Screaming like a stuck mynock.

Outside, the planet that the bank is on is hot, dry and very barren. Apart from the bank, there's nothing around except rocks, cliffs and dust.

A lot of dust. Blowing around, making the sky look orangey-red, getting absolutely everywhere.

The bank's lobby is vast, colourless and bustling with people. The crowds (both of black-uniformed workers and of similarly darkly clothed criminals) are perhaps the only reasons that Teja and Sparrow don't stand out like sore thumbs.

There are a couple of corridors leading off from the lobby (not including the vast circular door to the vaults), but there isn't a map anywhere to tell them where the security office is.

“Baron Erran Magnus,” Atton called as he swept into the chamber, giving the enthroned man at one end an overdramatic, slightly mocking bow. “Atton Rand, Jedi Knight. You’re expecting me, I presume?”

Erran Magnus, head of a growing slaving ring that Atton had been sent to shut down, did not look like a crime lord. He was scarcely older than Atton, dressed in fine clothes and lounging arrogantly, but with nothing especially intimidating or powerful about him. If anything, he was outshone by the array of thugs gathered around his throne, jeering.

“Master Rand. Please, take a seat, tell me what you’ve come to bother me about.”

“Your business,” Atton said, lightly, remaining standing. “Specifically, your use of slaves as manual labour, and your slave trafficking to other businesses in this sector. I’m here to inform you that you’ll be releasing your slaves as soon as possible, and shutting down your slaving ring. You’ll be offered compensation.”

He didn’t expect Magnus to agree to that, and sure enough, Erran simply smiled, leaning back in his throne.

“We’re not in Republic space. There’s no law against my usage of slaves, and you don’t have any political power out here.” Magnus rose to his feet, sharply, wandering across the room to pour himself some wine. “Which is, of course, why they sent you. You’re a warrior, not a diplomat, aren’t you? You’re here to intimidate me, not negotiate. The Jedi feel threatened by some of my clients.”

Atton occupied himself with playing with some string. He knew crime lords - they liked to monologue.

“Let’s not be coy about it,” Magnus continued, “the Jedi don’t like that I’m selling resources and slave labour to various factions of the Sith. If you want to make me a better offer, you’re more than welcome.”

“We don’t do business with slavers,” Atton replied, sharply. “Nor do we need to. You can shut down your operations, and recieve compensation, or I can shut it down for you.”

“Try it,” Magnus grinned. “Make a move against me, and I’ll know. I’ll have evidence, and if I show that evidence to my business contacts? That’s Republic trade with us all cut off. It’ll be a considerable blow to your already ailing economy, I’m sure. I’m untouchable, and you know it.”

Atton considered this, then nodded his head.
“At least I can say I tried. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Baron.”

“Don’t apologise. I needed some amusement.”

Atton turned and swept out again, smiling to himself.

------

Marek Henna, mercenary, had been quite contentedly sitting in a corner of the cantina, working his way through a bottle of juma, when Atton sat down opposite him.

“So, I hear you work security at the Irimore Banking Complex, right? The place where Baron Erran Magnus keeps his money, I hear?” Atton smiled.

Marek just scowled.

“Come with me,” Atton said, grabbing Marek abruptly and dragging him from his booth, practically ramming him through the door to get him outside. Marek struggled, fists flying, until a quick, hard backhand sent him sprawling out in the street.

One hand tightened around the front of his shirt, pulling him up as Atton pulled out a holos.
“So, there’s a guy down in the sewers who can take a holo of anything, did you know? This one, which I asked him for yesterday, is of you. See, you can see yourself, right there,” Atton gestured at a very sharp, clear figure of Marek on the holo. “And I’m guessing that none of those people around you are your wife, seeing as they’re predominantly of the wrong gender and species, you know?”

Marek snarled, snapping his head forward into Atton’s nose with what he thought was a very satisfying crunch. He had scarcely started fleeing when a hand closed around his throat, slamming him up against the wall of the cantina.

Atton took a moment to heal his nose up, before raising one fist and smashing Marek across the face. There was another crunch, and Marek yelped slightly, raising one hand to his nose.

