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On a normal day the offices of the Coruscant Guard were a chaotic mess of clones, pads, criminals, and a staggering amount of caf disappearing down the throats of the tired, overworked officers on deck.
Today, however, was not a normal day.
An eerie silence lingered over the maze of cubicles, each one empty and devoid of activity. The quiet was only disturbed by the grumble of the caf machine and the occasional hum from the lift. Not one clone was in sight, the lights all.dimmed into night-mode except for one room: the mess hall.
Inside the room was anarchy. Clones in red-painted armor filled the room, stuffing around the tables and crowding the walls. Yelling, banging on tables, and murmured conversation swelled into a cacophony of sound. In the center of the crowd was Fox, Supreme Commander of the Coruscant Guard who climbed on top of a table be seen by the crowd.
Fox cleared his throat.
The noise continued.
Miffed, he coughed heavily into his fist.
No response.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bellowed, “Quiet down!”
The ruckus ceased.
Fox straightened up. “Thank you for coming tonight," he began.
“But we were ordered here?”
Fox leveled a glare at the clone, one that melted glaciers and sparked droids on the spot.
The clone melted back into the crowd.
“Anyone else?” Fox questioned.
Crickets chirped in symphony.
“Alright,” Fox restarted, “we are gathered here today to discuss the rise of crime in our fair city-planet. As you know, there is a new drug causing chaos and mayhem among the citizens.”
Fox paced on the table. “In our drug raids, we have confiscated thousands of kilos of this new killer; one infused with fentanyl, marijuana, and various other barbiturates in a mad recipe for disaster. Word on the street is they’re called ‘cookies’.” He looked at the crowd. “These ‘cookies’ are flooding the market an alarming rate. We have no idea where they’re coming from and no way of stopping production because whenever we bust a dealer more crawl out of the woodwork. Every. Single. Time.”
Fox took a dramatic pause. “And I have had enough! As head of the Coruscant guard, it is my responsibility to protect the people of Coruscant from evil. And now, we finally have a lead.”
Without warning a spotlight flashed on, revealing Jedi Shadow Quinlan Vos hog-tied to a chair, looking very, very displeased at the situation.
There was a collective gasp.
“General Vos!”
“Hey guys! Sorry, I’m a little tied-up at the moment,” Quinlan said. “Foxy, not that I'm complaining, but you mind telling me why I'm tied up?”
Fox walked to the end of the table, hopping off the edge. “You’re here, Vos, because you’re our in to the ‘cookie' drug ring.”
Vos’s face went blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I beg to differ,” Fox replied. He gestured to Thorn, who stepped forward. “Sir, we have searched the General’s quarters.”
“And?”
“Well, besides needing a good dusting...and maybe airing out the bedding a bit...and an occasional sweep over the rug with a vacuum...you know General, some tasteful décor wouldn’t be wasted! Maybe a nice potted plant-“
“Thorn.”
“Right, sorry sir.” He coughed. “After a through investigation, we found this under the bed.”
Another spotlight snapped to life, highlighting the table to Vos’s left. On it was a t-shirt, Yo-Da Cookie for Me blazed on the front. A battered tin sign lay next to it, proclaiming a BOGO sale on the Mary Jane Ginger Snaps.
Vos swallowed hard. “That proves nothing,” he countered. “Anyone could have kicked that under my bed; it’s general merchandise!”
“Are you sure?” Fox said, staring down the twitching Jedi. “Bring in the next part.”
Stone walked across the room, tossing a bag of cookies on the table. From a distance, they looked like standard chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin, but up close their appearance was far less innocent.
Vos prepared to lie through his teeth. “I have no idea where those came from-”
Fox slammed his hands down on the table. “I know what you’re doing,” he growled, “so you can spill it now and save us all a lot of trouble.”
“I don't-“
“You’re selling those cookies!” Fox thundered.
Quinlan was sweating excessively at this point. “Fox, please, I can’t tell you! It’ll be a one-way trip up the river! I’ll be wearing new footwear by nightfall if I squeal!”
“I don’t care. I want details and I want them yesterday. Do you have any idea how many cups of caf I’ve drunk lately? How much time and energy I’ve spent pouring over ship manifests and docking ledgers and camera feeds?
The drug cartels going bananas over these cookies! You don’t know how much I’ve suffered on this case, but you’re going to. You’re going to tell me all you know or so help me; you’re going to find yourself pushing up daisies!”
