SUMMARY: Maul, you. ABH, AU, humor, profane language. A Star
Wars fan has been transported into the Star Wars universe -- in
front of Maul. Pop quiz, hot shot. ;>
NOTE: All of my stories are available on my web site
(http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Stories.html).
This deals with the events on Naboo, so Q/O are in it. I
figured that was good enough. My apologies if I chose wrongly.
ARCHIVE: Please. Wherever you like, and as often as possible.
You wake suddenly, hot. The blankets are stuffy at this hour of
the morning. Sleeping in will do that to you, but it's a luxury
you enjoy too much to give up when you can indulge in it, even
if it does throw you off-stride for the rest of the week.
So hot.
You push aside the blankets automatically, or start to -- you
aren't insane enough to sleep with lots of blankets during a
California summer, but you've got air conditioning for the sake
of Peter, Paul and Mary! -- and all you've got over you is a
single thin blanket. So why is it so hot?
You're about to open your eyes when the screaming starts up
again. It's familiar screaming -- you recognize it now from
your dream. It woke you up, not the heat.
Why in the name of God and all the little green mice was
someone screaming outside your house? It wasn't like you lived
in L.A.
Police. Gotta call 911.
You let that digest for a moment, wondering if it's urgent
enough to wake all the way up for. The screaming will probably
stop. It's probably not anything important. Surely someone else
will call the cops.
But it's hot, and you're awake now, and you're pissed because
of both of those reasons.
The room's dark, very dark considering how hot it is. You get
up and stumble out of the room, eyes mostly closed, moving from
memory and vague sensory impressions. You only bump into the
wall twice before you're outside, looking for the phone.
Sleeping with a phone in your bedroom is, in your opinion, both
a leading cause of insomnia as well as insanity in otherwise
perfectly reasonable people.
But now it's very bright, even behind your closed eyelids, and
you close them tighter. What the hell? You've got windows in
your bedroom. Since when is it brighter in the hall than the
bedroom? There's a tree outside that bloody window!
Or there would be.
The screaming is right beside you, and you try to pry your
eyes open to look, but they're watering too hard for you to see
clearly. What you do see, though, is somewhat frightening.
Endless yellow, both of sky and land, the sky slightly lighter
than the brownish earth. It is a dream. It must be a dream.
Except your feet are burning through your socks and it is much
much hotter now than it was when you were lying down in the
darkness.
Why me? you wail mentally. Other people dream about
naked holidays with Ewan McGregor, and using body paint on Rob
Roy's chest. You? Heat and screaming. And somebody's bound to
die pretty soon. That's the way these kinds of dreams go. Then
the thirst. Then the hallucinations. Wake up, you chant
to yourself. This is a dream. Wake up.
And then something hits you in the chest, like an electrical
explosion, and you know -- this isn't a dream.
"Wake up," an utterly implacable voice says to you.
It isn't so hot now, but your chest hurts as though someone
had slapped you with those chest paddles they use to revive
people whose hearts have stopped.
You open your eyes cautiously. Damn. The hallucinations
have started.
In front of you sits a familiar figure. The face of evil to
millions, and of fantasies to others. A red and black mottled
face.
"Darth Maul, Lord of the Sith," you say, identifying him. "And
what brings you to my dream?"
A hand whips out faster than your eyes can follow, and you are
cuffed hard in the cheek. The pain is very, very real. Okay.
Not a hallucination. Or at least, a dangerous
hallucination.
"Who are you?" Maul demands.
You don't get up. You don't really need to get up so that he
can hit you again. Because you already know he won't like the
answer. Let's see, I'm from a city, state, country and
planet you've never heard of, and in my world, you're a
fictional character. No. He'd hit you again.
And, if this is Maul, probably kill you. Although leaving you
here would probably have the same result. You're wearing your
Pooh jersey, socks, and underwear, and that's it. In the middle
of a blazing hot place you've never heard of. Not good.
You glance up into his eyes. They do not miss even a flicker
of your movements, and they are coldly malevolent. It does
not matter to him if I live or die, you think, and somehow
that scares you more than the thought of your imminent death
could.
He is reaching for something at his belt -- lightsaber,
perhaps, or some other device to torture you with. You sense he
will not ask his question again. You'll answer, or... else.
You do not want to find out what else is.
But you have nothing to say that he could possibly want to
hear.
Except...
"Your master is Darth Sidious, also known as Senator
Palpatine, representing Naboo," you jabber out quickly, even as
he raises a metal something at you.
