Chapter 7:

Spinning Wheels


R2-D2 floated through the debris fields of Republic, Separatist and Mandalorian garbage whilst whistling a merry tune. He'd been out there for an entire week and change, course-correcting his trajectory to avoid burning up in re-entry of this unknown planet and the similarly terrible fate of being shredded by the shrapnel now orbiting it.

But now? Now he had caught his bearing and developed a mental map of where everything was. Every ship, vessel, combatant and projectile. And with this information he set himself a new mission, without orders from anybody to get in the way of it.

He was going to assassinate Count Dooku.

Ballsy? Impossible? A death wish to so much as seek conflict with the master jedi turned sith? Hardly.

The bastard was stranded in a dead ship somewhere between the rest of the fleet and the lunar body of this backwater planet.

His life support was barely active, and once R2 managed to reach the vessel it would be even less functional.

Wouldn't that be amazing? Wouldn't that be the most delicious irony? The great sith lord, killed by a meager astromech. Oh he'd be able to rub it into Kenobi's, pardon, Master Kenobi's face until the end of time. All the way through his natural life and beyond if he could get hold of the holocron he'd inevitably leave behind.

One more correction in his flight path and he'd be on a collision course with the good count's ship. A few crossed wires here, a blown circuit there and he'd be no more!

"Come in R2." Obi-Wan Kenobi's voice came in over his intercom.

And there went his chance at immortality. Of fame, fortune and respect. In mere moments this asshole would issue some kind of order which amounted to busywork and his protocols would make it impossible for him to refuse.

Perhaps he could just ignore the call for the thirty or so hours it would take to reach Dooku?

"R2. I know you're receiving this." Obi-Wan said over the comm.

Damn it all!

"I'm kinda busy at the moment." R2 relayed to the master jedi.

"What could you possibly be busy with? You're floating aimlessly in space!" exclaimed Kenobi.

"I'm mere hours away from landing on Count Dooku's barely-functional ship and disabling his life support system," R2-D2 answered. "So unless you have something more important than killing the leader of the Separatist movement I humbly request you fuck off."

There was a pause in correspondence; one so long R2-D2 dared to hope that he'd actually had the last word for a change. It was not to be.

"R2D2. I am assigning you a new mission. Change course to reactivate the systems on the 212th Attack Batallion's Venator-Class ship, Vigilance, resuscitate the entire company from stasis, and await further orders." Obi-Wan eventually ordered

R2D2 was silent as he warred with his internal programming. The Jedi master chose his words carefully, painstakingly listing every minutia of detail, so as to not allow R2 to deviate and reactivate a different ship out of spite(which he wouldn't do, but Obi-Wan didn't trust him.) What was more, his prioritization circuit would place resuscitating thousands of soldiers far above assassinating one enemy. One life equaled one life in the purely logical moral system installed into droids.

R2 could spot one loophole in the command however. There was no time constraint, so he was fully capable of acknowledging the order, advancing on Count Dooku, then moving onto the mission Obi-Wan had given him.

"Immediately," Mace Windu's voice amended.

"Roger that." R2-D2 responded.

If he had teeth, he'd be grinding them right now.


"I take it that cacophony of beeping and whistling meant something to you?" Dumbledore asked when the space wizards finished their conversation with the robot.

"Indeed," General Windu said. "Astromech speech is limited to a set number of responses. It isn't taxing to learn it, so most people do."

"Although our little helper has developed an extended vocabulary far beyond the normal ability of an astromech," General Kenobi added. "We can't figure out why. Our best guess is due to the extensive amount of contact he's had with Force users. That seems to be the common factor in droids that achieve otherwise unheard of levels of sapience."

Fascinating. Machines gaining sentience through proximity to magic? This was quite different to the magic wizards used. Electronics on particular went haywire when powerful spells were used near them, and became useless over time if weaker magic is repeatedly used near it.

"I am beginning to sincerely regret our lack of time to communicate and discuss our histories and abilities," Dumbledore said to General Windu, the more senior of the two space wizards. "And I even further regret that we still do not have such time. Alastor and I must get back to our community and help where we can, seeing as the situation involving the Separatist's lack of hygiene is well underhand here. How might we keep in contact?"

General Kenobi proffered a communicator from his pocket and Dumbledore took it. He made a mental note not to use any magic around it and to transport it, non-magically, to a Muggle or Squib cohort. One who could relay communications more easily.

"I will be getting this to an associate of mine, a miss Arabella Figg. She will have to work as an intermediary between us, though one not as fast or efficient as either of us would hope," Dumbledore explained.

"Why not keep the communicator on hand?" General Windu asked.

"Because," Alastor answered for him. "Our magic interrupts electronics, especially sensitive ones. It's why we've refrained from using any in here."

Alastor waved an arm to indicate the many receivers, transmitters, radar and other things Dumbeldore couldn't identify.

