I had lost.

That slime, Kenobi, had beaten me - killed me.

Yet he obviously failed to finish the job: I still drew wretched breath after wretched breath, each one worse than the last - a remaining artifact of my battle with Windu a scant few days ago. Was this cursed existence yet more torture wrought upon me by the vile Jedi? One of their infamous mind manipulations?

I had awoken a few hours ago, wracked by fits of coughing. Once I brought my focus to bear, I quickly found that I was completely cut off from whatever remained of the Confederacies' assets - my communicators received not even a canned response from the automated systems that should be pinging me back. So too was I removed from any droid units - not that they would be of much use anyway.

Around me was a vast expanse of uninhabited arid landscape - not a sign of civilization in sight. Wherever I am, I'm definitely not on Utapau anymore. Despite the desolacy, my internal sensors registered a significant amount of artificial EM frequencies - at least there was a civilized presence of some sort on this rock. Whatever encryptions or protocols the signals used were unknown to me, and so they remained uninterpreted.

A cursory assessment of the state of my body left me confused - despite my memories of the protracted battle with Kenobi, I remained in the state I was in before the fight - largely undamaged. Fortunately enough, I still possessed my cloak, the four lightsabers within and a holdout blaster. A quick check of the levels of my internally supplied nutritional paste confirmed that I had full reserves: enough to last a week in a survival situation.

The unfortunate reality was that this was likely to develop into such a situation - regardless of how much I wish to visit destruction upon whatever led to my stranding on this backwater. I managed to quash my anger. There was a time for rage - when dealing with Jedi scum or brainless droids - and a time for focus - now.

Seeing few other options, I picked a direction and began walking.

I found signs of civilization before long: decrepit wooden fences, roads made of material unworthy of the name duracrete and a pale imitation of power transmission poles. Just what sort of planet was I on? I need to rejoin with the Confederacy soon - those fools that had been sent to Mustafar were undoubtedly making a mess of the war effort in my absence.

All roads lead to civilization, and where there's civilization there's a spaceport.

Time passes. Twelve hours of doing nothing more than putting one foot in front of another, the harsh yellow sun beating down far above me, being harrowed by this accursed hacking all throughout.

The discomfort was trivial, of course - I have faced and will face worse - but it's persistence was particularly aggravating. If I were to have another chance at the detestable Jedi that had inflicted this torment upon me, he would not survive the encounter.

My mind was not idle, however. The Confederacy was in a bad way after our most recent string of defeats and it would require the daring implementation of some unconventional stratagems if I were to ever swing the war back in our favour.

Eventually, I reached what could tentatively be called civilization - an outpost settlement of some sort, it's buildings barely poking above the horizon. Finally - I could rid myself of this backwater and be on my way.

I adjusted my posture. Now was a time to project confidence and authority. If these were Confederate citizens, they would yield a spacecraft out of loyalty, and agreement they would be reimbursed at a later date. If they were Republic citizens, then they would do the same but out of fear and with no expectation of repayment.

Still, it remains a puzzle to me just how I found myself in this situation - waking up on an unknown planet with no memories of how you arrived there was not a situation I had to deal with often.

And so I strode into the outpost. The outskirts were largely uninhabited - metal sheds and material stockpiles of some sort. Eventually, the buildings changed to residences - all wooden. There was not a single prefab in sight - if whoever inhabited this outpost did not use prefabs, just how poor was this planet?

Inside the residences I could see humans, cowering in fear, trying and failing not to be seen. Some held devices to their ear - communicators? I repress a snort. All the better if these craven call for the authorities of wherever I am - it would save me the trouble of seeking them out myself.

I continued to walk further into the outpost, paying no mind to the civilians. Just as I had hoped, a pair of vehicles peripherally resembling landspeeders intercepted me. The vehicles were entirely land-bound - operating by wheels rather than repulsorlifts. Across the front and side of the vehicles was the word 'Police' in large font.

If the law enforcement was using such primitive vehicles, this must truly be a dirt poor planet. That begs the question - if they are so poor, why are they writing in the High Galactic Alphabet and not Aurebesh?

I stop, allowing for the officers to exit their vehicles. There was four of them - all human. They were not dressed in any sort of uniform that I recognised. One approaches me, very clearly nervous. I suppress a chuckle - if their law enforcement agents are nervous, then my reputation has likely preceded me.

It swallows. "Can we help you?"

I blink. 'Can we help you?' What sort of line was that? Doesn't matter. I'll be off this rock soon enough.

