Assignments

Human Imagination: an aspect both infinite and infinitesimal, steadfast yet evanescent, real but unreal. In the fathomless depths of this invisibly colorful ocean, ponderances quaint, grandiose, cruel, ambitious, impossible, and so forth come into and simultaneously blink out of existence, as fresh ideas arise to either supplement or overthrow those that came before. Only in such a wondrously chaotic plane can there exist so intriguing a concept as the parallel, or alternate, dimension: where the what-ifs, could-haves and possiblies come into their own and are made reality. In these universes of discourse, lives both real and fictitious can play out in ways wholly different from what had originally been set for them.

Such as with the case of Caim the One-Eyed Swordsman and Angelus the Red Dragon: two souls stained with blood, bound together by circumstance, and eternally destined to meet a tragic end no matter what course they undertake. However, in these Meinongian jungles, this unfortunate duo could experience far kinder fates. In one example, rather than fade into oblivion following a bittersweet demise, they instead would be reborn in paradise, where they would be able to reconnect after years of separation and even start a family… only to then be dumped into an irreverent Star Wars spin-off universe as it was experiencing a dragon invasion.

It still worked out for the pair in the end, however, thanks to help from the realm's designated heroes and the charity of their creator. Naturally you'd assume that was the end of it: happily-ever-after, done deal, nothing more to say. And from how this conclusion was initially presented, you would be correct. But, it just so happened that there was a considerable bit more that went into the pact partners' integration into the Galactic Republic beyond a mere godly hand wave. And it began just as the curtain was lowering on an even larger story…


That flowery rambling brings us to a moment of tremendous relief: the ending of Trilogy 10's final episode. Hundreds of dragons, previously the terrorizers of that fair galaxy of far far away, were lined up before the transdimensional portal that would send them home, entering it one at a time in orderly fashion. But while that familiar scene played out and our heroes bid their farewells, we back up to an isolated spot in the formless colorful void, where an ad hoc office of sorts had been erected.

Two tall plaster partitions formed a singular corner that separated this "office" from the line of departing dragons nearby. A wooden table with metal legs served as a desk, upon which a computer and hologram emitter was set up. A light brown-skinned Mon Calamarian—Admiral Ackbar's head Technical Officer—was tapping away at a keyboard with his webbed digits behind the desk. Across from him was the reason this enclosure only had the two walls: the impressively large, 10,000 year old wyvern Angelus, who looked down at the amphibian with equal parts impatience and contempt. She laid semi-curled around a folding chair bearing Caim, the former terror of Midgard, who in turn cradled his snoozing newborn son, just a few days old. His look was one of impassive stoicism befitting his previous life's calling, and would unsettle just about anyone who's never set foot on a battlefield. But it's wholly unnoticed as the tech officer kept his bulging grey eyes fixed on the screen before him.

"I appreciate your patience while I'm setting this up," he said without looking away. "Just have a few more things to pull up. I'm honestly amazed we're getting a wi-fi signal in all this nothingness, and a clean one at that. Certainly makes things a little smoother."

How much longer are you going to keep us here, fishman? I have a mind to devour you and quell this hunger that's been growing during this wait.

"Then nothing would get done. And my name happens to be Miklar, for your information. But nobody else seems to remember that so I suppose it doesn't matter." After three more key presses, he straightened up, nudged his discount swivel chair slightly and looked at his three "clients". "Alright. By the grace of Our Lord Creator, the Contractor, you have been permitted to take residence here within the Galactic Republic, claim citizenship and be given all the benefits and securities that come with it. Normally we would have you fill out some documents to get you registered into the government database, but Contractor deemed it 'needless busywork', so we're skipping that step for the time-being."

A wise one, that Contractor.

Caim nodded in agreement with his pact partner.

"So that brings us to residential selection, which is where we—in this case I—help choose the planet within Republic space you will live on. Personally I think this task is better handled by someone from immigrations, or a realtor. Or even better, the Contractor himself. He teleported me here no problem; moving the three of you in a blink shouldn't require that much more effort."

Are you just going to sit there and complain to us?

"No, no. I need to remain professional." The Mon Calamarian took a breath. "I'm sorry, it's just been a very bizarre couple of weeks." Having collected himself, he turned to his computer. "Luckily for all of us, this is a relatively quick, simple step. To start, what is your ideal living environment? There are hundreds of colonized planets with every biome imaginable, so whatever you prefer, we will most definitely have."

Anywhere with ample skies and clean air. While I can withstand any storm, I would rather not put in extra effort just to fly around.

"Alright, that narrows things down. You want good air quality with little air traffic, so we can take out the heavily industrialized worlds as well as the city planets. Definitely don't want to risk any mid-air collisions." The tech officer made a few clicks. "I take it you would prefer wide open ground to go along with those open skies?"

You would be correct. I want nothing to do with any cities or settlements, either; far too much noise and "vermin" from my experience.

"Mmhm. And that goes same for you Mister, uh, Caim?" He got a nod in the affirmative. "Good. So you want something more rural, less developed, and with plenty of land. How about climate: hot or cold, or in-between?"

It makes little difference for the likes of us, though for our child we may as well go with a moderate climate. Hopefully he didn't inherit the same susceptibilities to temperature as his father.

Caim gave his mate a look.

I know you cannot catch illnesses anymore, but there's no telling if Nowe is similarly immune. Though given that my dragon blood flows through his veins, I may be worrying myself over nothing.

"Well it's best not to take chances with an infant's health." Some more clicking. "Okay, that thins the list down to a handful of planets. Right now I'm eying Dantooine as a good spot for you three. Hrm, the population is awfully sparse: only some wandering tribes and a few modern settlements. It could get very lonely there."

