A Story of Arcs, Laws, Souls, People, and an Animal

It was a time of change. The Republic had been reorganised into the First Galactic Empire. The Empire was tightening its grip on the star systems, but they were becoming increasingly slippery. Like bars of soap. No, like fish. Eels, even. Slippery and difficult to grab and tighten one’s grip on, so you have to, like, grab the head and the middle at the same time and then use your knees to hold the other end. This was making the Empire increasingly frustrated, so they were taking it out on the Senators. Fear for Senators was high.

There was also a very strange phenomenon that engulfed the whole Galaxy for some years. Most people below a certain very high pay grade in the Empire and among most of the Rebels had completely forgotten about the Jedi, the Sith, what a lightsaber was, who Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader were, and how they had come to power. Some Imperial scientists put the collective amnesia down to a supernova that let out a huge blast of material that contained large quantities of the kyber mineral, which apparently has some kind of mystical connection to the Force. Others suspected it was a virus that closed the pathways to fun in the brain. Either way, no one ever spoke of these incredibly famous, fascinating and powerful people. Not ever.

So instead we journey along the arcs of some of the soulless people, and an animal, who make up the Imperial machine. And uncover their souls . . .

Plupp Choogo hummed to himself, mimicking the sound of his TIE Fighter engine winding down. It had been a hard couple of hours of blowing up freighters filled with people fleeing their home planets. As with most missions, he enjoyed blowing up the first one or two, but then after a while the novelty wore off, and by the seventeenth he was thoroughly bored. “Pew-pew — BANG. Pew-pew — BANG.” Even though the popular song “Pew-pew — BANG” was his favourite, the sound just made him long to get back to his quarters and play it on his flute.

When he arrived, he saw his only friend, Heepto Gravv, already lying on his bottom bunk playing with a toy AT-AT. Phootoogoo, Plupp’s caht, was sitting on his top bunk above. Phootoogoo is Huttese for ‘womp rat stomach lining,’ which was his favourite breakfast as a kittehn.

Phootoogoo hated Plupp. Something about him made him feel sick to his stomach. He just wanted to rip that stupid pilot’s face off, which he would have done long ago if he wasn’t the only person in the whole Star Destroyer who fed him. The odd thing was, Phootoogoo had had a great life, raised from a kitten by Plupp and his mother before he left and took him along to the Academy. (Pets were not exactly banned at the Academy; owning one was just kind of frowned upon.) So Phootoogoo didn’t really know why he didn’t like Plupp, but boy, he hated him.

“Hi Phootie!” Phootoogoo hissed half-heartedly and turned away. “What’s the matter, my furry friend, didn’t you miss me?” His words were like fingernails on a chalkboard to Phootoogoo.

“Hey Plupp. Did you get your quota?” asked Heepto.

“Yes. I’m still alive aren’t I? They haven’t executed me yet! How did you get yours so quickly?”

“Oh, you know, the first freighter just happened to fall directly into the path of another three, so I was up to four within the first two minutes. I couldn’t believe my luck, it was absolute carnage.”

Plupp didn’t say anything, but excitedly picked up his flute and began playing their favourite song. Heepto leaped up off the bottom bunk and began jumping around the room singing the chorus: “Pew-pew — BANG, Pew-pew — BANG; explosions in the sky, pew-pew — BANG!”

Piico Nonsa was excited. A new Law — that always created excitement in his department. He knew that new laws meant new procedures; new procedures meant new forms; new forms meant new stationery. And as an Imperial Senator’s aide’s assistant’s secretary’s assistant’s apprentice, new stationery meant an opportunity to impress. To stand out from the other assistants’ apprentices. Or at least be mentioned. Or maybe just to be looked at for a second by his superior, one of the secretary’s assistants, Gobe Talino.

“But how does the stationery make any difference?” asked Finko Listt. It was her first week as an apprentice, and Piico had been told to train her. He rolled his eyes and turned to her.

“Because,” he said, as if she were an utter imbecile, “we get to prepare the forms. Well, I get to prepare the forms. You get to see it happen.”

“So we — I mean you — design the forms?”

“Design the forms?” He laughed scornfully. “They are designed by a specialist team! That’s way above our pay grade! I order the forms. They come in packs. I always order two packs, just in case. In fact, they should arrive this afternoon. Then I organise them in the right order in the binder for Gobe. Which, of course, I will do very, very promptly.”

“Oh. Do you get to choose the binder?”

“No,” he sighed impatiently.

“So . . .”

