Beta edited with help from GraceSolo and DarthSparrow
Chapter 2: Carth and Mab; A Taste of Alien Strangeness
"Ug" she said, falling backwards onto a stained, spotted gray mattress that lay out on the ground, flat and pathetic.
Carth flinched with disgust and began to say something.
"The only thing worse than soldiers with dead spouses, lost in the war, are soldiers with living ones. Widowers and widows are bad enough, constantly mourning in anguish, never letting go of their grief, holding it deep down within them forever, wanting revenge and becoming paranoid and angry as all hell- and making sure you know it until it's enough to drive you crazy- it reaches a point of being nothing but pure nasal self-pitying whining,- but those with living ones are ten times as bad!" Mab ranted breathlessly, rolling her eyes at appropriate moments.
"They go on and on as well, but instead of crying and falling into periodic moody episodes, they keep on talking in this lovesick, disgustingly sweet tone- like they were just pulled away from this girl, like they were on their honeymoon or something- even if they've been married for ten years, and should know all their faults and problem, they talk like she's the perfect human being, and their feelings for each other are like giddy excited newlyweds. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, and I have to suffer for it!
"They sit there, wondering aloud what their significant other during every second of the day, (but knowing of course, since everything is dull and boring and planned and uninteresting, knowing exactly what they're doing, their little domestic routine, and describing it in excruciating detail to you) wishing they were there fervently, moaning and groaning with the pangs of longing and a broken heart."
Carth watched her, as if viewing a subpar show or performance, quiet, attentive, yet eyebrow raised, hands behind his head, leaning back, slightly disdainful and offended, refusing to be impressed, all this posturing done in a humorous manner; Mab continued on; drawing out some words and sentences and slumping her head forward suddenly at certain moments, dropping her upper body, as if exhausted and drained by the behavior of those she was making fun of, in other parts pursing her lips and speaking in a mocking voice, a high pitched drawl (moaning and groaning, almost a taunting parody of baby talk)
"And then something sparks a line of reminiscence, and they begin explaining to you, oblivious to the fact that you just want them to shut up , how she looked, how she talked, the wonderful things she would say, every single characteristics and quirk; every conversation liberally sprinkled with references to this beautiful creature, she did this, she said that, she wouldn't have done that, she wouldn't have approved of this, did I mention- blah blah blah blah blah and then to top it off, if you're lucky, you'll might get to end the mentally exhausting day with having to listen to them moan and grunt like some horny animal under the tent of their covers as they stare at her picture- or if it's a chick, you might even have the privilege to of hearing her have phone sex- if the ship is in range. Believe me; I've been stuck with enough husbands and wives, and fiancés to know."
"How callous of you" he replied, rolling his eyes. "But don't worry, I'm slightly older and more mature then the fare you normally deal with. I won't go insane or overboard with missing her, but I do love her" he looked at her with big sensitive brown eyes; her lip curled slightly, " so I have taken certain precautions- I have a few mementos with me that are enough to remind me of her, and keep her in my presence, to comfort me, when the pain becomes to acute. I'm not some-"
Mab opened her mouth to speak, but Carth lifted a hand to silence her,
"I'm not some "puppy" yelping after being separated from its owner for a few minutes... I haven't seen my wife for over three years." He said it quietly, with emotion but little dramatic flourish or presentation, hoping that it would have some impact with its soft emphasis. "If you can understand why that would hurt-" He walked over to her, pulling up the single chair in the room next to her bed, and leaned over, his manner like a teacher trying to impart some wisdom, or a parent talking about life.
"Then you can understand why this would help."
He held his fingers out, horizontally, level, showing off a golden ring. "It's my wedding band, a pretty common one, not very expensive or rare or well made, but it has built in recollection systems. It can recreate scenes, in hologram, of my life. These scenes have to be pre-filmed of course, and then downloaded in. I don't just keep these on a disk or some video player because there's some symbolism there, you know, having it on my marriage ring. I guess the symbolism isn't as powerful as I would like it to be - these aren't necessary the best moments from my entire marriage, because those happen randomly, unplanned, spontaneous and you don't always have a camera on hand to catch them. But they help, help me remember her, and they're beautiful, her blowing a kiss, her smile, her sitting at the edge of the bed, perky in nothing but panties, cotton sheets piled around her, combing her hair- I had to sneakily film that one, "reminiscing intensely, chucking during some pauses, others filled with yearning", it was so natural I just... could do nothing to ruin it, so there I lay, pretending to sleep, the camera peaking out of a crack in fortress of pillows surrounding my head." He laughed at the memory, his half bearded face crinkling deeply with joy, corners of his eyes creasing.
