There's no place like home ...
Slowly he opened his eyes, the black lenses embedded in his skull rising as he looked around. There was a malodorous smell coming through the mask of his hood. He looked down. He was wearing his familiar dark grey suit, with it's black armoured panels, but there was no sign of his weapons or equipment on his belt. He looked up again. The light was bright and he instinctively shut his eyes again. Slowly he opened them again. He was laid on the floor in what seemed to be a narrow alleyway. The wall on either side appeared to be made of rectangular red stones fitted together in a sheer pattern, and immediately behind him was a large metallic container, the source presumably of the smell. At the end of the alley the bright sunlight lit him up, and he was unable to make out any features in what presumably was a street beyond. Carefully he got to his feet and dusted himself down. He appeared to be uninjured. Slowly he looked around, trying to see if any equipment he had brought had fallen off in however he had got wherever this was. The was nothing familiar. Slowly and cautiously he made his way along the alleyway towards the light, his senses feeling many people beyond the alleyway. He reached the end and stepped out into the sunlight and looked around at the scene.
There were many humans walking about, or at least what appeared to be human. The street was a dark grey with several cracks and holes in it. Along the street he could make out shops and bars, with a writing above them he did not recognise. He could see nothing in Basic, which was unusual in itself most cultures used it at least as the 2nd language. Most of the shops and bars appeared to be shut and had metal over the doors and windows, though there was at least one shop open. As he began to make his way along the street, a few of the people glanced at him in his hood but they also seemed to be wearing masks over their faces, mostly white with some variation of black or colours. He sound sense a strangeness in the air, like these people had a cautiousness about them that was not related to his odd appearance, and he noticed they seemed to be maintaining a distance from each other as well. Their behaviour was strange to him compared to the hustle and bustle of most of the cities he had visited including his own city of Seng Karash on Aeotheran.
Eventually he reached a crossroads and stopped. A speeder was making its way along the street. He studied it in puzzlement. It had wheels like he had seen on some of the Imperial transports, though it was red and much smaller and had one man sat at the controls. The street he had just entered was wider and disappeared off in either direction and was dotted with more mostly closed bars. There were more people walking about, also mostly wearing face masks and keeping their distance from each other, except for couples walking together or groups of younger people. What was this place? It felt real, though often dreams did until you woke up. Nothing was right about it though, the people looked human but did not quite feel right, and the technology looked wrong, as did the languages. How had he got here?
He heard a voice behind him and turned around. There were two men facing him. They were wearing black trousers, white shirts, a strange bright yellow vest and oddly domed black helmets. A quick glance downwards revealed they had belts with items on them but nothing that looked like a projectile weapon. Malisane had seen enough law enforcement officers in his time to recognise them. They did not look threatening and their manner was relaxed. One of them spoke again in the strange language he did not recognise. He was smiling slightly but his eyes were firm.
“I do not understand you,” Malisane replied in basic. The two law enforcement officers glanced at each other, and then back at him. One made a gesture at him and spoke again, only this time more loudly and slowly, a technique Malisane himself often employed when dealing with aliens in basic. He sighed. He was becoming irritated. He had no way of knowing what they wanted, and he felt a sudden urge to drop both of them and make a quick escape. They were both large and fit looking, but he doubted they had his training, and certainly not the force. However if they were official they might be his route to understanding where he was, and more importantly if there was any way of getting back to his own world. He raised his hands and said. “I surrender to you.”
The two officers glanced at each other again, a look of confusion passing between them and then one of them made a lifting gesture to Malisane's hood and spoke more firmly. Malisane sighed. This was probably going to be tricky. Slowly his hands went to the hood, and he drew it back, pulling the hooded mask up and over his head, where it fell to his shoulders. With sudden looks of horror the officers took in the burned skin, ripped mouth and ears, missing nose and black lenses over his eyes where the lids used to be. A look of concern passed over their faces, and then one of them reached down to his chest where a communicator was hung and spoke into it. The other made a flat handed gesture to him spoke firmly again. With no other option except a sudden violent escape the Warlord patiently waited.
After a few minutes another of the wheeled speeders arrived. This one was predominantly white, with yellow and blue patterns and more of the writing he had seen earlier. It also had a strange block of blue plastic on top. Two more of the uniformed officers got out of the front, looked at him curiously taking in his disfigurements, and then spoke to the first two. Then one of them opened the rear doors of the vehicle and gestured to him. Malisane nodded. So long as they were taking him somewhere useful he was happy to comply. He crouched and sat in the back of the speeder and sat back. The door was shut behind him with a metallic clunk and the two officers who had arrived in it got in and spoke to him, one of them turning him him. Malisane still did not sense a threat from either of them, and they were speaking in a calm tone. He made a slight shrugging gesture with his shoulders and then looked ahead past them through the transparent glass. There was a light rumbling noise and the speeder vibrated slightly, as it began to roll forward and accelerate.