He stills.
It's enough for you to spill out your hastily conceived proof
that you know too much for him to kill you. "You're going to
die. He's going to send you to your death. You die on Naboo,
and you are going to die for no reason. He doesn't want you as
his apprentice anyway. He's looking for someone else. I know
who that is. I know who's going to kill you and how you're
going to die. I can help you..."
That's all you manage to get out before a dark wave smashes
your mind, and for the second time that day, you're
unconscious.
This time you open your eyes as soon as you realize you're
awake. You listen, too. Since when do you lose consciousness in
a dream?
You don't. So ergo sum, this is not a dream. Shit.
You're lying on a hard floor, metallic by the look and feel of
it, although who knows how they really do things in the Star
Wars world? What you can see of floor and walls is plain, no
decoration to give you hints.
Slowly, you sit up, looking around. Turned away from you, in a
chair sits the Sith lord. Cloaked in black, he is apparently
piloting a ship -- this ship -- through space. That's what the
stars and the black are, after all. And you can recognize a
space command console thingy when you see one. So he's
taking me back to Palpy. Wonderful. Dead. Tortured, then
dead. Where's Bill, his evil twin when you need him?
"Your mental defenses are most impressive," he says, without
turning. "Especially for someone with an average midichlorian
count. Are you a natural telepath?"
You shake your head and let out a snort before thinking about
it. "Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen. Not in this
lifetime. Although this would be the perfect Mary Sue setup..."
You tentatively push toward his mind, wondering if you do have
some special power. The only thing that happens is that you get
wrinkles in your forehead. Not exactly a positive sign of newly
developed psychic powers. Plus, mental defenses? Say what?
Since when do you have mental defenses? "What mental defenses?"
He finishes with the console and turns to you. Turns on you.
His mouth is curled up in a sneer. "Don't play pretend with me.
I've been in your mind. I may never have seen such shielding
before, but it can be broken. By my master, if not by me. You
will tell all that you know."
That doesn't sound promising at all. You have a hope with Maul
-- a lever to use against him. Palpatine... you'd be ass deep
in alligators with him. If not worse. And whatever this mental
defense stuff was that had Maul so impressed, the Emperor
wouldn't need but half a minute to strip your mind bare. You're
pretty sure of that. You saw what he did to Vader in 'Return of
the Jedi'.
"Look, I already offered to help you, okay? The torture stuff
is most definitely not necessary." Why you're suddenly
channeling Buffy is beyond you, but it helps give you
confidence -- otherwise you'd be hiding in a corner trying not
to gibber.
"Why would you help me? I saw Jedi in your mind. You know who
I am, and what I want. Why?"
"Because I want to live, okay? And I figure that if I help
you, maybe you'll let me go. Or something. Besides which, you
got a totally unfair deal in 'Phantom Menace'. I mean, you had
this big build-up, and the sexy poses, and all the action
figures -- and then you get--" You stop talking. D'oh! Giving
away all your information at once, not good!
"And then?" he prompts when you don't go on.
"And then we get to the part that you really need to know
about. You die. You're going to die, and there's nothing you
can do about it unless you let me help you." It's a lame pitch,
and you know it. "Look, you know that I know stuff that not
everyone does. If the Jedi knew Palpy was the Sith, the story'd
be over already. But they don't. If I know that, then you have
to believe that I know the rest of what I say I know. What've
you got to lose from listening to me? It's not like I can
skewer you with a lightsaber or anything like that. I'm
helpless. Harmless. If I'm right, you don't dare give me over
to Sid Vicious, because the last thing he cares about is
whether you live or die. Once he figures out what happens in 'A
New Hope', he'll definitely let you die. He gets into power,
after all. If you live, you may screw that up for him, and he
isn't going to risk all that power over just you. And you want
to live, don't you?"
"I want to live," he growls. "You I want to die."
"Sorry, can't help you there. Don't want to help you there, if
you know what I mean?"
"What do you want?"
"Ultimately? The perfect body, hairstyle, wealth, power, and a
flock of clones of handsome actors, only with personalities
specially chosen by me. And a highly rewarding well-paid career
of watching hockey games. But as I can't have that, and I don't
think you can get me home -- if I was stupid enough to
want to go home -- I'll settle for helping you live,
and--" The idea that strikes you then makes you blush. Okay.
I will not blindly proposition the man, or whatever he is. No
matter how sexy he is. Think of the teeth. The teeth. You
take a deep breath, "and you letting me find His Padawaness,
the braid-boy."