"A memory ring." she asked, her interest peaked, leaning up slightly from her previous position of a lazy lackadaisical sprawl, muscles completely loose, and limbs splayed out.
He moved it even closer to her face to see, rotating it around and keeping his thumb near a small gem in the center. Her mouth was open in a small cute triangle, and she had a measure of awe in her expression, although at what exactly, and how that feeling was being expressed, channeled, and filtered was hard to tell.
He seemed to blossom under her curiosity, and the small amount of respect caused him to bloom and open up, starting to grow more excited, intent on demonstrating the object, speaking faster and faster about the various specifications and abilities, until, unfortunately, he realized he had nothing more impressive to say, about the the technology at least, as it was not the most up to date model or the furthest one could go down that line of science. This caused him to look vaguely embarrassed, like he was letting her down or had been leading her on which exaggerations and was now beginning to get caught.
"Yup. It just has sight and sound, you know, it's not that advanced or anything," he shrugged apologetically and looked bashfully uncomfortable, "I can't actually have real memories summoned up because that would require a actual physical implantation in my brain connected to the ring, and although it's really small and unobtrusive - I've done the research - it's a liability to have in the military , especially the tactics that are around today. But oh man if I could" passionate, soft toned, and longing, "if I could have full sensory management and direct input, that would be amazing, all five senses: the smell of her shampoo... mixed with when she wears flowers in her hair and was just outside in the nearby meadows... the taste of her cooking and the sensation, the cold click of the spoon as she feeds me desert, one bite, and then grazes the metal across my lips. The feel of sunlight on-" his voice was full of soul, becoming dreamy when he began fantasizing about the modification, and he seemed to have forgotten she was there, his eyes glazed over.
She seemed briefly entranced, but then his mouth muscles began to twitch and she broke the moment by making a retching sound and miming shoving a finger down her throat. "Oh, I forgot, forget one important essential symptom. They all try their hand at poetry, and attempt to slip lines in at the opportune moment." She shook her head and her thick mane fell wildly across her face and shoulders.
Carth blushed faintly but recovered quickly; the power had shifted subtly, now Mab was at least his equal, although she had obtained that position through a move that was a little in bad-taste, socially awkward. Carth was a thoughtful, self-aware man, with a deep strength, and Mab was brash and bold; if the pilot had some intense drive or single minded mission to fuel him he might be able to match up with Mab, to ignore, deal with and dismiss her, by sheer dedication and focus on some cause, but as of now, at least for the moment, she had dominated him through force of personality- although this was achieved rather dishonorably by mocking him in a moment of emotion openness.
"You've never been in love, Mab?", he asked, not as a retort, but genuinely interested, although there was a small hint of defensiveness and hurtful reproach mixed in.
Her brows clouded, and for a moment something, something strangely like confusion slipped across her face, but then her expression hardened, almost appearing like a mask. "Let's just say... if I had a sensory ring, the feelings would be long sweaty nights and hard-"
Carth laughed and held his palms, backing away and looking like he was surrendering "Please..." he chuckled "please I do not need to hear that. How old are you?"
"Almost 22"
"My son is 17. That's way too close in my mind. Yeah, I do not want to be imagining that"
There was quiet for a moment while Carth sat down across the room from her on a bed with springs sticking out through tears, grimacing slightly and resisting the urge to prissily brush it off, using wide limp wristed unmanly sweeps, or fold his hands near his chest, and lift his butt cheeks up, minimizing contact. In the end, he simply slumped down, shuddering, giving in, and realizing that he was probably just going to have to except the fact that insects were going to be crawling on him.
Mab was his complete opposite, allowing the environment to fully surround and consume her, folding herself out completely and sinking in, appearing right at home, entirely comfortable and not caring at all. This directly contradicted her outer character, the impression given of her appearance, by her porcelain doll face and lithe almost fragile figure; one of a daddy's girl that would fight but complain of broken nails afterwards, one that didn't shout or scream or demand orders but threw tantrums, the kind of girl who would run shrieking at every noise and imagined movement in a place like this, and would wobble tiptoeing through (on heels) as high as possible to avoid the sticky grimy ground. If she was a merc, her collection of guns would all be purchased with her parent's credit card, racks of rocket launchers, pistols, and automatics all bought, not by a solider clawing their way slowly up the food chain and improving their tools of death and what they can offer business partners, but with an unlimited account all at once, a bizarre girlish shopping spree for weapons- if she was a scout she only searched out vacation spots and places with four star or more ratings, or good reviews in databases across the galaxy, if she was a scoundrel, the only scheme she was running was to pout and hope some poor fool of a guy fell hard enough for her.