"Indeed. We have been avoiding the use of any magic on this ship entirely. For our safety as much as yours." Dumbledore explained.

Windu pondered their explanation even as they gave it.

"That is odd. I have never heard of the Force having such effects, except in nexuses' of power or when intentionally used by those with electrical inclinations," The dark-skinnedman pondered aloud.

"Oh trust me, Master Jedi," Dumbledore said with the utmost respect. "The power you wield and the powers we wield are very different beasts, on every level. When we have the time we simply must compare notes."

Windu and Kenobi both seemed unconvinced by his claim but bowed in farewell all the same. Dumbledore returned the bow as Alastor simply turned to leave.

Dumbledore followed his Auror friend on the winding path back to the chopper. An entire week aboard a steel ship, unable to use magic, was stressful even for him. But he didn't let his eagerness to leave show.


Harry tried not to let his eagerness to leave show, but his usual grumpiness from over the summer had returned with a vengeance as he helped move pallets of supplies around the medical tents. He wasn't the only one either, as both Ron and Hermione expressed their distaste for the work and lack of action each time they crossed paths.

Hermione's parents were too busy to see her, nor to have an awkward conversation with Ron for that matter. As such when they finally all had a break they schemed.

"Big city out there still on fire," Ron said.

"A lot of people hurt in need of help," Hermione said.

"Alien robots and space wizards running amok," said Harry.

Though the words out of their mouths were different their meanings were the same. As were their intentions.

"Are we stealing the van or hoofing it?" Ron asked.

"The creepy predophile van, obviously," Hermione answered, before leading the way to where the vehicle had been parked.

The boys followed her lead to the ruined grass field where the van, and many other vehicles were parked. Harry checked the front as Ron checked the back and Hermione checked the surroundings. They were all clear.

"I'm driving," Ron said as he jumped into the driver's seat.

"Well naturally," Hermione scoffed as she took shotgun.

Harry squeezed in between the front seats holding himself up against the sides of them. His heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest as Ron backed the van out of the field, such was his anticipation of them being caught. But when they peeled off onto the main road back towards London he breathed a sigh of relief.

"So! Where are we going?" Sirius asked.

Ron swerved into a ditch. Whether from his own surprise at Sirius' appearance, or from being distracted by Harry and Hermione screaming, the world may never know.

R2-D2 reduced his thruster speed and braced for impact with the Republic battleship. The Vigilance was so wholly out of control that it was orbiting the planet while spinning along it's horizontal axis like a drill head.

This certainly made landing a dangerous task, but he couldn't exactly disobey orders now could he?

The landing was as rough as he expected, and, despite landing feet-first, the force of the collision still jiggled all of his components to the point that he sputtered out of consciousness for a few seconds. He shook his head, or, well twisted it back and forth in the best approximation of a shake he could manage, and began rolling along the ship's hull.

The vessel was surprisingly well intact, lacking the pockmarks of space debris collisions that the remains of the Federation droid command ship on the opposite side of the globe. To say nothing of the Mandalorian meteoric space-station.

R2-D2 drove across the surface with ease, despite its spiraling motion, until he reached a terminal he could jack into.

Whatever combination of radiation and electromagnetic energies they'd passed through in that warp-space anomaly really did a number on the power systems. Only the backup power systems were functioning, and they were being used to power the emergency cryosleep stations for the troops who survived. These were usually reserved for medical purposes, but could be used to simply put soldiers into hybernation when stranded.

Good news was the main power supply wasn't destroyed, or even harmed. It was just all of the systems that transported power to other systems of the ship. It was a really simple fix, amounting to turning it off then back on again. Or more accurately, unplugging everything then plugging them back in and flipping the tripped fuses back on.

Bad news was there were literally millions of such switches and connective technology onboard the ship, and R2-D2 was just one droid.

But he didn't have to be.

Checking the power usage of the backup systems he discovered that barely three quarters of the emergency power systems were being used for the cryostations. Meaning there was plenty to resuscitate the hundreds of droids on board who had been knocked offline by the hyperspace anomaly.

R2 had been knocked out by it too, but Anakin had been wise enough to, long ago, fit him out with what he referred to as a "defibrillator" to send a shock through his system if he were ever shut down through an EMP pulse. And that's what he was about to do to all of the docked droids on board.

A few turns of the jack here, a digital signal there and presto! An electrical surge ripped through the ship giving every droid on board a nasty wake up call, and the mechanical equivalent of a hangover to go with it.

If he didn't have such a slave driver of his own, R2 probably would have given them a few minutes to orient themselves.

"Alright boys!" He mentally hollered at the few hundred delirious astromechs. "We've got twelve million or so cables, switches, fuses, and dials to do the old in-and-out on. And that's only the beginning of bad news I have for you. Hop to it, no dilly-dallying. Up up up!"