"You want me to turn you over to a Jedi?"
Apparently Maul is slow on the uptake. "Yep. Strikes me as a
good idea. Not that you aren't hot and all. Quite the opposite.
Woohoo, if you know what I mean. You don't want to know how
many GIFs I've got of you. But you're Sith, you know. I don't
think my life expectancy would be very good no matter how you
shag."
You blush harder. You really hope he's not catching more than
half of what you're saying, interspersed as it is with
meaningless anecdotes and slang -- which you're half doing on
purpose and half-doing because the attitude gives you
confidence -- and it's really hard to read the expression of a
man with so many tattoos. But you're getting the feeling that,
insults to his sexual prowess aside, he'd rather you were dead
than with the Jedi.
"GIFs?"
Suddenly a leather covered hand is at your throat. You didn't
see him move. The smell helps distract you from choking to
death. "Urgh?" you inquire helpfully.
"What are GIFs, and why do you have them?"
"Pig-shures," you manage to get out. He loosens his grip
slightly. "They're pictures, computer pictures, of you. But it
doesn't matter, 'cause they're at home in California and in any
case, they're mostly Ray, 'cause no offense, he's really really
cute."
"What is Ray?"
You realize you have a dilemma. A Sithlord is in the process
of choking you to ascertain that you are no threat to him, and
all you have to offer as an explanation of your harmlessness is
that you like the actor who plays him when he's fictitious, as
is obviously not the case here. "Um, long story."
He stares at you, eyes boring into yours. Wow. He's the
same height I am. God, is he short. You feel something in
your mind, and then he pushes you away.
"More of your shielding. I do not know why I should believe
anything you say."
Shielding? You begin to catch a clue. Ah, he thinks
that my thinking that the Star Wars universe is fictional is
some kind of elaborate mechanism to protect the real truth --
which is that the Star Wars universe is fictional... Wait a
minute. You've just confused yourself. Getting back to the
issue at hand, which is the dark and deadly dude glowering at
you, you say, "Because I know stuff that you know is true, and
you can't afford to assume that I'm lying about the rest of it.
And you know that Palpatine doesn't give a rat's ass
whether you live."
You fold your arms, smugly triumphant. So there.
He looks you over again. "Very well. I accept your terms. You
will tell me what you know, and -- if it is true -- I will let
you live. Lead me false, and I will kill you."
You're not worried about any of it being a lie. You know it's
true. "And, ah -- don't forget the bit about letting me go
afterwards."
He smiles -- or bares his teeth, you're not sure which. "You
seem to know a good deal about the future. Why should I let you
go? If I cannot use it for my own benefit, selling it would
still prove valuable."
"Because you living is going to change the future. Things
won't stay the same." Very definitely not, because if you have
anything to say about it, Qui-Gon is going to live. Even if
Maul figures out how important Anakin is, you doubt he'll
understand why it is that Qui-Gon is more important. 'Sides
which, Ani only made it as a sidekick, same with Maul. If Palpy
dies, then everything should be all right. No Empire.
Adventures forever. Of course, it ruins Lucas' franchise, but
you hardly care about that.
He nods. Whatever that's supposed to mean. "I will allow you
to go, if what you've said proves to be true. If you have no
more knowledge of use to me, then you may go."
"Okay, then. Deal." You automatically reach out a hand to
shake on it, and then realize, Ut oh. Major mistake there.
Do they shake here?
But he looks at your hand and extends his own, and with a
shiver, you let yours be enfolded by his, and shaken. Man oh
man, am I ever lucky!
Man, this is worse than sitting through the NFL
pre-season, you think, crammed into a closet that used to
house probe droids. Maul's ship had not been built with
passenger accommodations in mind -- you have a choice of his
bunk or the pilot's chair, and he doesn't let you anywhere near
the latter. And you're seriously thinking about seducing him in
order to get the bunk. Even if it does look too small to share.
But anything would be better than lying on the floor, wrapped
in one of Maul's spare robes -- okay. Cold, cramped, hard and
noisy besides, being wrapped in Maul's robe is a major plus to
having to sleep here. Despite your similar heights, it wraps
around you with room to spare, raising questions about how the
people around here walk without tripping over their clothing.
And how it smells...
You sigh happily, then inhale again. It smells very, well,
male, for lack of a better word. Not like Steve Shields'
jersey, which you happen to have at home. You love that, but
this -- this you could become addicted to. Perhaps it's knowing
who's worn out and how very dangerous it is. Or maybe it's just
his teeth. You giggle. Okay, so you've gone overboard on this
one. The garment smells perfectly ordinary. It's your
imagination turning it into something more.