Or so it seemed. In truth, she was not some mascaraed, painted up princess- the only makeup on her face was all natural, the flush of exertion, a dab of anger on the cheeks, burning intensity sharpening the gaze like eyeliner. And perhaps, even, the wet red on her lips was blood? A taste of battle, a spurt from a dash at the jugular in attempt to quench some hidden rage?
Mab rolled over on her side, and stared at him conspiratorially, confidingly, through messy strands dropping across her face. She had a naughty smirk that widened into a malicious grin. "You know, when you're sleeping, I'm going to sneak over there and steal the ring right off your finger, and replace all the images with ones of your wife taking a shit, sitting on the toilet in the family bathroom. That way, when you go on and on about her, how great and wonderful she is, all her little idiosyncrasies, the specific way she crinkles her nose, how she hums while walking around the house, and you simply won't stop quoting her , mentioning what she would say and do to every single thing, repeating her delightful wisdom and hilarious tidbits, I can just bring up the projection of her on the crapper, floating in miniature and that will hopefully shut you up for a little bit. Bring her down a couple notches, remind you that: there are no goddesses. No one's perfect"
She moved onto her back again, staring blankly at the ceiling, and intoned, in deadpan, "Everyone shits."
She lay for a few seconds silently like some depressed bored teenager, moping in a deep numbing funk, completely limp and sprawled, before moaning, in a complaining dramatic tone, "Oh my god, stuck with as romantic solider separated from his wife on duty. Suicide is preferable!"
Carth shook his head, smiling slightly at the whole thing.
"Okay, this one should be safe."
They continued walking down the line, holding their trays. "No avoid that, it gives most mammals severe stomach aches- oh but grab some of those bread balls, they're really good"
"Un huh, that's kind of spicy- no those will kill you- now some people really enjoy Batavtoodian cuisine, I personally find most of it too bitter, and they serve almost all of it scalding hot- hey, don't take anything without asking me first! I know that looks good, but it's just a giant fungus releasing pheromones to make your mouth water and your mind create a appealing image, that shit will f*ck you up, come on-no-no-no- no doesn't have the right sauce- wait a second- "
She paused talking, biting absentmindedly on some sort of stalk with tiny beady eyes on the end that Carth swore he saw move and then informed, "If I remember correctly, East Andulian food isn't editable by humans, but the stuff from their southern pole is awesome- well as good as anything could be in a dump like this."
Both of them skipped the large boiling pot of strange soup, and stopped at a smaller one. Mab nodded, and the alien serving the meal (some sort of bipedal slug with crab pinchers) ladled out generous helping on both of their plates. Mab's was more of a gooey oozing clump, but Carth got lucky and received was seemed to be the broth; it was smooth, creamy and looked rather delicious. He went back quickly and got a deep bowl, and then pointed at it, gesturing for more. The alien grabbed and dipped it like a pail into a cistern. They walked the rest of the cafeteria table, getting distrustful looks from all of the servers, but they ignored them, and glanced curiously at both the foods on display and the fascinating creatures working there. Finally, they reached the end, stopped their browsing, and found an empty table.
They had discovered this alien lunchroom deeper down in the apartment complex, and decided to eat there- it was too dangerous to leave and go up in the city, to find a more human centric locale, anyone could be watching there, but they definitely felt out of place and unwelcome here.
Man decided to make the best of it, and began gobbling down rapidly large forkfuls of chewy kelp. Carth poked hesitantly at his choices. "How do you know so much, Mab? I'm impressed."
"Well, you pick up a lot in journalism- I used to be a field reporter, traveling the galaxy, gathering information. Mostly I was the photographer for the stories. Once you stay in an area long enough to get the answers to your questions and follow leads, you begin to pick up on the local cultures."
"How did you end up in The Military then?"
"When I realized I was shooting a gun more then I was a camera."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, my first big project that I worked on was the Mandalorian War. As a student and junior reporter, I was heavily involved in the protests, you know, the marches outside the Jedi temple, trying to get them to join the war. I was really dedicated to that. I was sent out to the Outer Rim with a team of really amazing people, legends practically, before I even graduated fully, to try to bring together a couple hard-hitting stories, and get documentation of all the atrocities and massacres that were going on, hopefully to finally convince some to go against the wishes of the Council to stop these terrible events, at whatever cost. Eventually, I was so in the thick of things that they started giving me flak jackets and personnel shielding. Went from that to a pistol."
