Jabba’s Master Plan

The central hall of Jabba’s palace buzzed with the flickering hum of holoprojectors, each casting a blue, ghostly image of the supervisors scattered across the galaxy. Jabba herself presided over the meeting, seated atop her grand dais, idly scrolling through security footage of her employees. The room’s air was thick with the quiet hum of technology and a palpable tension—none of the remote managers quite knew why they had been summoned, but they were sure it couldn’t be good.

Jabba’s eyes moved lazily over the holo-feeds of the supervisors who worked remotely, managing the bounty hunters and operations spread across the far reaches of her empire. What remained of her once-feared army of hunters had dwindled to a fraction of its former size. Jabba had grown increasingly paranoid about her employees—sure that they were all thieves and liars—and this meeting, she hoped, would set a new tone for the organization.

“Let’s get started,” Jabba announced, her deep, gravelly voice rumbling through the hall. “We need to discuss leadership strategies for managing what remains of our bounty hunting operation. Outsourcing is the future. But I want to hear from all of you about how we can improve management and morale.”

The managers’ holo-images straightened up slightly at the mention of “outsourcing.” Jabba’s plan to shift the bulk of the bounty hunting to outside contractors had stirred up plenty of whispers, but no one had dared question it directly—yet. Jabba was convinced it would save credits and solve her “thief” problem.

Her eyes flicked to one of the newest figures in her supervisory cadre: Director Xly’va, a Sith Lord in training. The tall, hooded figure was an enigma, and her sharp, angular features seemed perpetually locked in a sneer. Rumor had it that Xly’va didn’t actually speak Basic all that poorly—she just pretended to in order to deflect criticism.

Jabba leaned forward slightly. “Director Xly’va,” she began slowly, “why don’t you tell us about your leadership style?”

The holoprojection of Xly’va flickered as the Sith Lord stood taller, as if preparing for a performance. She gave a slow, deliberate nod, her voice halting in exaggerated missteps of Basic.

“Ah… yes. My, how you say… leet-er-ship style,” she began, her fingers moving as if to conjure words from thin air. “It is… very simple, yah? No sympathy.”

The room fell silent as the other supervisors exchanged uncomfortable glances. No sympathy? They weren’t sure if it was a cultural misunderstanding or if the Sith Lord actually believed this to be an effective leadership style.

“Explain,” Jabba prompted, her voice heavy with curiosity.

Xly’va continued, her long, spindly fingers gesturing with each word. “You see, bounty hunters, they… complain, yah? Always have problems. Too hard, too dangerous. Vant more… credits. But I tell them, no sympathy. They sign contract. They vork. They die, maybe. That is… how empire runs.”

Jabba seemed to consider this for a moment. It was true—the bounty hunters were a grumbling lot, always wanting more, despite the extensive surveillance Jabba had put in place to track their every move. How could they possibly be unhappy when everything they did was being monitored so closely? She couldn’t figure it out.

Xly’va’s projection smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort in the room. “No sympathy means ve don’t vory about their… feelings. They do job. If they fail, ve replace them.”

One of the other managers, a Bothan with fur streaked with gray, cleared his throat nervously. “That’s, uh, very efficient of you, Director Xly’va. But perhaps we should also consider ways to boost morale, you know? The bounty hunters are already under a lot of pressure, and with the new outsourcing… well, it’s causing some concern.”

Jabba waved a hand dismissively. “Morale can be handled. But we need to cut costs first.” Her eyes drifted back to the surveillance screens, where she could see the bounty hunters milling around in the break room. “Which brings me to the next topic—coffee.”

There was an audible groan from the supervisors, most of whom were well-acquainted with Jabba’s latest obsession with cutting unnecessary expenses. Coffee had become a contentious issue in recent months. The bounty hunters had come to rely on it to get through their shifts—some even joked that caffeine was the only thing keeping them loyal.

“We are spending too much on coffee,” Jabba continued, her voice heavy with annoyance. “It’s become a crutch. If they need energy, they can drink water. Water is free. Coffee is not.”

Director Xly’va grinned darkly. “Yah, cut the coffee. Bounty hunters need to be strong. If they complain, no sympathy. Coffee makes them weak.”

One of the supervisors, a nervous Rodian, raised a trembling hand. “But… without coffee, productivity might drop. They rely on it during long hunts. It could—”

“Let productivity drop,” Xly’va interrupted with a dismissive wave. “If they cannot vork without coffee, they are weak. Ve vill replace them vith contractors.”

Jabba leaned back, her massive form settling deeper into her throne. She seemed to like the sound of this—cutting costs, replacing disgruntled workers with cheaper contractors, all while tightening control over her empire. But there was still a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Then it’s settled,” she declared. “No more coffee in the break room. We’ll see if productivity drops, and if it does, we’ll replace them. The ones who survive without it will be stronger, more loyal.”

There was a collective murmur of agreement from the supervisors, though many seemed uneasy. Cutting coffee wasn’t the real issue, and they all knew it. The bounty hunters were frustrated not because of caffeine shortages but because of Jabba’s relentless micromanagement, her obsession with tracking their every move, and her constant paranoia that they were stealing from her.

But none of the supervisors dared voice these concerns. Not with Director Xly’va ready to pounce on any sign of weakness, and certainly not in front of Jabba, whose ever-watchful eye now monitored everything, even their personal holo-feeds.

The meeting dragged on with more discussions of cutting costs and tightening control. Jabba seemed to grow more and more pleased with the direction things were going, even as the supervisors continued to squirm under the weight of her increasingly nonsensical policies.

By the time the meeting ended, Jabba was convinced that she was steering her empire toward a brighter future—one where outsourced bounty hunters would solve all her problems, and where the weak would be weeded out, coffee or no coffee.

But in the dim recesses of the palace, the bounty hunters knew better. And they were beginning to wonder how much longer Jabba could hold it all together before the cracks in her empire became too big to ignore.