“Now, listen to me. I have plenty of copies of these photos, which I am more than willing to give to your wife, your employer, your friends. So, what do you say about making a trade?”

Marek took a deep breath.
“What kind of trade?”

Atton grinned, brightly.
“Firstly, you can’t tell anybody that we had this meeting. Secondly - is that your datapad, there? It has an uplink to the Irimore Banking Complex’s security archives, doesn’t it? I want blueprints, first, and after that, I want everything you know about the security there.”

Jaq is reconstructing the fort - This time, it'll be bigger and better than ever, and to that end, he's gathered armchairs, wooden chairs, sofas, blankets, beds, rugs and tables large and small from other rooms.

The work in progress, so far, is nothing short of magnificent, an array of furniture and blankets that stretches up high.

Atton's not been having fun.

The guards aren't imaginative, but they do take a certain delight in their cruelty, and Atton's been given barely any chance to rest over the past almost-week. His arms are aching from being chained up, and his face and torso has a constant, burning ache from the abuse its been through over the past five days.

He's waiting, though, for an opportunity.

“Your city is a floating tree-island.”

The Dark Person next to Atton just stared serenely onwards, sleeves folded in front of him, floating gently. “Yes. It moves with the currents, so that we may keep our solitude more easily.” Atton almost detected a hint of sourness. Almost.

“Your city is a floating tree-island.”

“Yes,” the Dark Person agreed, impassively. “It moves with the currents, so that we may keep our solitude more easily.”

Atton ran a hand through his hair.
“Whose idea was that? Is it artificial, or did you just happen to find a floating tree-island just lying around?”

“We do not have individual ideas. We use it, because it moves with the currents, so that we may - ...” Atton just wandered away before the Dark Person could complete the sentence.

Floating tree-island was the wrong term for it, really. There was an island, and on it, a tree that vastly dwarfed the land it was on, roots snaking out into the water as it drifted along. The branches were vast, the canopy of leaves stretched larger than any city Atton had seen, and was silently bustling with identical, disembodied black robes.

“So, there’ll be something for me to eat, right?” Atton asked another Dark Person. “You know? Food?”

“Yes. We keep food for when we have guests.”

---------

The food was still alive.

“Somehow,” Atton remarked, watching a herd of deer prance about a massive room with a single table. “This was not what I imagined.”

“Humans eat deer, do they not?” His guide asked.

“Well, yeah, but they’re usually, you know. Dead.”

The Dark Person was completely still, but somehow, Atton could imagine it blinking bewilderedly. “But then it would not be moving anymore.”

“That’s true, yes.”

The Dark Person considered this, for a moment, then left, leaving Atton behind. Atton rubbed his hands, slowly.

“Right, hunting. Awesome.”

--------

It took Atton a week to find the collection of books he presumed he needed - On the Nature of Dimensional Travel, followed by 105 Tips for tearing the space-time continuum. After that, he had World-crossing artifacts and how to make them and a couple of ancient scrolls.

“You are not a Shifter.” Atton turned, sharply. A tall (tall - she stood easily several inches taller than Atton) paper-white woman loomed over him. “How did you get here?”

“I took the boat. Had some memoirs from some guy. Good reading, I hear.”

The woman arched an eyebrow irritably: “That is not what I meant.”

Atton narrowed his eyes a little. “There was a cave. It’s not really that interesting, to be honest. What’re you researching here?” Subject changes were always a good thing.

The woman shook her head. “I’m not doing research.” Her attention apparently caught by something else, she drifted away to another bookcase.

---------

It took Atton another week to transcribe the relevant passages. The Dark People wouldn’t allow him to take any books with him, and if he wanted to show what they said to anybody else, he’d have to make his own copy of the information.

Atton grudgingly did as he was told, silently thanking whatever weird magical field was in place on this world that seemed to take a turbolaser to language barriers.

He’d only just finished, leaving himself with a folder as thick as his arm, when a Dark Person approached him, shoving a pile of books into his arms.
“Compliments of the White Dragon.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

--------

These books were older, longer, had more pictures. They depicted ancient rituals, hordes of monks surrounding pedestals, and snowy, unnatural landscapes that seemed to serve as warnings for any who might attempt to imitate what they read.