"Before I even knew what was happening, I was abandoning my observations, stopped quoting people, stopped interviewing soldiers, stopped labeling pictures with captions, and started saving lives, pulling them out of danger when they were wounded, killing enemies, following orders, and taking special missions. If there was a terrible event, I didn't freeze it in time- I interfered. A dying child- didn't write about how much of a tragedy it was- I performed first aid on it. A man about to get executed- I didn't write angry essays and rants about barbarism- I jumped in, no matter what the odds. A tank flipped over when it shouldn't of- I didn't criticize the corporation who built and sold it, go into deep undercover to write an expose- I bashed open the hatch and pulled them people out. I broke that invisible wall between documenting and doing- one piece at a time.
"It just sort of happened." Carth said.
"Yeah, I got pulled in. I just couldn't stand by, not even with a good justification. They needed everyone they could get and I was a soldier in all but name only. My skills and how I started out using them eventually moved me into the position of a scout going on operations. "
"Okay- but how did you end up on The Endar Spire? Seems kind of like a big jump."
"My stay on The Endar Spire was to see if I could work in an real controlled environment, one with a very clear set of rules and order- it was suppose to be my final test and if I proved I could they were going to make me officially part of The Military, a high ranked position actually. I had won enough medals and civilian honors for them to offer me this route."
"Why didn't they just send you to some academy to learn how to be an officer there- why the test out in the field?"
"They did actually- but there was a nerve gas attack on my school and after my rehabilitation there just wasn't enough time for classes and universities anymore- they needed to cut a couple corners."
"A Sith terrorist attack? On your school?"
"I- okay, look I know I'm telling these things, but I'm really detached from them, like I'm reading them off a sheet or something. It's all a little fuzzy to me actually- I can't really explain everything to you. Carth, there are large missing bits in my memory and hazy areas- It completely devastated me, I had to relearn to walk and everything. I was lucky I didn't die. I spend the first few months afterwards in a fog, at some Jedi temple- I was getting force healed, and even then I just barely survived."
"Hyrule Byrule..." muttered Carth softly.
Carth sat mulling it over, and opened up his mouth carefully to say something, when suddenly a bright red lobster like creature sprang out of his soup bucket, leaping through then air and swinging it's pinchers at his face. He yelped and pushed back, and the animal clawed at his cheek and grabbed onto his nose. Wrestling it off, he slammed in onto the table, cracking its back and pinning it. Mab had her head thrown back laughing, but when he looked up at her, shocked, and bone white, she politely calmed down, covering her mouth daintily with a hand, stifling the raucous hoots.
"I knew I wasn't sure! I forgot, I got them mixed up- its Northwestern Bavuilivan that is deadly- because most of it will try to claw your stomach open. hahahah!"
"What kind of crazy species eats stuff like that!" he said angrily.
"I know!" She replied, not in the least bothered, her voice airy and eccentric, "Isn't it nuts! You never really understand, deep down, intuitively, just how different xenomorphs are from us until you spend time with them, in their environment, on their home turf."
"I've been to plenty of planets, and I've never had anything this bizarre happen to me before."
"No you've been to plenty of planets with the Republic fleet. It's safe and contained, you're separated and isolated. There's a difference. The supply line and nanoassemblers are still good. You're eating human rations, stuck with your human comrades, in your human bases and building. You never really leave that mindset and environment. To really understand, you got to immerse yourself. Like I was saying, then you begin to understand how unique they are from us. They have a hundred small differences, in anatomy, culture, mind, and you learn these facts one thing at a time. A textbook or information video gives all the basics, but never the small seemingly unimportant stuff- the things that really show how special they are- the things that can never be learned or taught. You only begin to absorb them when you journey and live amongst them. And even then, you can never fully know everything- they will never cease to amaze and bewilder you."
She looked around the room, in wonder, and said, "You can gain so much knowledge by spending time with them." Her eyes began lingering on a few aliens and her smile faded- they continued talking but for the rest of the stay there she seemed preoccupied.
