Author's Note: Due to creative interpretation, I have changed the timeline in the previous chapter from 50 BBY to 47 BBY. What difference does three years matter? Surprisingly, much.
Chapter Two
SHATTERPOINT
Didi's Diner
CoCo District, Coruscant
22:17 CST
The fact that the line-cook in the kitchen had four arms, to Brown's continuing shock, was the least surprising thing he had seen in the last hour. If this was Hell, then he had yet to see what punishment awaited him, if it wasn't to be surrounded by such strange company. The two devil-horned beings- brothers, he discovered- did not speak very much English, or Basic, as it was apparently called, but what seemingly passed for a common alphabet left him in the dark, as it was just a mess of jumbled symbols. Much the same as Greek might be to a Russian, Brown thought darkly.
Around him, perched on stools along the glistening, chromium-plated bar, tucked away in corner booths or vivid plasteel tables, dozens of alien beings sat oblivious to his presence, some with twitching brightly colored head-tails, with bony cones where ears should be, others with thick shaggy hair and sharp claws, and others still with bug-like eyes and bulbous heads, all happily content with their own business. In the corner, Brown could spot in his periphery someone clad in a brown robed cloak, deep hood pulled up shrouding the face, the being's gloved hands clutching onto the steaming cup of caf before them on the table like it was their lifeline.* Von sat next to him along the bar, nestled precariously on their stool with a delicate silk kerchief tucked into the neck of their garb, hunched over a plate of what looked like raw meat, still red and dribbling pools of dark juices. His greatest shock, so far, was the man across the bar, another human with thinning brown hair, dark brown eyes, and what seemed like a permanent scowl on his face as he dashed here and there barking orders into the kitchen and pouring shots and glasses for the bar patrons.
"Now, run that by me again, bud. You got strung up, and then wound up in an alley," the man rumbled, looking Brown up and down like he had sprouted a second head.
"I swear it!" exclaimed Brown, nodding furiously. "One moment, I am outside Charles Town, minutes away from being hanged. The noose was around my neck, The gallows door dropped, and the next minute, the- the gentleman next to me pulled my hood off and I had arrived in this cacophonous affair."
"I saw it, he fell out of the air like he was dropped from a speeder," grumbled Von around mouthfuls of unidentified meat. "This is not apropos to the situation with the Jawa and the swoop gang, I assure you, Didi."* Gavan snickered next to Brown, but Brown just frowned, perplexed. Von reached over and patted him on the back in a hesitant, awkward fashion, like one would pet an unfamiliar, mud-soaked hound. Didi Oddo, the owner, barkeep, bouncer, and galactic-scale gossip all in one disgruntled form, gave him another look-over.
"I dunno about a 'Charles Town', unless Clarr'c has set up a flophouse in the vents again, but you's a long way from home, friend, wherever the fark you's really from," said Didi. Brown felt his stomach sink to the checker-patterned floor, and it must have shown on his face, as Didi's hard expression softened, as he continued. "For what it's worth, you'll be glad soon enough to be away from whatever backwater world you's from. Welcome to Coruscant." Brown's mind was spinning, threatening to throw him into an inescapable spiral, until a small, synthetic-sounding voice cut through the brain fog from about his elbow level.
"Your caf, sir!" Brown froze, and carefully turned to see the speaker. There, looking up at him with glowing yellow eyes, plated in chrome, stood a machine. It had to be a machine, it had no legs, but in their place, drawn down from the human-like torso, was a single wheel supported by gliding pistons and struts, balancing perfectly on the tiled floor. In one mechanized claw- no, hand- it held a platter, bearing a single flimsiplast cup, still steaming and filled with a murky brown fluid, but the smell was familiar.
Brown managed to mutter a 'thank you', took up the small cup in still-shaking hands and raised it to his lips. The taste was bitter, clearly no sugar to be had, but it was unmistakably coffee. Somehow, in spite of all the tumultuous activity and difference around him, coffee was still a steady constant, in both universes. Von reached into the folds of his voluminous robes, and dropped a few small metallic bars with imprinted indecipherable symbols onto the waiting droid's proffered platter. The droid waiter retracted its limb, and rolled back in the direction of the kitchen without a backwards glance. Brown watched them go, wordlessly, before turning back to Didi.
"That machine," Brown began incredulously, eyes widening, "He spoke! He sounded male! What is his name?" Didi returned to his trademark scowl, while Von glanced between the two of them like watching professional boxers squaring up to spar. Brown felt the room's atmosphere grow chill and stagnant around him, as though everyone was holding their breath at once.
"It has no name, annit doesn't need one," said Didi. His brows furrowed. "Its designation is See-one-dash-one-pee-four. What, are ya some kinda droid rights activist?" A familiar heat rose at the back of Brown's mind, and he could feel the once-stagnant rage in his gut begin to bubble and churn, hotter than back in Kansas, where-
"Look, it's my property, see? It should be happy to be functioning, an' not in some scrap heap picked over by junkerheads," Didi continued, crossing his arms across his chest. "It has tasks to do, it's out of the weather, and a free port to charge up when its battery runs down. What do you have to be upset about? You's a person."