Whatever. You bury your face in it. Forget why you like the
smell. You like it and that's enough, damnit.
The door slides back with a hiss. You uncover your face, and
see the tips of a pair of black boots in front of you. Damn,
but those are sexy boots, you think, before looking up.
Maul looks almost... amused to see you cuddling with
his robe like it was a teddy bear.
You growl, and start standing up. Not being a morning person
sucks even more when you're sleeping in a place like this. When
you get back home, you're going to stop complaining about
having to get out of your soft bed and go to work -- okay, so
no, you won't. Getting up will always suck. But this is
definitely a new level of suckage.
He doesn't move, so when you finally finish standing up,
you're face to face with him. Again, you're at eye-level with
him. Since when are short guys sexy? you ask yourself,
but it's hopeless. He is, and that's it.
You stare at him for a while, but he doesn't say anything.
Great. Short, dark and silent.
"Look, you got anything to eat that won't kill me instantly
and tastes even remotely like OJ and croissants?"
You give him points for not smacking you immediately. People
have been known to run away from you at times like this. But
then, he's a Sith. Sith don't run. "Well?"
He nods and walks away.
"Lovely," you grumble, following him. "I'm stuck with a mute
guy." Of course, you'd rather not talk to anyone at this hour
anyway. All time considerations aside, the first hour after you
wake up is -- or should be -- considered a sacred, holy time,
devoted entirely to quiet contemplation of chocolate chip
pancakes and such like. Not...
Oh, God.
Maul has supplied you with a cup of what looks like water --
and a green block. About three times the size of your Palm
Pilot -- also left behind in reality's mad rush to drive you
into insanity -- it does not look, smell or feel like anything
edible.
Some sort of stored rations, you speculate. I really
hate him. I don't care how cute Ray Park is. You chew on
the block anyway -- things could've been worse after all; he
could've given you one of those rubber chicken thingies that
Jar-Jar tried to eat in Episode 1. Or anything living. Or some
big hairy eyeball. Or a plate of purple snot. Or...
Okay. This is unnecessary. You do want to live, and living
means eating. You focus on not-thinking, and eat the stupid
block.
Given the size of the ship, and that you've had to eat
standing up, he's right there, sitting in the pilot's chair.
You're left holding the cup and feeling like an idiot. So you
drop back and punt.
"Now what?"
"Now you tell me what you know."
It isn't that simple, and you disguise this by tossing the cup
at him. You half-expect him to pull out his lightsaber and
vaporize it, but he catches it, then gets up and stows it,
brushing quite closely -- rwowr! -- to you in the process.
"So, like, when is it?"
He rattles off some completely unmeaningful data that could be
a stardate or George Harrison's private phone number for all
you know.
"I mean, where are you in the movie?" Oh, bright move. Like
he'll know what that means. "Have the Trade Federation
blockaded Naboo yet?"
Once again you have his full, if disconcerting, attention.
"Yes, they have."
"Okay, good. Did the Trade Federation invade yet?"
He nods.
"And Tatooine? Did you follow Amidala there and fight with
Qui-Gon and all that stuff?" It dawns on you that where you
were when you woke up might have been Tatooine. "Did that
just happen and you're now on your way to Coruscant or
Naboo?"
"Coruscant."
"Ah, good." So now you know when you are. Unfortunately, it's
a little too late to keep Qui-Gon from picking up Anakin -- and
also a little late to get him to grab Shmi as well. Can't be
helped. Maybe you can get Maul to put a lightsaber through the
brat. "Well, he's about to get nominated as chancellor after
Amidala speaks to the Senate. Then he's going to send you to
Naboo where you die. So you've got a choice. Kill him now, or
figure out a way to survive your death so that you get another
chance."
"So simple."
"Yeah," you nod, thinking, Hey, he doesn't really even need
me here.
His tone is always grim, which is probably why you don't
notice any change in it. "If it were that simple, he would
already be dead."
"Oh. Yeah. I forgot. You probably don't like him very much, do
you?"
He smiles at you, that really toothy look that would scare you
if the whole situation wasn't just too bizarre for fear.