They both lay in their separate beds, neither of them snoring, moaning softly, or exhaling whistling breathes to give off any indication that they were truly asleep. Carth lay on his side, still up and hiding it, quietly, like a child past his bedtime; he held out his hand and in the palm of it a small, ghostly figure in a pale white dress danced and spun, singing an eerie tone. The ethereal miniature twirled solemnly and piped a few more lines of some melancholy melody, her voice high and beautiful, before a shriek cut through the night, a shriek that conjured up images of a mouth opened in a wide chasm, a black hole, the terrifying sound flying out, of unhinged jaws, and thin lips stretched to a breaking point, a pale thin alien face- it continued growing louder and louder, and something, presumably the owner of it, began pounding on the wall next to Carth's cot, causing it to shake and spill dust.
"What the hell!" he said tangled up in blankets and half falling out of the bed in a combination of jumping in fear, and the ingrained instinct to roll and grab his gun.
"You're disturbing our neighbor" Mab said immediately, wide awake, although there was a thin line of exhaustion cutting through- not necessarily as far as grogginess, but the distinct impression that she would rather be unconscious, but that luxury was avoiding her. She seemed to have simply been waiting silently, watching and listening the whole time, counting the moments in insomnia before something happened. "That's the thing about aliens- like I was saying this afternoon, if you live with them, there's all sorts of things you have to change and compromises you have to make. You see, the lower classes of most planets are completely unsegregated, and since each species brings its own requirements, it can become quite complex, a minefield of issues. Sound is one of those. Each species is different, some very- some are sensitive to certain types of signals, frequencies, some even normal spoken voices. Many wear special headphones when they travel out of their native habit but there are complex modulators that not everyone can afford. "
"Oh... sorry." Carth said lamely, looking sheepish.
"Generally a good rule of thumb is just to avoid any electronically generated noises in a diverse place like this- law of probability dictates at least one race is likely to be harmed by some level of it. Of course, you could always just be talking along, and suddenly you hiccup or yawn a certain pitch, and all of one species around you goes nuts- but that just has to be dealt with as it happens- stuff like that can't always be avoided, it's part of living in this style of culture."
"Wow..." He was dumbfounded, considering the implications and intricacies, "I'm really starting to get it, first hand, how amazing they all are.
"Yeah, they all have their unique traits..."
And then, only vaguely connected to the conversation at hand, seemingly apropos of nothing, although Carth had been expecting it and anticipating it, half dreading it, for he feared it would signal the start of a dam of emotion breaking, for how could he possibly be in the same amount of pain as she must be experiencing, he was the pilot, cooped up in the cockpit, only in contact with the higher ups and Revan, while she, a simple soldier, had eaten and lived with hundreds and hundreds of people, most dead now, some who must had to have been close friends, Mab said something that seemed to have been on her mind for a long time, a delayed reaction, a dwelled on thought that was now being released at a random moment, quietly, out of nowhere.
"Haskel had these ridges of brown bumps under both ears... When he touched them they opened up, unfolded like paper pyramids. I nev-" her voice broke- Carth's eyes teared up empathetically and he squeezed them shut tightly. " I nev nev" she seemed on the verge on some catharsis, but then paused and pushed on, "I never asked him why". She rolled onto her side.
"Are you crying Mab?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Deadened, bland, "I feel empty inside."
They walked along, striding intently, staring intensely straight ahead. The last button on Carth's jacket was undone and in the opening his right hand was slipped in; Mab had a huge vibrosword slung over her shoulder, fingers on the trigger. Moving purposely across the large crowded space, they headed towards the extraction point- the news had come today that The Republic had seized and quickly fortified an old chemical factory in District 8 of Sector 17. This information was not received through some secret relay on secure channels, or codes snuck in normal broadcasts, or mysterious signals on ancient networks- the location and time was given publicly by a military representative on all major media outlets- the operation was basically this: a mad dash, a free for all rush to the relative safety of the newly established base where small crafts and planes would take them to a detachment of ships hovering over Taris. This was the best The Military could do, they simply did not have the manpower or time to rescue all the scattered soldiers or provide completely guaranteed safe passage. This was why Carth and Mab appeared the way they did: tense, focused, alert, and constantly looking in quick observant jerks at the shadows between buildings, dark forbidding alleyways- at sewers grates and tunnel access points where hatches and manholes seemed amiss and out of place, at high windows, and broken open walls, perfect vantage points.
They were on a large circular platform- underneath were simply rows and rows of gigantic buildings, dark and oppressive, dystopian; if one looked over the edge it would seem to be a land of cruel spikes awaiting one to fall and be impaled. These towers made up the lower city- they were connected together at various points and stories by bridges and balconies and tunnels, for in the earlier ages once the building grew too big, to get from one to another it was no longer feasible to go all the way to the first floor, exit, and enter by walking across the street-instead they all slowly bonded and connected together, a lattice and web of many lines and transportation system creating an almost solid patch of urban land.
