Star Wars (Legends):The Eternal Conflict. Book:2

Chapter 11 (The Flight to Freedom)

Location: Space Port in the Industrial Sector on Revuilt Nar Shaddaa.

"Carful!" Barked the old Devaronian, in response to the ill treatment of his cargo by the dock's  skill-less labourers. On most docks, on most planets, it would be the responsibility of the ship's crew to load and unload goods.
However, on the Hutt controlled moon,  the Hutt's interests were of primary concern. You couldn't just come to Nar Shaddaa and do a little business on the side. The Cartel demanded to be cut into the action; at least 60 percent.

To ensure savvy freighter pilots, didn't short-change them, the Hutts controlled all the space ports, and saw to it that their people loaded and unloaded all merchandise on Nar Shaddaa.

The Devaronian could only watch on in disgust as the 2 Rodians carelessly banged the hoverskid containing his precious cargo against the walls of the bay.

"Listen you Mudlickers! That Crate holds more credits in Corellian brandy, then you will ever see in your MEANINGLESS LIFETIMES! PLEASE! CAREFUL!"

After a few more scrapes and dings, the large container was up the ramp and secured in the "Lasting Chance's" hold.

It wasn't until the light freighter entered hyperspace, that captain Garos left the cockpit and made his way back to the ship's modest cargo hold.

He was eager to check on the status of his cargo. He rushed to the crate, and activated the container's retractable lid. Inside was something more precious to him than Corellian brandy...
Slaves.

Sentient beings.
People that had arbitrarily been denied the most basic of freedoms all thinking creatures deserved.
Devaronians, as a people, where not known to give off warm fuzzy feelings. But in the eyes of the box's occupants, Captain Garos was their saviour. It didn't matter that his head sported two demonic horns, or that his teeth mimicked small daggers. The man radiated something that had been desired, but never felt by the occupants of the crate: Kindess. Concern.

Among the 6 fortunate souls who were crammed inside, was a lime-green Twi'lek.

Sea'Yawna, could still not believe it. She was free!
She would never have described herself as strong willed person. Even after slaves revolted elsewhere in the galaxy she had resigned herself to knowing no other existence.

But what she had heard at the meeting... Hearing what Luke Skywalker had done to save those innocent aliens had touched something deep inside. Her hope had been kindled, for the first time ever. That hope was accompanied by galvanized determination upon learning of the plot to Kill Luke.

She had looked for opportunities to get the message out, but the truth was, there weren't any. Her Master Gardulla, surrounded herself with like-minded beings; Cruel, greedy, and arrogant. They couldn't  have cared less if Skywalker had a death mark. It was only a day or two before she realized, that the galaxy would not be coming to her, she must go to it. And that's what she did. It took a few more days after that realization to actually muster up just the bare minimum of courage to walk away from her master. She knew at that point, that she would either be killed in the following hours, or free. And her she was! Free!

The Captain, and his Noghri co-pilot helped everyone out of the container. Sea'Yawna was last.
Garos was about to pull the Twi'lek out, just as he had done everyone else, but he paused. There was a panic in her eyes; a raw instinctual terror at the thought of being touched.

Unfortunately Garos had seen that look too many times on the faces of too many young female slaves. It came from a lifetime of abuse. From their early teens, slave girls were treated as soulless objects of pleasure. They came to fear any tactile contact from another. Touch meant pain. Touch meant... Humiliation.