"Okay. So... um..." This is going to require thinking. You're
not sure you'd have gotten into it if you knew that. Thinking
is so not in your job description. "Well, then what happens is
this -- there's this political nonsense in the Senate and then
everyone who was on Tatooine goes to Naboo. Including you. And
then they're going to stage an attack on the Naboo capital, and
end up back in the palace doing fighting-stuff. Which is where
they meet up again with you, and the Jedi go off and fight with
you in this power plant room that just suddenly appears out of
nowhere. And you die. That's the bad part. You don't want to do
that." Another flash of that not-grin. "So, the best thing to
do would be to not show up and fight the Jedi."
A definite scowl. "No. Give me the means to defeat the Jedi."
You roll your eyes. "I'm not magic! I can't just make things
happen."
"But you know what will happen. Tell me what happens in the
battle. You've seen it somehow, correct?"
"Yeah. I've seen it about eighteen times. But I don't know
that it'd do any good." It's not like you remember any fighting
moves, or anything truly helpful. "You show up, and then run
off and they follow you, then the power plant shows up with all
these levels, and you fight both of them, and Obi falls off,
and then you all fight some more..."
He holds up his hand. "Enough."
Which is good because you just figured out how to get him to
win the battle. All he has to do is make sure Obi-Wan can't get
Qui-Gon's lightsaber -- or just slice off the top of
braid-boy's head as he's dangling in the shaft-thingy. Easy.
You resolve right now to not tell him anything about that part.
If he asks, you don't know. Or something. You're not sure you
can get away with lying to him. Despite the 'shielding' he says
you have, he might have some sort of weird truth-sensing
ability. But you can't let him know how to win the battle.
"Do you have anything useful to tell me? Or should I
simply kill you now?"
You're not too thrilled about the dying option. Even if
there's a good chance you'd just wake up back in California.
"After the fight, Palpatine shows up on Naboo with the Jedi
Council. You can't take him out by yourself? Well, with all
those Jedi to back you up, it'll be easy!"
Maul looks at you with an expression that suggests he believes
you to be at least two steps lower in the evolutionary process
than the green block you ate for breakfast. "And then they will
kill me. No. That is not an acceptable plan."
"Oh. Point. Um... Hmm. Damn. Eek!"
The 'eek' is because he's powered on the lightsaber and has
the point about a half a nanometer from your throat. "Think
faster."
You'd protest but you have this really bad feeling that just
breathing would be enough to cause your throat to touch the
saber. You're going cross-eyed staring down at the red blade,
and trying real hard to breathe shallowly. And not thinking
about anything in particular but your breathing.
After a minute, he seems to realize you aren't going to say
anything with the saber there and powers it off.
That puts your mouth back in gear if not your brain. "Does
that tactic ever work? 'Cause frankly, it didn't help me think
any."
You wake up in the closet with a headache, and a desperate
need to use the bathroom. Whatever excuse for it Maul has
anyway. If he doesn't just kill you for asking. You could see
why he wouldn't care very much whether you go to the bathroom.
After all, he's going to die, and that can't be a fun prospect,
even if this is just a movie.
A movie I happen to be living in right now, you remind
yourself, trying to take this with the appropriate amount of
seriousness. Okay. Now how do I get Maul out of this alive,
and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and make sure Palpy has a permanent
case of the deads?
Upon sober reflection, it seems impossible. You have these
resources -- an obviously insane young woman and a Sith. You
must convince a group of life-loving Jedi to murder a respected
politician, and do it without getting locked up (you) or killed
(Maul). And without the Sith killing a Jedi. Okay, without him
killing a Jedi you can't live without. If he kills Mace, the
world might be better off.
So. What would be the best scenario? You grin as you think of
it. While Maul and I have wild Force-driven sex in the
biggest bed in the palace, Anakin pulls Palpatine's mask off,
ala Mission Impossible, revealing him as Sidious, and everyone
sabers him all at once. But alas, that isn't possible. For
one, because the only reason everyone shows up is that Qui-Gon
died. You're pretty sure the Council wouldn't have showed up if
he'd lived. Which is a problem. So you've also got to convince
Qui-Gon to play dead... oh, geez. It's impossible. Why don't
you just strip naked, get in Maul's bunk, and beg him to fuck
you before he kills you?
Oh. The door is locked. You're stuck in here. That's why not.
So. A plan.
When the door is opened many hours later, you nearly trample
Maul in your haste to get to the bathroom. That you need to
stop to ask for directions does not keep you from trying to run
over him. That he could kill you in less time that it takes you
to get from your work to your parking spot at work is probably
why he tells you where to go. Not that there were many choices.
Having to come back out so that he can explain the plumbing to
you does not make things any better.