As the vehicle accelerated Malisane look curiously out of the window. This was a strange place. Though he recognised most of the features, shops, bars, restaurants, people, more of the wheeled speeders, the construction looked very basic to him. Even on the most remote worlds technology was fairly standard with his own. The clothes were similar to his own world's. He had not seen a single non human or droid though, though he recognised a few four legged animals that resembled small short haired wolfs, controlled by leads and clearly being kept as pets by the inhabitants. The lack of droids concerned him the most. He had to speak to these people to find out where he was, and hopefully find a ship that would take him off this world and back to Orian, and a protocol droid would help, even if it could analyse basic and interpret it into whatever language they spoke here.
Eventually they reached a squat grey building and the speeder stopped. One of the officers got out. The other looked at him in the mirror above the controls and spoke to him. Malisane sat calmly. Then the officer returned and opened the door, speaking to him. He got out and stood calmly, blinking slightly in the bright sunlight. He followed them inside through some sliding glass doors and up to a desk, behind which stood another officer. Following a conversation and some more scrutiny of the Sith he was directed to raise his arms and was searched, and then lead through a locked door and into an area behind the desk, and down a corridor. Eventually he entered what to his surprise was not a cell or containment area, but a simple while walled room with a table and four chairs. He was directed to sit at one of them and he complied. One of the officers left and the other stood by the shut door passively. The officer glanced at Malisane and said something with a slight smile. Malisane had learned in the past that smiling with his ripped mouth and broken teeth did not usually provoke a positive response and kept his features as passive as possible. He sat back in his chair.
After an indeterminate time, and an older man wearing a grey jacket and trousers, white shirt, and a blue thin scarf around his neck and trailing down his chest. He was carrying some papers and sat down. He was carrying a cup with some brown hot liquid in it. He smiled at Malisane and gestured towards the cup, speaking slowly. Malisane shook his head. He had been trained not to accept refreshments unless forced to in these situations, due to the threat of imbibing something to control him or force him to reveal more than he wanted to. The plain clothed man nodded and then looked down at his papers, rifling through them, and then placed a document in front of Malisane, speaking slowly still. Malisane glanced at it. It was covered in plastic, and on it were a long series of patterned rectangles, with what appeared to be writing under them, some matching the letters he had seen earlier and others of a different curlier or pictorial structure. Malisane looked back up at the man in confusion who pointed at the rectangles and then at Malisane, speaking to him and smiling. After a few seconds Malisane understood his meaning. “I do not understand these images,” he said speaking slowly himself, “do you have a translation droid or software? I need to speak to whoever is in charge here.”
The man frowned at him, and then spoke one word, pointing at the Sith. He paused, and then pointed to a badge pinned to his chest, and then spoke another word, and then pointed at Malisane again, speaking in a questioning tone.
“I am Sith Warlord Malisane Sadow, of Clan Naga Sadow.”
The man looked at him in confusion, and the Sith sighed. He pointed to his chest. “Mal-is-ane,” he said loudly pointing to himself.
“Mal-is-ane?” the man repeated still pointing at the Sith. He spoke a few words finishing in “Mal-is-ane?”
“Yes, Malisane,” the Sith replied.
He began to sense he was wasting his time with these people, and escape was seemingly like the more likely option. He glanced down at the belt of the officer that was stood. There was a set of cuffs, some sort of container, which presumably held liquid or gas and a long black rod with a side handle. Not much, but it was better than nothing, and none of them were a threat to the training and force abilities of the Sith. He could overcome the two men in seconds, take the meagre weapons and fight his way out with or without a hostage. However he had no idea if there were more heavily armed officers within a quick distance or how good the defences of this place was. If he had to escape here would be a more opportune moment.
