Chapter Text
Deep, deep down in the rock where the sun was only a story half-forgotten, there was a little crack. There were many cracks, of course, because of the nature of rocks and planets and time, but this crack was new. It wasn't really that small except when considered on a grander scale than humanity generally thought on, but in terms of planetary crust shake-ups, it was nothing to write home about.
Or it wouldn't have been except for some persuasion. A push, a tug. The crack was tended like a newborn, coddled and fed and weighed down with expectations and dreams in the way any child is. And like a child it grew, larger and deeper and stronger. Until one day, after a period of time very long by human standards but not very long at all for a planet, one more push was all it needed. All it needed to reshape the world.
—
Father Brown had always found that there was something very satisfying about working with his hands. Today, in particular, the sun was bright, the crowd's presence was warm, the air was redolent with sun-dried mud filled with fresh straw and chaff, and the Father found himself drifting through the day in a lackadaisical half-meditative state that would have given his old tutors paroxysms of scholarly wrath when he was younger. And even though the circumstances were not the best (who would have expected seismic troubles in Kembleford? The whole area was usually steady as a rock), there was something joyous in watching the community come together to help out their fellows. Before him, the old Dutton barn stood in shambles, but to be honest it had been a bit of a shambles before the quakes had hit. A minor disaster just gave everyone an excuse to tear down the sad thing entirely and start afresh. A fair amount of the village had pitched in, making the worksite a hive of activity as folks from across the county hacked, sawed, dragged, raised, and otherwise looked quite that they knew what they were doing.
Father Brown gave them the benefit of the doubt, there. He himself had rather little knowledge in the construction and repair of houses and barns that weren't shipped in Easy-Pac crates with a box of quick-dry adhesive patches, and so had been relegated to hauling away debris. He didn't mind the work. It was necessary, and if he happened to be nearby when a questionable section stood miraculously strong just long enough for the workers to take it down, well, that was just good luck, wasn't it?
Beside him, Mrs Dutton started coughing, doubling over from the fit. "Dear me, madame, are you alright?" He patted her on the back, hoping it was nothing serious. He was afraid that the human respiratory system was still a bit of a mystery to him.
"Nothing at all to worry about, Father," she wheezed. "Just this damnable dust getting to me."
Ah, he supposed that made sense. For once his captive atmosphere rebreather gave him a leg up. The dust in the air gave the whole scene a lovely dreamlike quality to him, but he didn't have to breathe the stuff. "Best cover up, then." He produced a handkerchief from his voluminous black robe and handed it over.
"Bless you, Father."
"No problem at all. I always keep a spare just in case." He turned to rejoin the laborers but was stopped by the sight of Mrs. McCarthy's distinctive shape rolling toward him. "And what brings you up this way?" He called.
"Not this horrid dust, I can tell you that!" She clucked, looking for a safe way to reach him. "Terrible for my joints, just terrible. I'm going to have to get them cleaned before the week is out, I'm sure of it. But duty calls," she said ruefully, extending a deft claw to him. "Young Alistair came by with the post, with this addressed for you."
"You're very kind, Mrs McCarthy. I'm sure it could have waited, though. There's no need for you to risk your rotors out here." The Father didn't get a lot of mail, and most of it was deeply unremarkable. Anonymous advertisements, poorly laid scams. The usual flotsam of society, even here on the fringes of the Republic. The slip of flimsi that Mrs. McCarthy proffered, however, looked like a transcription made by the village comms tower. That was admittedly a little more unusual, but only because of the natural interference of Kemble's atmosphere. Perhaps it might be a letter from his cousin, Sha.
The nervous clutch of Mrs. McCarthy's claws distracted him from that happy thought. "For sure you're right, but I thought there might be a possibility that it was something more urgent." It really was amazing the level of detail in Mrs. McCarthy's vocoder. It was not only possible for her to sound unconcerned, but to sound unconvincingly unconcerned. The wonders of technology really were marvelous, even out on the edge of known space.
"And why would you-." Ah. "Did Sidney get you kitted out with that ocular upgrade the other day?"
"He did indeed. Excellent work. He wouldn't tell me exactly where the upgrade came from, but now I find I can see ever so much better." A layer of sarcasm underlaid the words, but her suspicious glance at Mrs. Dutton explained why she didn't feel at liberty to add anything but the sarcasm to her speech.
"Indeed." Father Brown was rather interested in where that upgrade might have originated as well, and what other features it might have. "Right then." He would trap Sid later. For now, he sliced open the communique with a thumb claw and found, as he had suspected, an offworld message transcription.
From the Jedi High Council.
With a summons to a holo call with the Council.
"Mrs. McCarthy?"
"Yes, Father?"
"What day is it? By the Republic calendar?"
"The fifteenth."
"Ah." Behind his goggles, he closed his eyes for a moment. "Right!" He turned to Mrs. Dutton. "I'm afraid I have to leave you in the lurch, madame."
"No problem at all, Father," she said, looking slightly mystified. "We've plenty of help as it is."
