
"And quite dead," the keeper answered, "if I work for the wrong Hutt."
It was frustrating that a Hutt war would stand between him and his revenge - but given the Jedi's luck he would still be there to kill when this was over. The keeper's own survival was the problem now.
"Which Hutt will you serve?" he asked the dug.
"The one that wins!" The dug's laughter echoed through the caves as he disappeared into the shadows.
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