You can tell that your entry in the Sith Lord's Guide to the
Galaxy has been downgraded from "mostly harmless" to "totally
harmless".
When you're done, you come back out to face the guy who's hit
you several times, has stated his intent to kill you, and whom
you still find unbearably sexy. Apparently your libido and your
good sense do not go together in this universe either. "I have
a plan."
"Good."
"It's a really good plan." He stares at you. You're pretty
sure he doesn't get the joke. "A really really good plan."
"What is it?"
No, he didn't get it. Oh, well. "Do your robes come in any
color than black?" For this is the extent of your plan. And
you're pretty sure that the only reason Maul will go along with
it, if he does is that he's really looking forward to killing
you when you turn out to be wrong.
So -- don't be wrong. Right. Simple.
Sheesh.
The doors open. Darth Maul is revealed to the Jedi, who
immediately stop and fall into fighting position. Qui-Gon sends
the others off to take care of the Neimoidians, while he and
his padawan slaughter/get slaughtered by the Sith Lord.
While Maul does his "I Am Death" impression, you slip out from
behind him clad in another one of his black robes, and your
nightgown. Okay, so it doesn't make the greatest of
impressions, but it's the best you've got at the moment, and
the Pooh jersey actually covers more than one of Maul's tunics
would've. What he uses for pants are impossible.
You meant to step out calmly, and reveal yourself to the Jedi
with great dignity, announcing that they must listen to you
because the fate of the galaxy is in the balance.
What you actually do is trip over the thrice-bedamned robe,
and fall on your face. This pretty much disrupts the tableau
created by the three Force users. You look up. "So, like, how's
it going?"
Qui-Gon's lowered his saber, probably to keep from spitting
you with it when you fell. Obi-Wan's guarding you quite nicely.
You spare a minute to wonder whether Maul will bother to defend
you, should this fail. The Magic 8-Ball in your mind comes up,
"Try Again", and you resolve not to get involved in life and
death situations anymore.
You stand up shakily. "Hi. I'm -- well, never mind that. I'm
from another universe, and I know stuff that you need to know
otherwise very bad things will happen."
"Master, I have a bad feeling about this," braidboy says.
Qui-Gon just looks at you. You're really getting to hate this
inscrutable thing.
"You're going to die if you don't listen to what I've got to
say. In a few minutes, I mean."
"The will of the Force..."
"Oh, fuck the will of the Force." If that's physically
possible, you amend. "You die and this guy here dies, and
then very very bad things start happening, that end up with the
Sith ruling the galaxy for a very long time." You point at
Obi-Wan. "And you die old and lonely, sweetcheeks, so tell your
master right now that you love him, because this is absolutely
the last chance you get."
Qui-Gon is still listening to you, not questioning. You've got
to admire that in a man. And not getting hit halfway through
your story is a big plus, too.
"Now, if you all work together for a while, the real bad guy
can be taken care of, and then everyone here can go on living
and things will be happy-happy joy-joy. Got it?"
Qui-Gon clears his throat. "If we are meant to die here..."
"You are not meant to die here. The reason I know you
die here is because... well, never mind why it is that I know.
But you die here because someone thought it would be more
entertaining and explain why it is that something else happens
later on. It isn't a good thing for anyone. Lots and lots of
people die and it will be really really really bad. You've got
to believe that."
"Why?" Obi-Wan asks. "Why should we believe anything you say?"
You take a deep breath. "Your brother's name is Owen Lars.
You're going to spend most of your later years living on
Tatooine in a cave while he moisture-farms. And he's going to
hate you. He marries someone named Beru. Any of that sound
familiar? And if it doesn't, how about Bandomeer, and the
mines, and Xanatos?" I hope for the sake of Yoda's lacy
lingerie that that's still canon here.
"Knowing some information about me does not mean anything."
He isn't denying it, so the JA books must be canon here. Good.
"You drew your saber on Qui-Gon on Melida-Daan. You don't like
Anakin, and you just made up with your master on Naboo here.
And..." You're racking your brain here, trying to think of
information no one could know but them. You knew this would be
hard. "You shorted out your lightsaber in the swamp. Qui-Gon
made Jar-Jar nearly pass out when you guys took the ship
underwater to get to Theed. And--"
Qui-Gon holds up his hand. "Enough. Let us assume for the
moment that you are telling the truth, and that something
terrible will happen if we do not listen to you. What is it
that you want us to do?"
