Star Wars: Dark Future

(Naboo, Bank of Lake Paonga, 21.9 BBY)

The hatch in the side of the dull yellow and brown submarine opened up and outward with a faint hiss, like the upstroke of a wing. This was followed by a few muted machine sounds, as the vehicle settled flush beside the dock, then even the surface of the water disturbed by the sub's emergence grew still once more.

That stillness and silence lasted only a moment, before a thin, surprisingly human figure appeared in the hatchway. The low, rough, masculine voice belonging to the figure standing in the shadow of the overhanging hatch-door was a barked whip-crack.

"You brave ones comin' aboard, or we going to park it here, and go on temptin' the mid-column monsters for nothing? If it's all the same to you, I'd like to live to spend my pay."

Reaching out to assess the two beings I could sense aboard the submersible, I felt the sort of focused tension I associated with professionals doing dangerous work, but none of the hungry anticipation, or sharply anxious highs and lows that often gave away treacherous intentions. It was by no means a perfect method of assessing motive, but in this case, what the Force whispered to me fell well within my expectations for individuals in this sort of situation.

It was enough, under the circumstances, so I turned and motioned for the others to follow, then glided forward to be the first aboard. If I was wrong, I was the one best-suited to handle betrayal at close quarters.

Three steps had me through the hatchway and able to see who it was that had snapped at us. It was something of a surprise to see a young, working-class Corellian man, co-piloting a Gungan sub out here in the Mid Rim.

Given the isolationist sentiment that was particularly strong among those Corellians who'd come of age during the almost decade-long decay of relations between the Republic and the Separatists, I seldom saw Corellians near to my own age these days. It made me curious about this one.

Several centimeters shy of two meters tall, the hawk-nosed, sandy brown-haired man looked thin but reasonably fit, though his skin had the wan paleness of someone who didn't get much sun.

His eyes were a common shade of medium brown, but there was a sharp glint of assessing appraisal in them, as he studied each of us while we boarded. His hair was short, straight, and parted down the middle, while his clothes were the customary Corellian spacer's white undershirt, dark sleeveless vest, and workman's slacks.

It didn't escape my notice that the toes of the submariner's black boots were capped with durasteel, or that he had a telescoping stun-baton sheathed down the back of his right boot. A heavy blaster of an older model hung from a thin synth-leather utility belt, completing the Corellian's equipment.

Despite his already having gleaned what he could from my appearance, the Corellian made a production of looking me up and down, as I moved deeper into the four-seated chamber behind the pilot's pod to make way for the others. Following me to the two pairs of seats sitting opposite each other, he seemed to be on the point of saying something critical, but instead the submariner simply shook his head silently and tramped fore into the pilot's pod.

No sooner had the pod's hatch door hissed shut behind him, then I heard a different voice speaking to us over an intercom, "Please take your seats and strap yourselves in. We will be forced to take evasive action, and I do not think any of you would enjoy a fall to the roof of the sub, when it momentarily becomes the floor.

Master Jedi, you will need to find some means of securing your droid. We were not informed you would be accompanied by such a sizable machine, and do not accept responsibility for any mishaps that may arise from its presence," The speaker, the pilot, I guessed, and from the high, faintly reverberating tone of voice likely a Rodian, informed us with a businesslike directness.

Looking at the others, who seemed to be waiting to take their cues from me, I motioned toward the two pairs of harnessed seating positioned opposite each other, saying, "You heard the captain. Ahsoka, that small flatscreen to the right of the seats nearest the pod hatch is undoubtedly connected to cameras set into the exterior of the hull in lieu of windows. Unless I'm very much mistaken, you'll find the closed-circuit footage rather exciting."

Turning my attention to IG-1 for a moment, I inquired, "Can you find a position to remain immobile by bracing yourself? One that won't result in damage to you or the sub, I mean."

Photoreceptors sweeping across the relatively small square chamber, the droid responded immediately in a voice that was still a touch tinny despite my best efforts, "Affirmative."

Instead of elaborating on that reply, the tall droid stopped short of the pair of seats nearest to us. Taking a wide stance that placed his knees against the outer edge of one seat and the opposite bulkhead, he reached up to place both his palms flat against the ceiling of the compartment.

I sensed as much as heard the actuators in his elbow joints lock themselves in place, along with a number of other mechanisms intended to reduce recoil from the fully automatic blasters in his forearms, before IG-1 announced flatly.

"Barring movements that will result in significant damage to this vehicle, my frame is secure against unintended motion, Knight Skywalker."

Frowning a little, I replied, "I told you that you can call me Anakin, IG-1. I've been wrist-deep in your neural architecture. I know you're fully sapient."

There was a momentary pause, before IG-1 replied in his usual flat affect, "This unit's comprehension of the mission in progress suggests this is a non-optimal time and location for a discussion of this nature."

Opening my mouth to respond, I closed it a moment later, when I silently realized how neatly I'd trapped myself. "If Padme or Ahsoka told me, 'I don't want to talk about this right now,' I'd respect their wishes, barring a compelling reason to the contrary. If IG-1's a person, he's entitled to the same courtesy."

Resolving that the issue was by no means closed, I shifted my attention to getting my harness on, then to making sure Ahsoka and Padme were also strapped in securely. We were just in time, too, because a moment later, a powerful lateral move on the submersible's part threw me sharply to the left against my harness.

This movement was immediately followed by a continued tilting in the same direction, then I was thrown forward in my seat. It only took me a moment to realize the sub was finishing its arc away from the dock, before nosing down sharply at speed.

"Do they have to throw us around like that, Master?" Ahsoka complained, as soon as the sub achieved a relatively constant angle of descent.

Opening myself more completely to the impressions of my apprentice's emotions that the Force was willing to supply, I wasn't surprised to sense the swelling distaste my apprentice felt for being passenger rather than pilot. What was surprising, at least a little, was how clearly my young apprentice could sense the growing danger of our circumstances.

"This is a trip aboard a luxury-liner, compared to a few of the missions I went on with my Master. When Dark Woman decided we needed to look into the rumors that a cabal of Dark Adepts were insinuating themselves among the Kiffu Guardians, she had us smuggled aboard a droid-manned resupply craft that never landed on the prison-planet," I replied rather breezily.

Looking rather skeptical after another burst of acceleration threw us to the right in our harnesses, my apprentice sulkily responded, "That doesn't sound so bad."

"The company with the supply contract was cutting expenses wherever they could. Meaning they didn't see the need to pressurize a vessel manned entirely by droids. I spent seventy hours in a cargo container wearing an e-vac-exposure suit, reliant on canister-air.

Nothing will make you gladder you didn't skimp on your trance training than only having thirty-six hours of air, when your cargo-pod is expected to begin it's 4-gee air-braking maneuver two thousand meters up, seventy-two hours after we were loaded aboard," I finished reminiscing with a fond smile of remembrance.

"That's horrible!" Ahsoka and Padme declared, almost in unison. It took me a moment to understand the nature of their objection, then I hurried to explain myself.

"I would not have been there, if Dark Woman hadn't already tested my ability to carry out the mission by burying me underground for the full seventy-two hours, with the same amount of available air, plus failure-air, twice. It was the first time my Master ever truly relied on me, the way she would a Knight or another Master.

Of course I remember successfully apprehending the Commandant and her nine acolytes, after incapacitating most of the misguided Guardians on-duty fondly!" My explanation probably came out a little more harshly than I intended, but I'd always been sensitive about people thinking ill of my former Master, just because she could be a little, intense.

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