Others depicted massive towers, and above them, swirling vortexes. One showed a man with an orb floating above his head, and the world changing around them.

Atton took notes of as much as he could, of what the pictures showed, and of what little text there was. It took him another week.

--------

“You have everything you came for?” The pale woman asked as Atton packed.

Atton grinned at her. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be finding anything else. I’ve got plenty, for now, at least.”

The pale woman just nodded, slowly, before holding out a vial. Something silvery glowed within, sometimes like liquid, sometimes like gas, other times just like light.

After a moment of silence: “A tear. You will find it useful in creating a key to another world.”

Atton blinked, taking it. “Well. Thanks. I suppose.”

“I will send you back to Marcuria,” the pale woman said, firmly. “Another ship will not be leaving for some time.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m happy to wait for a ship ...”

“I insist. Take my hand.”

The old man was called Adalardo, and by bones, he apparently meant the toebones of a Gribbler, used for fortune-telling. Atton had wrinkled his nose when he heard that, but Adalardo had been quick to remind him that without them, he’d never had found Atton.

The world, he told Atton as he busied himself around his house, was called Arcadia, magical twin world to Stark, the world of technology. The city, Marcuria, currently under occupation by the Azadi.

Atton had seen them, as they approached Adalardo’s home. Tall, armoured in shades of red, brown and gold, every one of them smart and impressive. Adalardo had pointed up the massive white tower stretching up from the middle of the city - It wasn’t complete yet, but it was still awe-inspiring. The Azadi’s symbol of power.

Atton got the impression that Adalardo didn’t like the Azadi much.

When Atton asked how he was supposed to get back to his own world, Adalardo just laughed, told him he didn’t know. But, he said before Atton had a chance to protest, he knew who would - The Dark People would arrive any day now, looking for books to trade. Atton didn’t have a chance to respond before Adalardo cut in again, telling him that the Dark People looked for every word ever written down, and that if the knowledge necessary to leave was anywhere, it would be in their library.

Atton didn’t have a chance to ask for a room to stay at before Adalardo was offering one.

“You’re going to have to blend in, though. I’ll get you some clothes - Good ones. Simple. You’re about the same size as my son was.” Adalardo peered at him, briefly. “And you’ll need a name. If anybody asks, you’re my nephew, Doran.”

As he busied himself in another room, he called back: “It means ‘stranger.’”

----------

For a month in Marcuria, Atton settled into routine.

He’d wake up in the morning, seven, head out to the forest - Adalardo’s house had no running water, but there was a waterfall there which nobody really went to. He’d wash, get dressed, head back into Marcuria, smiling brightly at any Azadi guards he met on the way there. After all, he was just a simple blacksmith’s nephew. He wasn’t suspicious at all.

Adalardo set him to work taking deliveries - In the morning, he’d visit the Azadi barracks with the weapons that Adalardo had made for them. He’d stay a while, talk, get information. They weren’t bad people, he found - Devoutly religious, certainly, and inclined to obey orders unquestioningly, but they were pleasant and fun, and even if half his discussions with them ended in scuffles, nobody ever got seriously hurt.

Adalardo would give him coin, and he’d get a lunch at one of the many suggestively named taverns that littered Marcuria. Then, in the afternoon, Adalardo would send him to the north quarter of the town - the so called ‘magical ghetto.’

The people there were quieter than the Azadi. More subdued. They spent most of their time huddling around blue fires, or tending to stalls that sold all sorts of bizarre items. They were a reminder that Atton wasn’t to show his powers to people.

After a while, that wasn’t a problem anymore. The longer he stayed in Arcadia, the more his powers faded, until eventually he couldn’t use them at all. No Force in this world, he supposed, and so no Force powers. That was okay. He could deal.

Once a week, Adalardo would send him to a particular tavern’s cellar, to hand off any information he’d learnt from the Azadi to a group of rag-tag rebels. He rarely had anything interesting to tell them, and the rebels were reluctant to tell him anything, despite Adalardo vouching for him.

