Silence hung in the air like smog as Bril watched a billion motes of light streak across the transparisteel viewport of The Ibaka, his personal ship. His NX-14 architect droid, called “Nix” for short, was dutifully monitoring the ship’s navicomputer to stay abreast of potential changes in the hyperspace lane through which they traveled. It wouldn’t be long until they reached their destination: the planet affectionately known by millions as the Jewel of the Core Worlds — Coruscant. Bril had gone on countless missions since he first became a member of the Brotherhood, and even fought in its most recent war against the Children of Mortis; he’d fought to defend Selen, his new home, against the treacherous Force users who fancied themselves gods of the Selenian people. Yet, much to his consternation, none of those things felt as serious as this mission. The day had finally come for him to undertake his verd’goten — the trial of passage that, if passed, would mark his transition from Foundling to a fully-fledged member of the clan. Typically, the nature of one’s trial was chosen by one’s elders, but they had made an exception for him due to the sensitive nature of the mission he’d suggested. Through his connections in both the Envoy Corps and Lotus, he’d learned that a number of Mandalorian artifacts, some of which bore the signet of Clan Erinos, had recently been stolen from an auction house on Canto Bight. A few weeks later, those same artifacts were rumored to have fallen into the hands of Garr Bifti—a brutal crime lord quickly carving out territory within Coruscant’s infamous Level 1313. Bril and Foxen were going to return them to their rightful owners.
He sighed and placed his helmet in the vacant co-pilot seat. Then, he glanced over to his ori’vod — big brother. Foxen was standing at the back of the cockpit, carefully inspecting the state of his DE-21 Slugthrower to ensure all of its individual parts were in working order. Bril smiled softly. To think that their relationship had begun as contentiously as it had, with blades and words that cut deep … he never would have guessed they’d be as close as they now were. Most recently, Foxen had adopted Bril into the Erinos Clan as his Foundling. Bril hadn’t expected to be honored in such a way, but he’d taken every step to show Foxen, Minnie, Jax, and the rest of the Erinos that he was worthy of carrying their name.
Foxen, upon noticing that Bril was watching him, holstered his slugthrower pistol and raised his hands to address him in sign language. “You are much quieter than usual. Haven’t uttered a terrible pun in ten minutes and thirty-five-point-six seconds - a personal record. Is something troubling you?”
That earned a slight smile from the zabrak, who began to sign in turn while also speaking aloud. “Just starting to feel the weight of all this,” he began, “Your culture — Minnie’s culture — means a lot to me, and I want to do right by you both, and show that I’m worthy of being a part of it. It’s just … I don’t know. Somehow, fighting the Children seems so easy in comparison.”
Foxen didn’t respond at first. Although his usual granitic mien remained, Bril could tell he was considering the best response, as he always did. He had his own way of empathizing with those he considered more than mere things, with those he knew. Once he’d constructed the appropriate response, he started to sign again, albeit slower and more deliberately than before.
“Because killing frakking cultists is easier. You love Minnow, do you not? So, you don’t want to disappoint. That is the real test, as you know. But you’ve already proven yourself to her, vod’ika. To us. A trial will not change that.”
“You’re right,” said Bril while straightening his posture a bit. “Thank you, Foxen. I suppose I knew that on some level, but it’s nice to hear it from you.”
“Confirm.”
The tinny voice of VX-14 cut into the conversation. “General, we will arrive at Coruscant in t-minus three, two, one.”
The radiant streaks of hyperspace faded, quickly replaced by a large planet that glowed like a dazzling gem resting on cloth black as pitch. Bril had only visited Coruscant once before, and it was no less breathtaking a sight the second time. One of the few true ecumenopolises in the galaxy, Coruscant was arguably the most important place in the galaxy, even in the wake of the New Republic’s collapse and the eventual defeat of the First Order just eight years ago. Despite its rich blend of cultures, importance in galactic politics, and in the history of both the Jedi and Sith, he couldn’t shake the mixed feelings he had toward it. After all, for all its wonders, Coruscant stood as a glaring example of rampant inequality and oppression. I was baked into the very design of the planet itself. Politicians, merchants, and the fabulously wealthy lived in the highest levels, while the poor and downtrodden were literally beneath them, relegated to subterranean levels that became more dangerous the lower you went. It turned his stomach thinking about it.