The man stood up and left, and a second later other officer entered, and spoke some words followed by the elongated version of his name, gesturing. Suspecting the worst but also looking for an escape attempt, the Sith followed. He was further to the corridor, and through a door. Beyond was a woman in a white long coat and normal clothes beneath. She spoke to him, including his distorted name. Malisane's gaze flickered quickly around the room. If had a desk, and what looked like primitive medical equipment. He was directed to undress his top half, then lay on a bed covered in a thin paper covering. He was then subjected to a fairly passive medical examination, including a blood and skin sample, swab of his mouth, and a device attached to his finger connected to a machine with a display. As a light was shone into his eyes the woman frowned in puzzlement at his black lenses and she spoke to the officer who had remained with them. Finally she left the room and he was allowed to dress again. The officer lead him to room with a heavy metal door, and he was directed inside. The small rooms only contents were a basic bed and a white lidless container that appeared to be plumbed into the floor. The officer spoke to him calmly, and then left, and the door was shut behind him with a metallic thud. Malisane glanced at the bed, and then opted to remain standing. Slowly he began to calm his heart rate, and began a simple meditation routine.
Eventually the door opened again and he was lead out of the room by two officers and back to the room. He was directed to sit and a piece of paper on plastic board was given to him and a thin object, and one of the officers indicated the writing on the piece of paper, and then directed him to the bottom and spoke a word. Malisane shrugged in confusion. The officer indicated the thin object, and said a word, then “Mal-is-ane.”, taking a similar device from his own pocket and scratching it across another piece of paper, leaving a trail of black liquid that sank into the paper. Malisane not knowing what else to do made a mark on the bottom of the paper. Satisfied they took it from him and he was lead out to the reception area. Waiting for him were two other uniformed men, though these were more severe looking, their uniforms were dark blue and stricter looking. They glanced at the paper that was given to them by the other officers, and then made their own mark on it. Then they lead him outside. Waiting was a larger white vehicle with only two doors on the sides and a smooth side with more writing, and a door at the rear. One of the new officers opened the door. Inside was a small caged area, with a small seat. He was directed to sit inside and the door was closed behind him. He waited until the vehicle made a rumbling sound and vibrated slightly, and then he felt it began to move.
Malisane considered his options. It was obvious they were taking him to a more secure location, why he was unsure except maybe they had no idea what to do with him. Every attempt he had made to communicate with these people had failed. It was unlikely his next location would be more fruitful. Wherever they were taking him would probably be vastly more secure than the temporary detainment centre he had been in previously, and even with their clearly backwards technology it would be harder to escape there than his present location. He had no idea how far the journey would be, minutes or hours, and decided now was as good a time as any. Slowly he looked around the small containment area. He was inside a cage, and beyond that was the heavy door that had no handle on the inside. Slowly he focused on the initial cage door, letting his mind sink into the basic mechanism. Compared with the security systems of his own world it was ludicrously easy and the lock opened with a clunk. Then he focused on the heavy door, moving the mechanism. Finally he made a gesture and the door burst open revealing the now dark street they were travelling on.
He tensed himself for a second and then leapt, slowing himself and hitting the street smoothly and began to run. A few seconds later the vehicle screeched to a halt, and as he glanced behind him one of the officers quickly got out. The man saw and shouted as he began to run, shouting into his communicator. The vehicle began to turn ponderously as Malisane continued to run. Seeing another of the metallic containers nearby next to a building Malisane vaulted onto it, and then tensed himself and leapt higher, grabbing the flat roof above and quickly pulling himself up. He could hear the shouting below and the sound of the vehicle, and in the distance he began to hear a strange whining high pitched noise and below them the sound of more vehicles. He continued to run, leaping across a gap between two buildings effortlessly. He continued to move from the epicentre, keeping up a fast pace. Finally when he was several streets away he dropped into an alley and pulled the hood of his robe back over his head, taking a few breaths. He could hear the strange high pitched noises and the vehicles moving past him towards near where he had left them.
He began to walk out into the night. The usually fearless Sith felt an unusual stab of despair. His attempts to figure out this world he found himself in had proved ineffective. He had no idea how he had got here, where he was, or how to get back to his Clan, and he was now a fugitive. He continued to walk through the night. He did not know what to make of these strange inhabitants of this world. In some ways their civilisation was similar to his own, but in others it was vastly different. He had not been mistreated so far, though that would likely change if he was captured again and even if he could make them understand his language, would he be able to explain who he was. Malisane looked up at the sky. The light pollution and clouds made the view unimpressive, but he could make out a few stars in the sky. Was one of them Orian, or any he recognised? Who knew? He would leave this world and get home somehow. If he could not make these people cooperate then they might need to be coerced, by whatever means the Warlord had at his disposal. Buoyed by this thought he continued out into the night to find shelter and refreshments, and perhaps more understanding.