Rising above this was the area where they stood currently- shooting through the claustrophobic mess a thin stem held the round city sized terrace, which appeared like some bizarre metal mushroom sprouting out of the refuse from below. These platforms, for there were many of them, were built for the same reason and purpose as the lower cities had bridges: ease of movement from business to business and corporation to corporation. On the platform, one could start over again and build a new tower, smaller and thus easier to go up and down in, and then leave and travel on safe, clean outside surfaces, looming and isolated, separated and fully contained from the rest of the Lower City. Because of this brilliant idea, platforms sprouted across the entire Ecumenopolis, forming a thick roof (the planet from space looked like a water world covered in monstrous lily's) blocking out the lower cities' chance, embodied in the very name of their buildings, "sky scrapers", of ever actually reaching a beautiful magnificent peak, of accomplishing the hopes and goals of man from their very beginning of their evolution, condemning them to despair and fifth.
The higher platforms, for some platforms grew off subsequently lower ones, and were built on light materials, their spindles (ringed with cities and lights, inhabited themselves, appearing like metal poles wrapped in holiday ornaments, or thin fluted trees carved and hollowed out, filled with haloed candles and encased lantern flames) capable of supporting enormous weights, were transcendent, high above everything else like the homes of gods - reaching these pinnacles was like flying in a plane and finally pushing past the clouds, in this case clouds of metal and glass and enormous stages, to that land of sunlight and warmth far above everything- these gorgeous places were filled with gardens and walkways and the ability to go to the edge of the platform and stare across to ones a few yards away, and even get on strange machines that leaped like frogs from area to area, for a luxurious day of exploring.
Up there, everything was constructed out of translucent crystal materials, for they finally cared enough and had the technology to conserve that precious resource, light (by then too late for the lower city of course)
(in fact there was a such a thing called The Sunlight Gradient, managed and calculated by environmental agencies, a series of numbers and ratio posted in every area and level, detailing simply the amount of light that place received at certain hours and times, which was dependent on the cycles of the sun, the position of the location, and the makeup of the neighborhood, the number of buildings surrounding it, if they were tall, slender, or big and wide, or belched smoke, or loomed over with heavy outcroppings - the seedy industrial platform that Mab was on had a thick metal slab drilled into wall with the code 5/2/(9+15) 05 22 on it, meaning that every five hours that general spot received two hours of relatively dim filtered light, not counting the span of time from approximately 9:00 to 12:00- a establishment (and by extension the individual visiting it) were judged on how good its Sunlight Gradient was, high ranked restaurants and lofts and theaters always had excellent ones, and there was a vicious competition (and personnel status war among "friends" to have the finest mansions) to get the brightest spot, sometimes delving into sabotage by ordering the construction of overshadowing buildings, buying gigantic holographic billboards and panoramas, and other sly tricks. The most prestigious area in all of Taris had perfect light from 9:00 to 9:00 every day and it was a worldwide treasure, a beautiful lofty hall, like an eyrir for angels, featured in art, postcards, advertisements, with even space flight and traffic banned over it, in case they cast even the smallest shadow sullied its great proclaimed beauty. )
However, the lower platforms were not wonderful- everything good about the top ones was reversed down there, flipped, a satanic mirroring and twisting, a dark nightmarish reflection; the spaces between were not great (although slightly overwhelming) views; they were abysses filled with blinking lights, red glows, barely seen ominous shapes, gaps where howling chill winds rushed through the canyons of buildings, shaking the very foundations of the lower city platforms, (the buildings were not proofed against earthquakes or similar violent vibrations, and sp they groaned and moaned, moving back and forth fragilely in the gusts generated by the narrow channels and streets) the gales of a frozen hell itself, moaning spirits, or humid tropical places of smothering heat and mugginess, obscene disgusting dirt holes filled with trash, slim, rot, and mold, antediluvian buildings broken open by vines and covered in plants, like jungle ruins, where one journeyed down until they reached dark primitive lands of smoldering temperatures, cramped and boiling, some areas so hot, the skin was melted off flesh and man got lost in delirium for days, wandering among abandoned ancient buildings thousands of years past, a strange maze of dark alien structures.