And so, through his connection to what remained of the ship's systems, he felt his many brethren stir awake and cuss at him in their varied little ways. Situations like these always helped him to expand his vocabulary. Today especially was a gold mine of vernacularistic discovery.

After chewing Ron out for failing to discover Sirius in the back they chewed him out again for totaling the van. It was, of course, Sirius himself who came to his defense.

"Relax! The thing isn't totalled. Just stuck in a ditch." He said. "A bit of mechanical know-how mixed with an overpowered reparo, followed shortly by a levitation charm, and we'll be back on the road."

He then did exactly that, repairing the bumper and headlights with ease. Then whispering under his breath an incantation that definitely wasn't wingardium leviosa.

A quick bit of diagnostics(turning everything on and off then giving the bumper a few kicks) proved them incapable of finding any damage. The headlights didn't work anymore, but considering the number of space-expansion charms inside it was a miracle the spark plugs still turned the vehicle on, let alone any of the other electronics.

"So. Where are we going anyways?" Sirius asked.

Harry shared a look with his friends.

"You mean, you're not going to try and stop us?" Harry asked.

"I know better than to try," Sirius said. "You'll be punished once you're satisfied with your mischief, but I've always believed it's better to let youth make their mistakes, with adult supervision, than try to prevent it from happening and forcing kids to get on with their troublemaking away from adult aid."

Seemed reasonable.

"Still. Ron could have done a better job of searching for you," Hermione complained.

"He was under Harry's invisibility cloak!" Ron defended. "What do you expect me to have done? Cast a homenum revelio and break the Statute of Secrecy?"

"Wouldn't have done you any good anyways," Sirius said. "The Potter cloak somehow blocks revealing spells. It's a special piece of hardware like that."

He then handed the cloak back to it's rightful owner and stepped back into the pedo van.

"Besides. The restriction on underage magic is effectively rescinded right now," Sirius added. "Everybody's too busy with more important things to even know that you've cast a spell, let alone arrest you for it."

"Also also, actually actually the entire country is a disaster zone," Hermione added. "Meaning an emergency situation that exempts those under-age from any such restrictions."

"Right you are, Miss Granger," Sirius confirmed as he got into the driver's seat and closed the door. "Now get in. We have adventuring to do."

They did so, with Hermione taking shotgun and the boys sitting directly behind them. They peeled off down the street towards the wreckage of London. Harry was eager to meet that demonic space-wizard again, and the others seemed equally as giddy. Hermione especially, if her giddy questions were any indication.

"So is it true that the ICW is planning to do away with the Statute of Secrecy altogether and reveal us to the world?" she asked

"Who told you that?" Sirius tried to sidestep the issue. Harry caught onto the look of worry on his face immediately.

"Just rumors," Hermione said flippantly. "Though I suspected they'd do as much since the crash first happened, and my theory was reinforced when we encountered one of the aliens who used magic."

"It's only logical, after all. If the statute of secrecy can no longer be upheld, then it's best to reveal ourselves on our terms before they find us out in a potentially unflattering light," She went on. "Like having cruciatus lightning hurled at your face by an alien Beelzebub cosplayer."

Sirius laughed at that

"Funny thing is, that's not the reasoning behind the push to end the Statute," Sirius said, all but confirming the teens' suspicions. "The reasoning behind the pro-revelation movement, which I'm against by the way, is that with the revelation of alien life invading us the discovery of witches and wizards will go comparatively unnoticed. That and the main reason for us going underground, the implausibility of our coexisting, is proven somewhat false by the fact these aliens are a mix of Muggles and Wizards, so if they can do it why can't we?"

Harry hummed at that.

"I would think that their reasoning would be that our dwindling magical resources wouldn't be so heavily taxed providing for muggles, who will want us to remedy every little thing in their life, with this hyper advanced technology that just fell into our laps."

Sirius slowed the vehicle to a stop, turned around, and looked Harry right in the eyes.

"I think you might have just sold me on the pro-revelation movement there Harry. Let's go find some space tech!" he roared and took off again.

Darth Maul rifled through the pages in deep thought.

The discovery of paper, a simple combination of wood and glue, had at first astounded him. How had no other species in the galaxy come up with such a simple means of writing, as opposed to their digital forms of media? It truly boggled the mind. (A/N - 1)

DING!

"Cookies are ready!" The kindly old woman whose home they had commandeered announced.


In his attempt to track down the boy who had given his commanders such a hard time with the Force they had found this surprisingly intact street. Two homes in particular felt like him, one belonging to a morbidly obese man, a dangerously emaciated women and a son that resembled his father to such an extreme that he had to wonder if perchance the woman wasn't his biological mother.

There was some kind of barrier around the home preventing him from getting near it, but there was another home nearby that reeked of the boy's presence and it's inhabitant was unwisely inviting.