The Azadi warmed to him more and more as the month dragged onwards. They let him in on their training and sparring, would holler jokes at him as he passed, once gave him a package of food. Occasionally, Atton started to wonder just what was so bad about them. Then, he’d go to the magical ghetto once again, see the various mages and alchemists struggling to eat, or find homes, too many people crammed into too small a place with too little food. It was an immediate, sharp reminder of why the Azadi were so bad for Marcuria, every time.

After a month, a boat, formed from crystal and wood, came floating into Marcuria’s harbour.

--------

“The Dark People are here,” Adalardo said, one morning, as Atton woke up. “They’ll be around for a day or two.” He pointed out the window. Near a strange looking ship, a cloaked, floating figure peered around. Most people stayed away from it. “Go wash, get dressed, and go see him. Have you got anything to trade?”

Atton shook his head, mutely.

Adalardo grumbled. “Good thing I figured you wouldn’t. Here.” A heavy book almost crashed into Atton’s head. “My memoirs. One of a kind, they’ll buy you passage to the Dark People’s City.”

“Thanks.” Atton flicked through it, briefly. “I’ll just go wash, then.”

“One more thing,” Adalardo said, sharply, unhooking his sword from his belt and pulling off his gauntlet, setting them both down on his bed. “Best I ever made. Magical. The sword’ll cut through nigh anything, with enough effort, and the gauntlet’ll make your right hand stronger than two or three men. In Arcadia, at least,” he grinned toothily. “No telling how they’ll work in other worlds. I expect them both back, though.”

“Will do.”

An hour later, he was clean, dressed, had everything he needed for the journey packed and was heading into the harbour, making a beeline for the Dark People’s ship.
“Excuse me,” he smiled. The Dark Person remained impassive - Its face, if it had any, couldn’t be seen. “I’ve got something rather unique here, and I was wondering if I could buy passage to your city ...”

Atton wasn’t, on the whole, the cave exploring type. Caves had bad things in them - Like mynocks, or shyracks, or terentateks. They were the favoured habitat of any animal that you would not want to meet, and they were typically winding, dangerous and dark, he found. A recipe for danger, and not of the fun, surge-of-adrenaline kind.

This cave was interesting, though - He didn’t know that there were any caves near Milliways, and the triangular symbol etched above the cave entrance drew his attention. So, he scribbled some notes to people, gathered everything he’d need for exploring, and headed out there. After all, Milliways was mostly free from dangerous wildlife - demon bunnies notwithstanding - so the worst case scenario was just falling to his doom.

Atton could deal with falling to his doom. It sounded exciting.

Lifting his torch, he headed further into the cave.

Atton's raiding the infirmary for wrappings for his shoulder, and kolto pads. It's healing well, but he'd like it to hurry up.

Botherable.

Atton hated the Jedi Archives. Entirely too many hard-working people, and far too many droids.

One droid in particular was peering at him, yellow lights painfully bright. “Was there something you wished to research, Master Rand?”

“Force ghosts.”

“If you could narrow your search down, I would appreciate it,” the droid said snippily, folding its arms. Atton wondered which bright spark decided to give it the personality of a grumpy librarian. “The archive’s data on Force ghosts would take almost three days to sort through.”

“Force ghosts possessing artifacts,” Atton replied, flicking his eyes around to glare at the droid. It glared back. Atton found himself resenting the droid for its inability to blink. “That should be fairly unusual.”

“Oh, indeed, Master. Most ghosts are tied to buildings or places. I’ll begin a search at once!” The droid appeared to have had an abrupt mood swing, from angry to delighted.

“While you’re at it,” Atton rubbed his eyes wearily, “access the security systems and check on my brother. Make sure he’s not getting into any trouble.”

“Your brother is currently in your quarters, Master, talking with Grand Master Mical. Would you like me to divert the flow of oxygen away from that area?”

“I - What?!”

The droid was the very picture of innocence. “I’d set off an alert, Master. It’d simply force them to leave the room, and Grand Master Mical would have to depart to check on what he would believe to be a system malfunction, thus saving you from the inevitable embarassment of your brother sharing any childhood stories with the Grand Master.”

Atton considered. “Well, go on, then.”

“As you command, Master. I’ve finished compiling the data you requested.”

“Download it to my datapad.”

“As you command, Master.”