The further one went what was sky and what was building became impossible to tell, and the stars and moon were blocked out almost completely, creating an artificial, completely unplanned, unintentional roof, until finally, rumors spoke of places, where this covering was so solid and condensed that not one glance could be peeked at all- this same madness applied to the ground as well, up and down were both obscured beyond recognition, one could think they finally found dirt, and the natural soil of the planet, only to heft their pickaxe and break through another roof and another layer of a skyscraper, to step wrong or jump too heavily and fall down into yet another building, until the anxious worrying fear occurred to them in their weakest hours that it was simply buildings all the way down, and each break through this sedimentary of architecture, would only reveal more secret, disturbing lands, more pathetic civilizations of leftovers, progressively more degenerate, twisted and mutated.
And this was the only the lower city, there were legends of a underworld, a place were poor souls were so crushed by this monstrous urban sprawl, they resided in sewers systems, tunnels, junkyards, gaps of demolished buildings, and large courtyards, wintery and freezing, watched over by the very first spires ever to be designed, everything around them build over, abandoned, covered up, and completely brought to their own use of simple shelter; fires lit in prehistoric great skyscrapers, fifty flours up, in offices by broken windows overlooking nothing but darkness., homes in old capital buildings, markets, for what they could scrounge, in the once magnificent meeting halls of business centers. It was said it did not rain there, nothing except dirt, and ash, and trash, and shit, refuse falling from above out of pneumatic transportation tubes, carelessly dumped out of processing plants who did not care where their pollution went, or the countless litter of a consumerist society, creating massive heaps and corridors of garbage in some areas, a springy, mossy floor. It was said no light ever reached, except the eternal burning of industrial fires, like swamp gas, and the vague flashing and blinking of lights above, but even that was rare. There was no sound, even the traffic and bustle high up was deadened; it was a vast graveyard of crumbling stone and corroding metal skeletons, the tomb of Taris' first great megacity.
They were the damned and the forgotten. In Taris, despite the giant towers, there was no fear of heights. In Taris, there was a fear of falling. A strange nonsensical fear deep inside all the nobles and well off, of falling, falling through holes, and the roofs of buildings, and through sewer systems, of falling, like a child in some absurdist book, head over heels, falling into another world, falling into the world of the Undercity, and landing with a rough thump, and becoming one of them- of being trapped in that dark nightmare land- when they looked down deep and far, there wasn't vertigo, there was existential terror!
A shot rang out, twanging mechanically like some odd instrument; on top of a ledge a sniper fired a beam of laser out of a long stock. Carth reacted moments before, hearing something high up, perhaps something small, subconsciously like the scuffing of feet or the shifting of weight, and instinctively threw his torso back, bending his spine smoothly, the bolt of deadly light missing him by mere inches. Mab dropped to the ground immediately as soon as she sensed movement from her partner, and began rolling and crawling.
They both had been expecting something like this - as soon as the news went out, every Sith on Taris would be gunning for the soldiers, finding good hiding spots, trapping narrow streets, trying to herd people into dead ends and kill as many as possible- the only reason they did not start sprinting right away was because they were afraid their panic, like the scent of fear from an animal, would attract more attention, a flurry of missiles, bombs, and darts- now they ran anyways, for they were only a few yards away from shelter, the last stretch. No more regulated breaths, and stiff ramrod straight movements, with jerky head turns and short bursts of clipped talking out of the corners of their mouths- it all went out of the window, the tense exactness, and they no longer cared if they drew the eye of every assassin with their panicked fleeing.
But no rain of fire came - the sniper must have been a lone operator, and the rest of the saboteur forces spread out around the entire block- a theory proven correct by the loud bangs, explosions, and sounds of chaos coming from all around. They rounded a corner and finished the final leg of their dangerous race, coming into sight of the old chemical factory- it was large, rectangular, blocky building, the top dominated by two impossibly gigantic smokestacks, from which strange, almost magically seeming jets of green flame shot periodically, making rushing noises. Coming in at all angles where lines of harried people, wounded on crutches and with bandages around bloody foreheads, the ragged and torn, some who seemed to have suffered much worse than Carth and Mab, and some who seemed positively bored- while others had shifty frantic eyes and worried scared expressions. They came in groups of two and three and four, some in large packs, others stragglers, some with odd equipment, some pulling carts or in hijacked vehicles- any means necessary to get there, all carrying stories of adventure, the place becoming a melting pot of deeds and retelling of tribulations- there was no one grand consensus of what occurred for all of them- each experiences their own great quest, nuanced and individual, no matter how unimportant it seemed to others.