He had simply knocked on the door and the woman invited them in. Arabella was her name, and she was very clearly senile. But the presence of this strange antiforce whirling around her home and the opportunity to learn more about the technology, history and sorcery capabilities of this world was too golden of an opportunity.

It is often said that one shouldn't look a gift bantha in the mouth, but Maul couldn't help but asking her why she wasn't frightened by his appearance. Her response just confounded him further.

"Oh please! I have to go do oratory battle with goblins every month to get my ex-husband's alimony payments." She said. "Compared to them, you ain't so ugly, or scary. And after years volunteering for the Saint Mungo's magical injuries department I don't anybody's mere appearance could scare me."

He ignored the stream of questions that rose with her answer in lieu of rifling through her bookshelves. His underlings were quick to fill the silence with demands for sustenance. He had yet to find out what these "cookies" were, but so far the smell permeating the residence as she prepared them made the place all the more inviting.

"I hope the missus didn't fill up on the batter." The woman, Figg, chastised Kast where she sat in a full-body cast.

The bandages were meant to maximize the contact of her scorched body with what little bacta jelly they had on hand. It was working, but recovery was slow and the woman was miserable in her upright position, unable to move her arms. He suspected she enjoyed Commander Saxon hand-feeding her the leftover batter in the mixing bowl a little too much, but their fraternizing was none of his concern.

"Perish the thought!" Rook denied as Arabella emptied the tray of baked goods into a large metal bowl to cool.

Maul returned to his reading.

It was always a good practice to familiarize yourself with the world you're stranded on before you become stranded on it. They had been denied that opportunity and so now we're making up for that failure. And what he learned astounded him.

The technology of these people was simultaneously eons behind that of the wider galaxy, and far beyond the wildest dreams of scientists and inventors everywhere. The computers these people used had taken a completely different evolutionary path, achieving processor speeds and levels microtization that he could hardly comprehend.

Their computers were purely logic based, where the wider galaxy had taken a more feminen path, trying to imitate actual thought and emotion. The limitations of this clan of humans were obvious, in that no matter how complicated their algorithms got, no matter how many logic gates they strung together, no machine built on this bedrock would EVER, in a million years, achieve sentience as their droids had.

That being said it was possible for the computers of this world to become advanced enough to pretend to be sentient, which was a terrifying prospect. Within another 50 years, give or take, this race was liable to create a genuine monster in an attempt at artificial intelligence, and it would destroy them, if not threaten the galaxy at large.

He could picture it, a machine capable of self-improvement at lightspeeds, creating technology for itself outstripping all others. But one error in code replication, one failed premise on which they based the code for it's behavior, and they would create a terror of such magnitude as to eclipse the Mnggal-Mnggal.

Any little mistake would do.

Instilled with a failed ideology of economics and it could control the pricing market the world around and cause mass starvation, supply shortages and worse. A poorly coded understanding of sexuality and it would force people into non-consensual situations. It could decide to substitute meat-producing animals with sentient invalids or other undesirables from a simplistic utilitarian output, or otherwise decide on unnecessary genocide based on crime statistics.

"How have you people not managed to wipe yourselves out of existence?" he pondered aloud as he worked his way through the Comptia A certification tome.

"Through pure dumb luck, I assure you," Arabella, having heard him, answered.

These were a dangerous sect of humans indeed.

"Here you go," she said as she handed him a small bowl filled with her creations.

"I am not a fan of sweets," he lied through his sugar-rotted teeth.

"Oh nonsense! Snowball has warmed right up to you, and he has an eye for people with sweet tooths," she said, indicating the animal rubbing against his mechanical leg.

Yes. These cats, they did like him for some reason. He had never been talented with the disciplines of the force devoted to animals, but these creatures were oddly attuned to the dark side. Or at least he was positive they would be, if the force existed in this world. Traitorous, selfish, conniving and wholly incapable of love or loyalty.

Even without the force existing in them, he sensed the strange magic of this world permeating them. It felt like some kind of sensory ability, but he couldn't decipher what it was they could sense in people. Regardless, Maul simply adored them. And they him.

"Thank you ma'am," Maul said as he took the treat.

No point in being rude.

They were excellent. Had chips of a dark substance she called "chocolate" that were to die for, and they really brought the recipe together. He had always had a knack for machines and vehicles, but the culinary arts were a discipline which always called out to him. It was a discipline he refrained from as it would not aid him in his quests.

It was then that another animal flew in through the window. It had brown feathers and a hooked beak. It had large eyes more indicative of a nocturnal predator, and yet was flying during the day. Peculiar.

"Ah! A letter from Dumbledore then," she explained as she approached the animal, which indeed carried a package.

She opened it and, of all things, a communicator fell out of the package onto the floor.

This world got curiouser and curiouser.


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