Caim and I have lived by ourselves in the wilderness for several months, and I have gone millennia without interacting with other sentient beings. Isolation is nothing to me, unlike with you lesser creatures.

Angelus' mate looked up into her eyes, seemingly to confer something. After a moment the dragoness gave a mental sigh.

However, Caim insists that our offspring would benefit from having regular human contact, so I suppose we can make do with a moderate-sized community. Whatever constitutes as "moderate" to you apes of excess.

"Alright, so you do want some civilization around, though not too much of it. I just might have the one you want." Some quick clicks and a press of the Enter key. "And here we are."

The emitter on the desk lit up and projected a glowing, transparent sphere of turquoise luminescence. It was a sphere of watery blues interspersed with swaths of verdant greens and wrinkles that indicated hills and mountains.

"This is Naboo: a planet located within the Mid Rim sector that's rich in the arts and has been of historical significance to our dear Republic," the tech officer orated. "Though more to your interest, it's got moderate weather and a stable seasonal cycle, allowing for rich, fertile lands; practically a paradise of natural splendor, as many have called it. And only a quarter of the planet's population is human, so that should be low enough for you."

What does the other three quarters consist of?

"Oh, that would be the planet's native inhabitants: the Gungans." The specialist tapped a command, and the sphere was replaced with a hologram of a floppy-eared, duck-billed creature. "They're an aquatic species who mostly live in swamps and underwater cities. Not many of them stay on dry land, so they shouldn't be a bother to you."

I would hope not. They look about as disgusting as the river beasts from our world.

"Though they've been quite friendly following the alliance." Some more taps and the Gungan was replaced by a hologram of a city full of cylindrical, domed buildings of marvelous design, all set around breathtaking waterfalls. "The largest city on the surface is Theed, the human capital. There's some other cities, but otherwise it's just small towns, farms and vineyards everywhere else. There really hasn't been much land development in the last several decades miraculously enough, so there's a lot of open, untouched ground. More pertinently, a lot of places to set up a home that's either relatively close to the city or out in the middle of nowhere. Is all of this sounding good to you so far?"

Caim and Angelus held a brief mental discussion, then the dragoness looked at the Mon Calamarian.

It does, for both of us. At least if we take you solely by your word.

"Wonderful. Now, there's some things I want to discuss in regards to your citizenship. Because you're listed as 'special status' civilians, you are to be granted a monthly stipend of fifteen hundred credits from now until the end of your lives, or whenever you wish to have it discontinued. Credits is the currency used in our galaxy, by the way, and you will be given fifteen hundred as a 'housewarming' gift of sorts."

An unnecessary sentiment. We are more than capable of sustaining ourselves.

"It would be handy to have, all the same. Plus the humans aren't very keen on bartering. But the Gungans may be open to some trade."

I can only imagine what vile wares they could offer.

"Fish, I'd say."

"Hey hey hey, how is everybody here doing?" announced the dashingly balding deus in the spiffy white suit, appearing right behind the startled Mon Cal and clasping a shoulder in pally fashion. "How's it coming along with the housing arrangements, techie?"

"It goes, well, it's actually about done," the "techie" replied. "They've gone with Naboo. All that's left is to decide what part of it they want to stay."

"So quickly handled! I knew you were just the fishman for the job." After clapping the officer several times on the shoulder, the bespectacled deity looked up at the couple and said, "Naboo is a real winner for fine, lackadaisical living. And there's practically zero racism thanks to my oversight." He straightened up and put his hands together. "I'd like to apologize for the abrupt changes in scenery: from wild forest to trippy encased universe and now this equally trippy nothing. But I promise you that once the other dragons are out of here, I'll have the galaxy and your new planet of residence restored to their former glory."

I have to be honest, it's been quite jarring talking to you like this. The beings we knew as gods were capricious and cruel, but you're… accommodating, friendly. Nothing at all like the Watchers.

"Oh I hope not: those were some horrifying buggers. But I just want to make you feel welcome in this strange new universe. I'm quite the fan of the work you put in, and thought you deserved a chance to take things easy and live out a life of happiness, for both yourselves and your precious little one there."

That concept alone is foreign to us; we even believed it to be impossible. But, after experiencing some of it for ourselves, and now with this new addition to look after… You have our gratitude. Although make no mistake: if this turns out to be some ploy to make us into your tools, your godhood will not shield you from my wrath. Not even a little.

Angelus snarled while Caim gave a firm nod, adding his promise of retribution to the table.

"Oh ho ho ho I wouldn't think of it, though I perfectly understand and respect your skepticism. It may take some time, but you'll see that when it comes to you, I'm totally trustworthy." Lean and wink. "Anywho, some story scenes are about to happen so I need to scram. See that they have their plot selected and ready to move out by the time I get back, alright Tech Officer?"

"Yes, certainly. Shouldn't be but a few more moments."

"Excellent! And you can go over all that registration drudgery on the way down. Alright then, ta-ta, see you in a bit!"

The Contractor spun and vanished in a puff of smoke. Tech Officer blinked and stared to his side before looking over to the dragoness and her rider. "Errr, it appears that I've been conscripted into being your escort to the planet as well, if I heard that correctly."

You are quite the versatile asset, it seems.

"Yes. Though not willingly."

The amphibian let out a sigh before resuming the final parts of his original task. And so we leave them to work out an exact address, await the universe's return, and arrange transport, while we move onto the next fairly interesting bit of this side story.