"Yes-" A cough forces its way to the surface, interrupting me. "You can tell me exactly which backwater planet I'm on, the current date and directions to the nearest spaceport." I manage to finish the rest of the sentence before another round of coughs tears it's way free.

The four of them exchange glances - what were they doing? They were simple enough questions, weren't they? A few moments pass, and one returns to it's vehicle. The one that had spoken to me turns back to me.

It pauses for a few moments, searching for words. "It is currently January first, two-thousand and six. You're on planet Earth -" The officer was interrupted by the officer that had returned to the vehicle's approach. The two begin to exchange hushed words.

I pay them no mind - 'Earth' was not a planet I had heard of, nor was the date in any system I recognised. This bodes poorly for my prospects. I curse internally - I have no time for trivialities like this!

The officer finishes her conversation and turns back to me. "Do you remember how you got here?"

That's… a pertinent question. My mind races - was my situation common for this planet? I clamp down on my thoughts and grind out an answer to the question. "No." As much as I would like to simply fight my way through all of my problems, I need to know more first. I repeat my previous question "Where is the nearest spaceport?"

The officer glances towards another of the officers with a nervous frown. "I'm sorry sir, but Earth is not a space-travel capable planet."

Not capable of space travel? Blasted primitives! I'd heard of their type before - backwards ingrates who shun technology. I barely manage to restrain my urge to separate her head from her shoulders - as cathartic as it would be, it would do me no favours with the locals. I'd never thought I'd ever have to deal with them, let alone be stranded on a planet full of them.

Seeing my agitation, the officer raised her hand, placatingly. Despite my wishes to the contrary, I erupt into a further fit of coughing. "Please, calm down, sir. We've experience helping people in your situation. Could you please follow us to the station so we may speak in private?"

The gesture may have been made in good faith, but it failed to do anything by strain my already weakening impulse control. I clamp down further - I can slaughter the lot of them once they've told me all they know and not a moment before. Get a grip! My coughs continue, worsening.

A few seconds pass and the officers exchange further looks with each other. One that hadn't yet spoken to me asks "Are you ill, sir?".

I finally get control of myself and manage to reply "No!" Another pair of coughs. "It doesn't matter, let's get moving."

I may not have much patience for them, but these enforcers are the quickest way of situating myself. If this is truly a well-established technophobe planet, it is entirely possible that they've already destroyed all method of spaceflight they had in their possession.

If that's the case, then I do not like my chances of building my own ship. Could I somehow get a message to the rest of the Confederates? I don't like the chances of that either. Gah! Knowing the cursed Jedi, they could have trapped me on this rock as some sort of lesson in humility or other such rot.

I really don't see any other reasons - if it had been the Confederacy who brought me back, why keep my crushed lungs? Let alone strand me on this planet? If it were the Jedi, then it at least makes a sort of twisted sense that they'd want to make my remaining life a painful exercise in futility as a loathsome form of vengeance for their fallen members.

Let the void take them! I'll drag this sorry planet from obscurity and make the Jedi sorry they ever thought they could contain me even if it would be the last thing I do!

It's obvious to me now that the Confederacy will have to cope without my presence for the foreseeable future - not something they're likely to be capable of. Perhaps I would be able to pick up the remnants after their inevitable defeat and use them to form a Confederacy of my own - one not the result of Dooku's politicking?

I may despise the practice, but I cannot deny the efficacy that Dooku wielded his influence with. I'd observed enough to learn the basic strategies of his method - it was a simple thing, really. Could I apply that acumen to ends of my own?

Now that's a thought…

Unfortunately, one that will have to wait for some time. If things are as poor as I fear on this planet, it may be the death of me before I see it through. I have the knowledge of how to maintain my upgrades - given the appropriate toolset, but it is a different question entirely as to whether I'll have access to such tools. The medical aspect, too, is questionable - operating on myself is just asking for trouble…

No, if I'm trapped on this rock, I need allies and resources.

I curse internally - that means I've got to play nice with these apes. I repress my rage at that fact. It is clear to the officers that their vehicles are unsuited to carry my frame, so instead they lead me by foot through the outpost.

One of the officers walks beside me, and begins talking. "Welcome to Winton. I've heard stories about cases like yours - tragedies, really. The name's Geoff. I know better than to ask your name, but I hope the higher ups can help you out."

What does he mean by 'know better than to ask your name'? I withhold a grumbled curse and offer pleasantries in return. No need to alienate the law enforcement on this planet - better if I could subvert them to my own ends. "Grievous" I manage to cough out.

"Pardon?" He glances at me, a confused look on his face.

"My name is Grievous."

His brows shoots up in surprise. "You remember your name? Unusual for a case fifty-three, but I'm glad for you."