He turned with a nod to her, striding towards the comm tower faster than was truly seemly for a Father, robe flapping behind him and Mrs. McCarthy rolling along beside him. He was late already.
-
Just outside Kembleford's only holo call room, Father Brown paused to try and slow his breathing. Hands on his knees, he turned a bit to Mrs. McCarthy. "I think this might be a closed council kind of thing, Mrs. M. Would you mind terribly staying out here?"
"Oh!" She sounded as if the thought had never occurred to her. "Of course. Would you like me to leave-?"
"No no, that won't be necessary. Just allow me a few minutes, I can't imagine this will take long." He hoped.
Bracing himself, he stepped into the booth and activated the call. He almost hoped it wouldn't go through, but luck was against him. All around the room appeared blue representations of the council members, and none of them looked happy.
"Master Bu'rao, how kind of you to join us."
Father Brown winced. "Master Piell. Masters of the High Council. I must humbly apologize for my tardiness. I'm afraid that with the state of Kemble's atmosphere, your summons only reached me very recently." The Lannik master did not look impressed with his apology. He heard a soft snort, but he didn't really want to try pinpointing where it had come from. "May I inquire as to the nature of this summons?"
"The council wished to speak with you. We will be sure to make a note that you will require more advanced warning next time." Off to a good start then. Father Brown repressed the urge to sigh and glanced mildly at the Master to Piell's left. Rancisis looked as he always did. Calm. Collected. It was all in the tone, though.
"Regardless," Master Yaddle cut in, "we have you now." Always the peacemaker. Bless his old master, she gave him just the slightest hint of a wink. "There has been a rather unusual matter come up and we would like your assistance."
"My assistance?" A rather hunted feeling stirred in his trusty gut. "Of course, whatever I can do. I'm afraid I don't currently have any means of transport offworld, but-"
"That won't be necessary." Master Piell glared at Father Brown, but he wasn't sure if this was the sign of a special dislike or just a part of Master Piell's general mien. Brown had seen seasoned knights cross to avoid Master Piell in the commissary line. "We'll only be needing you to travel to the next island over from Kembleford."
Which sounded reasonable, but in reality involved several hundred miles of travel. Still, glancing around the virtual Council made it clear that this was not the time to press his luck. "Of course." He paused. "May I ask why?"
A slightly embarrassed silence filled the room as every master seemed to wait for someone else to answer him. It looked much more reminiscent of a class full of students who hadn't read the material than one of the most powerful governing bodies in the galaxy. He shared a commiserating look with Yaddle.
"Master Sifo-Dyas has had a vision concerning your planet," she confided.
"Really?" Father Brown was surprised. Master Sifo-Dyas was known for his visions, but Kemble was certainly not known for being envisioned.
"Indeed," Yaddle continued. "It was muddled, but he seems to have sensed a threat in the Force centered on the island of Kemblerock."
"How curious." How vague. "Kemblerock is uninhabited as far as I know. Did Master Sifo-Dyas have any other information?"
"Nothing…specific," Master Piell said.
Delightful. "Well, of course I will travel to Kemblerock and see if anything seems…suspicious." Absolutely, that sounded safe. A mysterious unknown danger. Just the weekend getaway he'd been hoping for.
"We are, of course, sending you back-up. Given the unknown nature of this threat." Yaddle glared at her fellow council members.
"Yes, of course, we'll send a knight at once," Master Piell said.
"The assistance would be most welcome. Who should I expect?"
Master Piell sighed. "We're not sure yet."
Father Brown frowned. "Busy, is it?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," Rancisis nearly snapped. "You may not have heard on Kemble-" he put just the slightest disdainful stress on the word Kemble. Truly a master of the verbal arts- "But the Republic faces threats and rumblings of worse from both within and without."
"Worse?"
"War," Rancisis hissed.
"War?"
"Yes, war. You may recall it, dimly."
Father Brown did remember, and not nearly dimly enough. "It's something I've rather tried to put behind me," he said coolly.
"If only all of us could be so lucky."
"Enough!" Yaddle exclaimed. "Bu'rao, I know you have sought solitude and peace on Kemble, but we would be very grateful for your help in this matter. We will send you information on your partner as soon as we have it. Now," she addressed the room at large, "I wonder if I might speak with my old Padawan a moment longer." Around the booth, council members began blinking out, cutting their signals. Rancisis sent him a last opaque stare before logging off.
"Now, dear," Yaddle continued when they were alone, "I know this looks bad." Father Brown tried to keep from saying something rude. "And it's going to get worse. Sifo-Dyas is…well he seems to be getting increasingly detached from reality. His vision may be true and it may not. We really have no idea."
"Splendid."
"I know. Keep yourself safe, Bu'rao. I'll let you know Sifo-Dyas shakes anything else loose from his mind."
"Please." Father Brown hesitated a moment. "It is…good to see you."
Yaddle smiled softly. "And you. May the Force be with you." The communication crackled to a halt.
"And with you," he whispered.