"Surely, good sir," Brown drawled, sliding himself free of the cushy bar stool and getting to his feet, "if this were to be said of a living, breathing being, would this not be considered indentured servitude, at best, or outright slavery, at its most miserable core?" In his periphery, he could see the hooded figure in the back get up from their seat and slink silently out the door, which swished shut behind him.
"Look here bub," Didi growled, glared up at Brown and slammed a meaty fist into the countertop. The metal glasses shuddered under the impact. "If you wanna go off to Nal Hutta* to free the slaves, fulfill yer liberation fantasies, be my guest. You'll die, o'course, and your body won't never be found, but still. Try to 'liberate' the droids here, though, you'll be flayed and strung up in the streets." Brown glanced around the room to the other patrons, and was only met with suspicious stares, at best, and vicious glares and scowls, at worst. Brown nodded and his shoulders squared off, and the rage still burned away at his core.
"Threaten me as you please, my good sir, but I accepted my own death once. I will do so again, if need be," Brown intoned. He turned to the door and as the doors slid open, before turning one last time to look to Von, Gavan, and Saumi. "Good evening, gentlemen." With that, he slipped out the doors and vanished into the brisk night air. As soon as the chrome-plated doors wooshed shut behind him, Brown let his shoulders slump, and he looked up into the night sky, any sight of the stars blocked and polluted by the bright lights of the towering cityscape above and around him. In the back of his mind, Brown could feel the faintest whispers of doubt and hopelessness begin to stir.
"Oh God, what am I to do?" Brown whispered hoarsely to the air, hearing only the endless, cacophonous drone of the city in the background. "I'm so far from home, and apathy thrives even stronger here. Give me a sign," he begged, "Show me where You would have me go."
"Sorry to interrupt," came a low, smooth voice somewhere behind him, their clipped accent toning the words with confidence and warmth. "You look to be lost, friend." Brown tensed and turned slowly, hand sliding to his belt- where there was no holster, or revolver. Not since Harper's Ferry. Standing there, garbed in long brown robes and finely polished boots, was a young man with dark skin, deep brown eyes, and a calm, stern expression on his face. His dark hair was cut rather short, almost just a peach fuzz against the onto the broad belt around his waist was a long metal cylinder, ridged and ribbed and polished bright, gold and silver gleaming in the dim light.
"Either this is the strangest mugging yet and that's some form of truncheon," Brown began with a sigh, his hands sinking to his hips, "or you're what, Franciscan? Trying to get a donation?" The man before him raised an eyebrow at this, but Brown continued on. "Now, good sir, I have no ill will for Catholics, and I have shared many a drink with your brethren away from your temples, extravagant they may be. I regret to report, sir, that I have no money, so I cannot give aid for your fundraiser." The man's stoic expression shifted, and the other brow raised to join its fellow in bewilderment.
"Sir." The man bowed from the waist, ever so slightly, but still kept his eyes locked on Brown. This man's a fighter, keeps his eyes on the target, Brown pondered. Good form, but polite. "I am not here to rob you, or to extort you." The man took one step closer, and then another, hands open and palms clearly visible at his sides. "My name is Mace Windu, and I am a representative of the Jedi Order." Brown's brow furrowed, and he couldn't help but take a step backwards instinctively. "I know you're not… from around here, and you need help."
"I am afraid that I find the idea of you merely happening to stumble upon me to be ludicrous, sir!" Brown sputtered, taking another step backwards, and then another, eyes locked on Mace. "Tell me your true intentions, sir, for I have had a long day, and I have had enough of federal nonsense and cryptic whisperers."
"Sir," Mace warned, his hand now outstretched towards him entreatingly. His perplexion and bewilderment was now replaced with frustration and- concern? "You might want to step away from there. It's dangerous." The words were lost on Brown, as he took one step further, felt the nothing beneath his feet give way, and toppled backwards. Brown felt a scream rise unbidden in his throat, the blustering wind of speeders passing beneath him rippling through his hair and clothes- but he was no longer falling.
A sensation not unlike the pricking of hair standing on end encompassed him, enveloping him in entirety, and an unexpected feeling of calm and certainty settled in his core, stifling the frustration and fear inside him like snuffing out a candle. Brown looked out- no, down, across his body, to see the figure of Mace, hand outstretched, eyes half-closed in concentration, and the air itself trembling around him. He felt himself moving in the air, slowly and steadily, but his limbs remained under his own control. After a moment, but what felt like ages, Brown was righted mid-air and settled down on his own two feet once more, as though nothing had happened. He could feel his legs threatening to give out underneath him, and after a moment of hesitation, gave into his body's urgings, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. Brown heard boots draw closer, and then he saw a hand enter into his peripheral vision. He looked up, and saw Mace reaching down to him, waiting, his expression unreadable, his hand outstretched in silent invitation.
"Now," said Mace. "Let's start this conversation over. Come with me, please."
