Entry Three – Days after Geonosis, Eight
Three thousand, eight hundred, and thirteen levels down. A number in itself bizarrely large and absurdly specific all at once. Its very nature highlights the reality of the descent, the true vastness of the Underworld. I confess that until actually making that journey today I had no true idea of its full extent. To drop through one of the immense vertical portals is to plunge to a depth that on most worlds would require a descent to the ocean floor and beyond. Even granted a priority airspeeder route the actual journey takes almost an hour.
Despite having been here only a day so far I can tell this is a different world. Truthfully it is not a 'world' at all. Everything here is artificial. Air, water, lighting, the ground plating, all of it is synthesized, provided by a massive network of vast industrial machines. The result is not any kind of planetary environment, it is a space station. An impossibly vast construct containing a staggeringly immense population within durasteel confines; that is the underworld. It feels strange, both physically and through the Force. An almost imperceptible sensation that everything is somehow out-of-focus, slightly displaced from the proper order of things, persists. It is as if the sheer size of this synthetic realm somehow distorts physics at the most basic level.
Then again, perhaps it is just the air quality. My scanner reports that the ambient atmosphere meets Republic minimum standards for habitable spaces, but only just. It also detects numerous trace chemicals of highly obscure origin, many of which have never been properly evaluated for long term impacts in a mixed-sophont population. Then there are the organic compounds, the endless mélange of hormones, secretions, and wastes diffusing out from thousands of different species and only imperfectly filtered. Such endocrine outputs were never meant to mix in this fashion. Subtle neurological impacts are regrettably plausible. I believe I shall have to start practicing my Force-based breathing techniques again.
I was briefed on the nature of the Order's facilities here, but I confess it feels even smaller in person. Everything on Coruscant, even the luxurious upper levels, is compact compared to counterparts on worlds with open environments, and no doubt the gradual drop in prosperity alongside the physical drop in elevation induces further compression. Even so, the result is rather more extreme than I anticipated. Not since my years as an initiate have I found myself confined to such a limited space, and I was smaller then. Personal space is limited to a single narrow room, the balance of which is occupied by the narrow bunk. The refresher and food processor unfold from the walls. As does the tiny private terminal, which one must sit on the bed to use. It is all made decently enough, and not outwardly uncomfortable, but I must admit that I expected somewhat more, no matter how un-Jedi-like that might be. I miss the presence of a proper desk already, and I do not look forward to meditating where I sleep.
The limitations of the workspace are perhaps more worrying. I had hoped for enough room to establish a proper clinic, but it seems that will not be possible. There is a medical station, tucked into the alcove behind the tiny office, but it contains only a single bed and limited diagnostic equipment. A single DD-13 Medical Assistant droid has been crammed in under the stairs opposite. The unit is an older one, with considerable surface wear visible. I've never loved the model either, they have cold personas and are overly fond of invasive procedures, but at least I know it's capabilities. There are both older and less competent designs out there.
The actual office is only big enough for one on one interviews and lacks a decent terminal or a live holonet connection. I suppose I'll have to make due with navigating the packet queue. There's a tiny waiting room for visitors and a small storage space. Available supplies, medical and otherwise, are limited, and I fear the needs of the war will make it difficult to procure replacements.
I had hoped to meet my predecessor upon arrival, but they had already gone. A pity, they must have known this level well, and had local contacts, knowledge of current leaders, and other information that would have been of great utility. I've sent ahead a list of questions, but whether they will find the time or even be authorized to communicate any answers if something I cannot rely upon. It seems I shall have to start as if completely new. If only the official databank regarding this level and its neighbors was not so woefully scant.
It seems there will not be much time to settle in. I had been present for less than an hour when my very first case arrived. A Twi'lek male, young, suffering from a serious fungal infection. Apparently the local automated droid stations are not programmed to treat this particular malady in Twi'leks. That is not especially surprising, since the fungus in question is native to Champala and normally attacks the attachment points of Chagrian horns. It seems a minor mutation allows it to shift to the cartilage at the base of lekku. Most likely he contracted the affliction by brushing up against a communal refresher not being regularly sterilized.
Once I convinced Dee-Dee to recognize the diagnosis the actual treatment was a routine sub-dermal application of anti-fungals. The droid handled it without any need for action on my part. Cross-species contamination must run rampant down here. Droids, regrettably, are poorly equipped to handle diagnosis and treatment outside of clearly defined contexts preset in their registries. I have begun a file documenting all such cases I encounter. Hopefully in time I can locate a slicer able to help me develop an update package.
Notes
Officially the surface of Coruscant, also referred to as Galactic City, is level 5127. This leads to some rather bizarre questions as to how deep the underworld actually goes. In particular, it is completely unclear how thick any given 'level' is supposed to be. Images of the underworld in various sources seem to imply that each level was at least multi-story, due to the presences of buildings of that size and open airspace, with some of them apparently containing skyscrapers (though this may represent areas where levels were conglomerated). This gets a little weird because, if the average level is, for example, 100 meters thick, then the surface of Coruscant would be 500 kilometers above the actual crust, which would make the underworld almost impossibly massive. Even at 10 meters thick on average, the underworld is still 50 kilometers thick. For comparison, if you dug a hole that deep most places on Earth you'd end up running out of crust and being submerged in the mantle. Heck, even if the levels averaged only 1 meter in height, then the underworld would still descend further than the average depth of Earth's oceans. Honestly, I'm not really sure how to handle this. For now I'm going to go with 10 meters per level and assume many of the more habitable areas conglomerate numerous levels at once.
The DD-13 medical assistant droid is canonical. It's the frightening black tripod model that puts Darth Vader together in Revenge of the Sith. It feels like the right sort of medical unit for this particular backdrop.