I feel like I'm missing something here. "Case fifty-three? Is that what you call people that find themselves stranded on your planet?" Why would being stranded cause people to forget their name?

He glances to his fellow officer, who was talking in quiet tones on a communicator of some sort. "No, that's the designation for capes with serious physical deformities and retrograde amnesia."

I barely manage to withhold my urge to bisect him after the deformities comment. Retrograde? If anything I've got the opposite - I can't remember anything that happened between my defeat and waking up here. "What do you mean by cape?" I am wearing my cloak still, but I doubt that was what he was referring to.

"People with extraordinary abilities. Most develop 'em naturally, but we get one every couple of years pop up out of nowhere. First time we've seen one in this neck of the woods though - usually they appear out in the urban areas."

Did he mean force sensitives? If only that were the case here. Still, if unexplained force sensitives with amnesia were appearing out of nowhere, that would lend credence to this being a sort of Jedi prison world.

Maybe whatever technique they use to wipe memories failed on me? Why would it do that though? My augmentations? Surely not - memories are stored in the brain, and I explicitly instructed my brain to be kept free of modification. Something else then. But what?

I don't know. A question for another time - maybe when I've recruited a science division.

We spend the rest of the walk in silence. Eventually we reach our destination and I'm led inside. The first room is a lobby of some sort. Besides the five of us, there seems to be nobody around. One of the officers motion for me to take a seat on a couch. Two of the officers leave the room through a door - no doubt to handle other responsibilities or to communicate with their bosses.

Geoff and the woman who had initially spoken to me remain. I take a seat and the two of them sit opposite me. The couch strains to take my weight, but does not collapse.

She begins to talk. "Now, I understand Geoff has given you a bit of background. We've called our superiors and they're dispatching a cape to transport you into the city to help you get settled. You're in cattle country right now - there isn't another cape for hundreds of kilometres."

Geoff nods. "Yeah. He's due to arrive sometime soon. He'll be getting you down to the Queensland Police HQ real fast - the boys down there'll get you sorted."

They're sending a cape for transport? Why? ...Unless these capes aren't force sensitives at all? That only raises more questions. I curse internally. I'll just have to roll with it. There's a ruckus from the back room - a splash of some sort.

The pair of officers get back up. "Sounds like your ride's here. Follow me." Geoff says.

Seeing no reason not to, I follow them into the back room. It's an office, but set up in the far corner is a small plastic pool. Standing waist deep is a well built man in a skintight hooded black bodysuit. Mounted on his back is a tank with a line leading into a breathing apparatus that is hanging from his face. Over his eyes are a pair of large tinted goggles that obscured his defining features.

In other words, he looked like a complete tool.

Seeing me enter, the man utters under his breath to the officer standing beside him "Big guy, isn't he?" Turning to me, he smiles and says "Name's Rip. You must be the new case fifty-three these lot called in. Now, my method of travel ain't pleasant for people without a scuba setup, but lookin' at that noggin of yours there's no way we're fitting one on you. Sorry mate, you'll just have to grin and bear it."

I quell the stab of rage I feel at his flippant address. He's useful to me. I need him alive. I repeat the mantra a few times, but the feeling barely subsides. "Method of travel? What do you mean?" The man clearly either knew something I did not or was a fool. Potentially both.

His grin was obnoxious. "Take a dip and you'll see." He gestures at the pool, obviously wanting me to join him. A fit of coughs disrupt my intentions to bring serious harm upon the man, and I manage to enter the pool without violence. He returns the breathing apparatus to its place over his mouth. Perhaps seeing one of these 'extraordinary abilities' first hand will shed some light on their nature?

The man grasps my shoulder and before I manage to part him from the offending limb I am sucked downwards by a terrible force. In an instant my world was consumed by roiling inky black water.

Counter to what he had suggested, the experience was not wholly unpleasant. Being vacuum rated may have had something to do with that, however. I was powerless to even resist the flow, so I simply allowed myself to be pulled along. Whatever these primitives could throw at me, I would be able to deal with - esoteric force users or not.

Still, this was not an ability I had seen before. Was this planet home to some sort of separatist Jedi sect? Perhaps I could turn them to my own ends - if they've separated from the Jedi, then they've done at least one thing right.

In minutes, the experience was over and I was being pulled to the surface.

A/N: So I'm working on this story in parallel to Calamity Bound - don't worry, I haven't abandoned it! Mostly, I'm writing this to try and curb fatigue and author's block. As with Calamity Bound, I'll keep a record of my progress towards the next chapter and a tentative update date on my FFN profile.