Directly ahead of the building was a huge, thin, almost 2D green face, which spoke in a booming ,yet calm and measured voice, almost unnoticeably turning, shifting slightly to new arrivals and informing them where to go. At this exact same moment, zooming at one of the sides, came a primitive truck, a terrain based vehicle with "wheels" that looked like a cross between tank treads and tires, hardly ever fully circular, reshaping and remolding constantly to better fit the ground on spokes. A soldier on high in a gun nest turned his Gatling cannon towards it, and began screaming, vibrating and shaking, shooting a speeding volley it's way. It made it far enough, however; it tipped over and spun end over end a couple times before flying into a fortification wall and exploding into massive mushroom cloud making a huge hole in the side of the building; it was a suicide bomber.
Carth grabbed Mab roughly by the arm and pulled her through the throng, dodging defensive soldiers and clunky droids spraying thick streams of water. He brought her halfway around, and at the entrance of a narrow alleyway into the building, there was a single file line terminating in a desk with a bored, nonchalant looking officer (pale skinned-blond pompadour) with a holopad and a quill stylus.
"You should be fine here. They'll get you out safely... Well... this is where we part ways" said Carth.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Look- Revan was on board The Endar Spire- no one knows that for sure but me."
"Haskel-"
"There's a Squad Alpha-Five in every fleet. It's all an elaborate scheme. Think about it - one man is hunted by the might of an entire army, no matter how scattered and ill-equipped it might be. There is a brilliant game of lies and ruses going on here- holograms, doubles, false information, fake leaks, hoaxes, actors holding press conferences, anything to throw off where he really is. He's a master manipulator; you have to expect something like this. There were four convoys around this area - the pathways and routes of all of them heading through relatively the same location, closer then they have ever been before, and rumors pointing to and contradicting that Revan was on all four of them. Three days ago, all four were attacked at once. The Sith waited until they were all in the same area. They must have figured out where they were heading, and then infiltrated the air space there. This represents months of planning alone- I have reason to believe Vuncroy's flapship is in the exact point in between all of them, the same distance away from all them, hiding behind the moons of this group solar systems, waiting until she's absolutely sure which planet Revan is on. You see, these four ships were all shot down in the same sector, all over planets. When she knows which one he's on, then she can move. If she is right, the sacrifice of her best ships, for surely they will be obliterated seconds afterward she makes her attack, (you know how they work) and most of her fleet will certainly be worth it."
"Ok so what? What does this have to do with you?"
"I told you! Don't you understand, I'm the only one who knows for sure that Revan is here! There are secrets and rumors, but I am positive. I'm one of the few. He talked with me and the captain personally. He told me, he told me that The Exile can sense him somehow if he uses his full might and strength, and then she'll have confirmation for sure and completely destroy the planet. I don't quite comprehend it, but he actually told me that she wants and needs to destroy planets, but it's too big a waste if he or someone else powerful isn't on it. There's like a witness protection program for powerful Jedi - they have to go to frantic chaotic places, full of interference, and not use their abilities, or they have to be constantly guarded and in the center of Republic space, so she can't penetrate. He doesn't have a fleet to protect him, so can't use his full talents. So if he's in trouble, he's stuck here, just like a normal Jedi. I have to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Why you? Can't you just tell somebody here? Why are you just running off without even checking in!"
"I can't tell them to send a team of commandos, or a special strike force, there are spies everywhere! In headquarters, assistants of Generals, hiding in meeting rooms. A full fleet can't come and guard the planet either; in the time it takes one at full strength, not just a detachment or patrol, it might be too late. And even then, Vuncroy might decide to try to break on through. The risk might be worth it! We can't allow that! It has to be me, without prompting, so the information is not compromised through a command line. I have to make up my own mind right here right now, spontaneously without prompting. Even if I'm just a normal man, Revan might be in danger- I have to help! My assistance might push the odds in his favor- he's escaped plenty of times before with the aid of ordinary men while his hands have been tied by The Exile watching. I don't understand completely... it could be The Force. Through coincidences, I could save him, be drawn to him. It's an enigma."
"Well then, "she said stubbornly, hands on hips, "I'm coming with you."
"No - you need to get out-"
"How do you even know you're the one that's suppose to save him. The Force works in mysterious ways doesn't it. Maybe it's my destiny and you're tagging along with -me-," thumb pointing at chest" not the other way around. Besides" she said austerely, nose upturned, "I might as well stick along if The Force is as incomprehensible as you say it is- I'm an enigma too. Me and the force will get along perfectly."
"You certainly are an enigma, Mab Argonberth" he said, shaking his head.
NEW QUEST: FIND REVAN