Damask Fortress, Sojourn
Carrion Sector, Outer Rim
22:30 CST
From the depths of the fortress, maze-like duraplast halls inscribed with chicken-scratch runes and diagrams written in some forgotten tongue, overhead lights flickering and fluctuating with the rise and fall of power surges, the laboratory walls still smelling faintly of industrial-grade bleach, the Muun waited. He was known by several names, but right now, the only one that mattered was Plagueis. Before him, perched on four spindly legs, was an orbular holopod droid, clicking and whistling nervously. The boy was late. For all his talk about devotion to unlocking the Force, his twin compulsions for speeder racing and playing politics threatened to be his undoing. Without warning, the droid began hopping from side to side, whistling with greater intensity. Hego Damask II, Sith Lord, Darth Plagueis, Master of the Gathering, sighed, and nudged the droid with his boot.
"Get on with it, wretch," Plagueis murmured, clawing at the edges of his hood to pull it up over his bulbous, elongated head until it shaded his deep golden eyes. "Don't make me wait." As though his grumbling was heard, the disc sunk into the droid's dome lit up, and the image of a lanky, kneeling figure appeared, highlighted in blue. His robes were finely cut, not too ostentatious, rich crimson and velvety black mixed together in the colors of a Nubian official. His thick red hair was cut short, highlighting his widow's peak, standing out against his darker robes.
"What is thy bidding, my master?" Sheev Palpatine intoned, glancing up to Plagueis with a carefully neutral expression, his gray eyes glassy and emotionless. "Surely it must be late for you-"
"I am not the one who is late, boy," Plagueis snarled, and Palpatine flinched. After a beat, he continued. "Surely you have felt it? There has been a disturbance in the Force. Barely an hour ago, there was a fluctuation, a tear in reality, as though the Cosmic Force itself had been breached."
"Is this another side-effect of your experiment, my lord?" Palpatine queried, his thinly concealed irritation betrayed by a twitching of an eye. "If so, why contact me, instead of one of your underlings to clean it up or make it vanish?" Plagueis frowned inwardly, and it took every ounce of restraint to not strangle the whelp right there and then from across the galaxy.
"This is beyond my doing, my apprentice," said Plagueis icily. "Somewhere in the core systems, there is a new life that was not there before. Something that may be a shatterpoint to our plans." Palpatine's brow furrowed, and he began to rise to his feet.
"So what is to be done?" snapped Palpatine, visible flecks of spittle spraying from his mouth. "Am I to go throughout the core and interrogate every living being to determine exactly which worthless lifeform you're so afraid of?" Plagueis's last gram of patience fizzled out, and he reached out with a grasping, clawed hand, pulling invisible, intangible threads of the Force, and squeezed. Palpatine collapsed to one knee, clutching at his throat, gasping and gurgling unintelligible sputterings. A dry, humorless smile crept across Plagueis's face.
"You are expendable," Plagueis murmured. "I can replace you in the span of a breath. If need be, I can take you apart and put you back together again and none would notice any difference." Plagueis paused, taking in the glorious sight of Palpatine, vain, arrogant Palpatine, brought to his knees. "Especially a mere senator of Naboo." After another moment of satisfaction, he released his grip on the Force and Palpatine fell to the floor, taking great gulps of air like a land-stranded fish.
"Send out your spies, even that brat you think you have kept secret from me," said Plagueis. Palpatine staggered to his feet, straightened his robes, and gave a tenuous nod. "If need be, play politician, grease palms, whisper half-truths into dulled minds. End this." Palpatine nodded again and half-bowed.
"As you wish, my master," Palpatine muttered, deftly avoiding his gaze. With that, the hologram fizzled out, and Plagueis was alone again. All that could be heard was the distant howling winds tearing across the gaping entryway of the fortress, somewhere beyond the twisting tunnels and passageways. The droid crouched low, its eye lens receded into its chassis, and it skittered off into the dim light of the labyrinthian lab space. As the clacking of spindly plasteel legs shuffled into the distance, Plagueis broke the silence that followed.
"Where are you, little fly?" he mused aloud, turning to the ever-present map of the galaxy, lit up with pinpricks of planets and hyperspace lanes flashing between them like the most disjointed connect-the-dots puzzle. With a flick of a finger, the core system of planets removed themselves from the map, and expanded until he could see each planet's moons and satellite platforms. The glow of the deep core was blinding, threatening to burn out the processors for the holoprojector, but the planets remained in high detail, circling their inevitable doom like vessels in a maelstrom. Coruscant, the glimmering center of the Galactic Republic, glistening with the undying lights of the eternal cityscape tracing out golden veins of commerce, glid proudly amongst its more drab fellow worlds. Plagueis's eyes narrowed. "Where indeed?"
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Send them my way!
* No matter where one may be in the galaxy, caf/coffee is widely considered the lifeblood of many sentient species.
* So a Jawa walks into a bar. He says "ouch".
* Nal Hutta- the nigh-apocalyptic homeworld of the Hutt crime families, capital of their conjoined criminal empires. Slavery is as commonplace as greasestorms and treachery in this place, as the Hutt families deem literally all other species besides their own as lesser, barely sapient, and best collared and put to "better purposes" as a status symbol to portential clients.