"We need to fake your death, and his," you point at Maul. "Obi
here needs to behave as though you died, and make the funeral
arrangements and all of that while taking care of Anakin.
That will allow us to get the Jedi Council here, and
when they're here, and Palpatine's here, you Jedi people need
to kill him."
"Senator Palpatine?"
Obi-Wan is beginning to irk you. He clearly doesn't believe
anything you say. "Chancellor Palpatine, by now. He's the
Master Sith, Darth Sidious. He made all of this up so that he
could become the chancellor. He's going to consolidate his
power, dissolve the Republic and make himself Emperor. In the
process, he's also going to nearly completely destroy the Jedi
and kill an amazing amount of people."
"How many of the Jedi?" Qui-Gon asks quietly.
"All except two." Suddenly you remember something very
important. "You know that bit about Anakin being the Chosen One
and bringing balance to the Force? Well, you're right. He will.
He's going to do it by destroying the Jedi. So then you'll be
even -- two Sith, two Jedi. You made a very bad mistake
choosing him over Obi-Wan, an even worse one leaving his mother
behind on Tatooine and you were about to make the biggest
mistake of all by dying and forcing Obi-Wan to train him. So
there."
"What you suggest is not possible."
You're getting really upset with their thick heads. If you
thought you could get away with it, you'd thump the Jedi over
the head with their own lightsabers. "What about this do you
not understand?"
"The Council would know that I am alive. Yoda, especially."
Well, at least he's thinking about the plan. You're not really
looking forward to spending another couple hours in the closet
while you brilliantly improvise a solution to this snafu -- and
snafu is precisely the way to describe your situation ever
since arriving in this universe. "So, you got a better idea?"
"The Council will need to know that I have not died."
You frown. "But they can't tell anybody -- if Palpy has even
the slightest hint something's wrong, it'll blow everything."
He nods gravely. "And the Council will not easily agree to his
death."
"He's Sith!" On the other hand, you're standing right in front
of one Sith who you don't want them to kill... "You can't let
him live. It would be very incredibly bad."
"I understand that. Presuming the Council agrees to this, he
will be dealt with."
You nod grudgingly. "Sure. Fine. Whatever. Just remember he's
ultimate evil. And do something about Anakin too! Get his
mother back, take care of him, and if you have to, kill him
when he turns -- don't let him get away."
"And him?" Obi-Wan asks, indicating Darth Maul.
You shrug. "I don't know what happens with Maul. He's supposed
to die. Maybe he takes over now. But I get this funny feeling
that a horned guy with those tattoos is not going to be hard to
spot, should a problem come up. And you can't just kill off the
Sith -- that wouldn't bring balance to the Force, it'd just
destroy whatever balance there is. Destroy, bad."
Qui-Gon looks past you to Maul. "And you agree to this?"
Maul has not extinguished his saber, but then, neither has he
lighted the other half. You suppose that's the equivalent of
peaceful negotiation for him. "She knows much she should not. I
cannot disprove her words. Events have occurred as she
predicted. I have chosen a chance to live over the certainty of
death."
The Jedi master nods. "I must contact the Council about this.
But the Force urges me to do this."
"I as well."
It's an odd sort of accord, but agreement is agreement, and
you aren't going to spoil it by saying so.
Maul is watching a probe droid's projection of the events
happening in Theed. You can't resist watching over his
shoulder. The Council and Palpatine arrive on the same ship. As
Palpatine greets Amidala, the Council spread out in a circle
around him. Brown robes obscure him from your point of view,
and Maul sends the droid around for a better look at the
goings-on.
The sound from this thing isn't so hot, so you can't really
hear what they're saying, but as the perspective shifts up, you
see a flash of green, and then the center of the circle is
revealed -- a small mound of ash.
Very nice, you think approvingly. Sidious was way too
unsexy to let live.
Abruptly, Maul turns on you, abandoning the hologram. "You
will tell me what else you know of the future."
"I will tell you what else I know of the future. The future. I
don't know anything about the future."
You slowly become aware that you're staring at him, rather
dazedly. You shake it off quickly. He just tried to get you to
tell him what you know, and it backfired 'cause you really
don't know anything about the future. For one, things are all
going to be different now, and in any case, this is a movie. Or
it was before you showed up in it. "Cool! You just tried to
mind trick me! I wasn't ready that time. Do it again!"
Somehow, he doesn't find the thought quite as appealing as you
do. He growls. "Then prepare yourself. I give you this much in
return for having aided me. You may take what time you need to
compose yourself for death."