Terrified, Quinlan begged, “Fox, please listen. I can explain everything!”
“You better,” Fox said, leaning back on the table and puffing on a cigar, “because you’re going to tell us everything. Take him away, boys.”
As they drug the Jedi out-who was ranting hysterically about shoes, concrete, and fish sleeping patterns-Rys asked, “Wait a second. Where did the cigar come from?”
“That’s what you're focusing on?” Jek replied.
***
“Ugh. This is taking forever.”
Pietro slouched in his chair with a groan. The girl in front of him ignored him, as usual. “Shush Pietro, I’m making money. Have a nice day Mrs. Rodriguez!” she smiles, handing over the bag.
Pietro groaned again. “Seriously, Olive, I don’t know why you’re so excited. This is more of a punishment than anything else.” He gestured at their clothes. “We have to wear these cheesy t-shirts while we run this booth selling ‘cookies’ to potential drug addicts.”
“They’re not drug addicts.” Olive responded, ignoring Pietro’s eyes rolling nearly out of his skull, “and these are just cookies. I don’t understand why you keep insisting otherwise.”
Pietro stared, aghast. “Olive, have you looked at these cookies? Like really looked at them? Normal cookies don't smell like they come from a spice house or look like their loaded with cocaine!”
Olive reached under the display table and restocked the ‘Brown Sugar’ snickerdoodles. They were rather popular, almost as much as the ‘Chocolate Chip’ ones. She turned to Pietro. “They’re not ‘loaded with cocaine’,” she retorted, air quotes and all.
He side-eyed the stacks of innocent white powder. “Sure.” He straightened up. “You know Olive, Randolph ate one of the Sugar Cookies once. He swears he could taste color and see sounds in the air.”
“Some species can do that Pietro.”
“Yeah, some species. But Randolph’s blind Olive.”
“Hmm.” Olive was busy looking at the clipboard in her hands. “The Force works in mysterious ways.”
Pietro flopped back in the chair with a bone deep sigh. Sometimes there really was no reasoning with her. “Olive, I know why you’re really doing this, you want to be Employee of the Month. You should just give up; you’re never going to beat Master Koon.” He gestured to the picture on the wall.behind them. It was a photo of Master Koon and a platoon of girl scouts, each young child holding a bag of Yo-Da’s cookies. “He’s been getting Employee of the Month since long before we were even born.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Olive said, face set in determination. “This year I will get it. I’ve been working hard and I’m selling more cookies anyone else. Master Yoda has to give it to me this year.”
“I still think you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Just be quiet and hand me the ‘Dance Fever’ Sugar Cookies.”
***
A dense fog enveloped the small dock. It was late at night, and all the dock workers had already headed home hours before as a ship pulled into the hangar. The ramp lowered and a scarred man disembarked. Stepping into the night, he jumped as two hooded figures emerged from the fog.
“You got the money?” he said gruffly, eyeing the two after he recovered. The shorter one nodded as the other stepped forward, handing the man a briefcase. The smuggler opened the case, revealing it to be full of credits. “Looks good to me,” the man said, his greedy eyes widening. “Pleasure doing business with ya.”
The small one giggled. “Pleasure mine it is.” The smuggler caught a flash of green from behind the hood. “My business, growing it is. Supplies, needed they are.”
As the ship took off again, its cargo left behind, the taller man looked down at the other. “Far be it from me to question your methods, Master Yoda, but is dealing with criminals truly necessary?”
Master Yoda hummed. “Very necessary. Many gambling debts I have, money to pay for them I need.”
Master Windu sighed and started moving the spice crates into the speeder.
***
A man slithered into the bar. His hair was unkept, eyes bloodshot and glazed as he weaved through the crowd. He leaned toward the red-headed man next to him.
“Hey, you wanna buy some death sticks?”
The man didn’t look up from his drink. “I don’t want to buy any death sticks.”
Suddenly struck dumb, the man echoed, “you don’t wanna buy any death sticks.”
“You want to go home and rethink your life.”
“I want to go home and rethink my life.”
“And then,” the man straightened, blue eyes locking with man's own, “you will go and buy out Yo-Da’s Cookies entire stock.”
“And then I will buy out Yo-Da’s Cookies entire stock.”
Anakin walked up after the man left. “That was a new pitch.”
Obi-Wan shrugged. “I needed to bring up my quota. I happen to like my kneecaps unbroken.”