“The binder is a standard Imperial binder. They changed the logo when the Republic was reorganised, but my father said that it has always been the same style — mid-grey, slightly textured synthetic — since he was an apprentice. But,” he lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned closer, “the tabs — oh yes, the tabs — I get to choose.” He gave Finko a manic look. She stared back blankly, trying her best not to look confused. Then he quickly turned away. He had lowered his guard. But he couldn’t help it. The thought of it made him feel so alive.

As he pondered the possibilities, he looked up toward the office level above him, where the Senator’s aide’s assistant’s secretary’s assistants worked. Where his brother, Deeki, worked. He would show him. He would wipe that smug look right off his face when Gobe saw his work. Gobe was ahead of Deeki in the assistant’s office, it was obvious. He’d had a swivel chair for at least five years, whereas Deeki only got his last summer. Their parents were so proud. “Oh Deeki, you are just like your father!” their mother had said. “One day you will be a secretary, I can see it!” “And one day,” said their father with a cold tone, “Piico might work harder and make us proud.”

“I’ll show them,” he said to himself. “I’ll get my swivel chair.”

Deeki looked down through the glass at his brother. They caught each other’s eye for a moment. Deeki swivelled from side to side, and grinned at his brother.

Bangforr Gillichop moved through the busy Coruscant Underworld disguised as a Pa’lowick, heading for the bar. He knew he had to be discreet. Rebels were everywhere. But his disguises, provided by the Imperial Illumination and Tech sector, would fool even the keenest eye.

He had worked for the Imperial Intelligence Service for some time now. He only joined for a bet. But he had come to appreciate the art.

As an agent, Bangforr had previously disguised himself as, among other things, a journalist, an Abdenedo, a fashion designer, a baby Hutt, a Vuvrien, an Ewok, and, the one that he was especially ashamed of and left him needing to rebuild his dignity from scratch, a Gungan.

He sat down at the shadiest table next to a person who looked like he was close to breaking. Laggo Minta knew where he should sit. He knew that Bangforr would want the moodiest, darkest corner for a serious meeting. Everything had to ‘work.’ To match the tone of the conversation. Otherwise there would be consequences.

Laggo was dressed as a children’s entertainer — baggy, colourful clothing, a silly hairstyle, enormous shoes. Bangforr looked at Laggo with disdain. Everything about him screamed “Loser.” But they had a job to do. He had instructions to convey.

“Sometimes laws are important,” said Bangforr in his gruff, growly, grisly voice. “No — always laws are important. Especially when there are new instructions and new laws. Laws are like the network of stitching in a children’s entertainer’s outfit.” He gestured toward Laggo’s pitiful frame. “If there were no stitching, the outfit would fall off his doughy body and he would look ridiculous.”

He marvelled at his own analogy for a moment. Then he said: “Laws are so important that we actually have to follow them, otherwise there would be no society. The new Law has been passed. The old, different laws that seemed to be different to this new Law are past. There is no use looking back at the past, at the times of lore, before the Law. The Law is passed. The past is past.”

“So the new Law puts you in a new situation — you need to be more observant. You need to know things that you can tell me. Whom does the family have round for dinner? How often do they come? What do they eat? What do they drink? Do they talk about banks?”

Laggo looked up. “How would I know if they’re talking about banking when I have Mudhorn egg in my ears. You don’t understand these kids. Their desire to throw food is insatiable. You just . . . can’t imagine it.” He stared off into space, his eyes brimming.

Laggo had managed to infiltrate a suspected Rebel Senator’s home by posing as a children’s entertainer for their spoiled brats. Twice a week he went in, and twice a week they humiliated him in the most brutal and degrading ways, usually by pelting him with their leftover food.

“Stop being so soft!” Bangforr said through gritted teeth. “You knew exactly what this could be like. You need to focus! You’re in this for real. This is the real deal. You are a kid’s entertainer and that’s it! Focus on the Law. The Law is there to follow. Follow it. Don’t live in the past. The Law is passed. Listen out for ‘banks,’ ‘bankers,’ and ‘banking.’ Also for ‘money,’ ‘funds,’ and ‘assets.’ And report to me everything you hear about any of those words.

Next time, look for a female teenage Wookiee at Pom Plaza Market. Same time.”

“You are impossible. They will catch me.” Laggo’s chin began to wobble. “But maybe that would be better.”

To be continued….

StArc Laws: The Uncovered Souls of the Soulless Ones— Episode I was originally published in Pitfall on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.