“Bring us to Level 1313, Nix,” ordered Bril, while putting on his helmet, then reached up to grab a nearby handhold to help keep his balance when The Ibaka swooped down to begin its descent into Coruscant’s central chasm.
As they descended, Foxen approached Bril and held his gaze with a stern look, his eyes narrowing. “Likelihood of our mission being opposed with lethal force: ninety-seven-point-eight percent. Don’t need your ‘life is sacred’ druk today, vod’ika. I must return to my Home, and you to Minnow. Understood?”
Bril nodded. “Of course, broctopus,” he said, continuing his trend of coming up with ‘bro’ puns to call the nautolan-chagrian hybrid.
One didn’t need the Force to sense the larger warrior’s annoyance rippling off him in waves. “I considered jettisoning you out the airlock just now.” Just then, the starship slowed to a stop, causing it to shake when its landing gear touched down on the surface of Level 1313. “Let’s go.”
As Foxen headed toward the ship’s exit ramp, Bril turned to pat Nix on his mechanical shoulder, saying, “Alright, Nix. This place is dangerous, and I don’t want you or my ship stripped for parts. Find a hangar on one of the higher levels and stay there until I contact you for exfil.”
“And how will you cover the lofty mooring fees, sir? You can hardly afford such expenses on a General’s salary.”
Bril pinched the bridge of his nose, and inhaled slowly, dramatically. He’d given up on convincing NX-14 that he wasn’t a Jedi general from the Clone Wars, but it still irked him at times. The rust bucket was lucky it was so good at the various tasks he’d assigned it, otherwise he would have wiped its memory core by now. “That won’t be a problem, Nix, because i’m putting it on Foxen’s tab. But that’s not important. Just be ready for my call so you can exfiltrate us. Got it?”
The architect droid spun around in its seat and straightened its posture even more than it already was, its metal chassis creaking in the effort. “Oya, General. Did I use that right? It means… something intimidating, yes?”
Bril stared. “Sure, yeah,” he said in a dismissive tone, “Remind me to add Mando’a to your language codex, later.”
The Gutter’s Spine
As he stepped off the ship’s exit ramp and into Coruscant’s Level 1313, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Stench was a better way of describing it. The smell of engine oil, tabac smoke, and an earthy must that reminded him of either decaying fruit or wet socks – he wasn’t sure which was more accurate. Built into the skeleton of a Republic era maintenance viaduct, the district featured numerous rusting turbolifts and abandoned freight lanes. A narrow duracrete bridge girdered by durasteel beams arched above the great chasm, connecting one end of Level 1313 to the other. As the duo walked, Bril could almost feel eyes on him. It was unmistakable, the creeping feeling in the back of one’s mind – the feeling of being watched.
“We need to be careful, bro,” said Bril, “The Force whispers of great danger in this place.”
Foxen nodded once to convey his understanding of their present circumstances. Bril knew he wasn’t one to ever underestimate people’s capacity for violence — for the most reprehensible cruelties, some of which he’d endured himself. Knowing that Foxen would not hesitate to end anything or anyone that threatened them did provide a modicum of solace despite Bril’s preference for using non-lethal force. The towering nautolan-chagrian hybrid led the way down the crowded sidewalk, using his imposing stature to command the space, forcing anyone in his way to step aside lest they be shoved aside as they passed. Their trek led them to a cantina that jutted from Level 1313’s decaying superstructure like a broken tooth. A misshapen sign with a cracked crescent symbol hung loosely above a patinated sliding door, its lights flickering sporadically as if it was in its death throes. Foxen entered first, having to crouch to make it through the doorway.
The smell of fried synthmeat and coolant leaks lingered in the air. Peering through the eye slits of his mask, Bril made note of the cantina’s interior and its patrons. The walls were patched with weathered durasteel plates and ventilation mesh, and a few cables hung precariously from the ceiling, occasionally sparking. Behind the bar, a service droid offered another flagon to a mirialan woman whose facial tattoos swooped back and swirled at the sides of her partially shaved head; her eyes remained glued on the dusty counter top when they entered. In the corner, a performance droid resembling a bith was playing a sullen tune on hallikset. Its faceplate was completely missing, exposing a pair of winking photoreceptor servos, trembling lip actuators, and smaller components whose functions escaped him. A dowutin dressed in a patchy jumpsuit watched them from afar, his left eye pulsing with a lambent artificial glow.
“Well,” said Bril while turning his head to his larger companion, “where should we start?”