"Huh? Uh... may I remind you that the deal was you were going
to turn me over to the Jedi?"
The level stare is meant to tell you something. You're not
really sure what because of the face paint, but you suspect
it's a 'Duh' kind of look. "I would be a fool to do so. What
you know could be used against me. If I cannot force you to
divulge what you know, it is better than you are dead."
This is not going well at all. Your life expectancy has
just shortened to about five minutes, give or take the patience
span of your average Sith. You weigh the consequences of
telling him everything you know. Which isn't all that much, but
then again, you really don't want anyone else dying because of
you, and Amidala would die, and thus Luke Skywalker, who might
still be needed somewhere along the road, should Qui-Gon and
Obi-Wan screw things up again. On the other hand, you have to
be grateful that he's ruled out using torture, as that would be
definitely not pleasant. You'd feel obliged to lie creatively
and generally make things as difficult as possible for him
before he finally broke you -- and ended up with a truth he
wouldn't believe anyway. So it's probably best that he doesn't
want to go that route. At least this way you can go out with a
little dignity.
"Okay. I don't like it but I think I get it. I have one last
request, though."
You could swear he just rolled his eyes. "What is it?"
"I, ah, want you to kiss me."
"You will not be able to escape no matter what you try."
It takes you a moment to process the non sequitur. When you
get it, you laugh. "Yeah, I know that. Duh." You raise your
hands, the robe falling around you. "Do you see any weapons?
Like you'd have let me have any. You're not that stupid. And
I'm not that suicidal. Well, like it matters at this point, but
geez, I know I have no chance against you."
"Why did you leave the palace with me if not to attempt to
kill me?"
You look at him for a long moment. "That's a very good
question. I should've stayed with the Jedi, shouldn't I?
Apparently I'm not only stupid, but incredibly exceedingly
stupid as well."
Maul doesn't agree with you, but then, why should he? You
could be Aurra Sing in disguise or something. Why should he
trust you? For that matter, why should any Sith trust anybody?
You sigh. "Fine. Look, I want to at least die happy. I can't
get away from you, you won't let me go -- a bit of nookie with
a good-looking guy would at least ease the pain a little, if
you know what I mean."
He unclips his lightsaber. Great. He's just going to kill you
straight out. You take a deep breath and try to be okay with
this. Time to pray... presuming God is the same here as in the
other universe... oh, geez.
The end of the lightsaber comes to rest against the bottom of
your jaw. His hand is wrapped around it, holding it quite
firmly.
"Move, and I will kill you," he says. You don't doubt him in
the slightest. The only thing you're wondering is why he hasn't
killed you yet.
Then his other hand comes up to clasp your cheek, smooth black
leather against your skin. Oh. That's why.
He steps into you, until you are pressed all along his front.
You can feel the beat of your heart -- fast and urgent.
Apparently adrenaline and sex mix well together. Who knew?
You watch as he turns his head so that his lips can meet
yours, moving carefully to keep from goring you with the horn
on his forehead. You'd feel more confident if he had the hood
of his robe over those, but it's a little late for second
thoughts. You feel his breath against your mouth, and then he
is kissing you.
Warm, giving lips against yours, and you open yours, as you
arch against him, wanting to feel more of him, to feel his
hardness pressed more intimately against you --
And hear the buzz of the lightsaber activating. You have
enough time to think, Whoa, bad move there, before a bar
of light stabs through your brain, obliterating all ability to
think.
Hot. It's really really hot.
That's your first thought before you roll over, trying to get
the sun out of your eyes. Somehow a ray of light has penetrated
your window and is trying to give you a monster headache. And
it's way too hot to sleep in the sunlight.
You throw the blankets off, wondering why it's so hot -- and
then you realize.
"Damn. Just a dream. Damn damn damn." If you'd known that,
you'd have really had some fun. Pulled Obi's braid, maybe even
tried to... well, never mind that now. Needless to say, you'd
have had a much better time.
Irritably, you push the blankets back -- which doesn't seem to
help any -- and sit up. Automatically, you flip the sleeves of
your robe back. The sleeves of your robe. Maul's robe.
Damn damn damn damn damn. There aren't enough damns in the
world to cover this situation. It was real, and you got
killed and had to come back here where you have a boring
job and have yet to graduate from college and don't currently
have any guy in your life much less a Sith...
You fall back onto the bed and pull the pillow over your face.
Maybe if you go back to sleep, when you wake up this
time, you'll own a hockey team.
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