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Sven Vocifer
Darth Oro
Darth Oro
"Gods, what a night," sighed the exhausted Inspector Jensen. There was a buzz as the blast-door closed behind him. He trudged over to the observation room to meet with his colleague.
"Did he say anything?" said a portly officer.
"'Course he didn't," said Jensen. "He's mute."
"Somebody gave him something to write with, right?"
"Naturally. He didn't use it, though."
"Hmph. He'll talk sooner or later... well, not talk, I mean... *ahem*. Oh, by the way, the Commissioner is here to see you."
Jensen groaned. This was becoming more and more nightmarish by the minute. "Bring him in," he said, wiping the sleepiness from his eyes.
Another buzzer rang out and the durasteel door at the far end of the room slid open. In stepped a stately, business-like man with a pencil-thin mustache and a serious expression to match.
"Commissioner," said Jensen, extending his hand in greeting. The Commissioner shook it coolly.
"Inspector Jensen. Good to see you again. Enough with the formalities; fill me on on what you've got."
Inspector Jensen mopped his brow generously with a handkerchief. "DARLA, bring up our records on Sven Vocifer, will you?"
"Certainly, Inspector," said a smooth female voice, and instantly a three-dimensional hologram appeared before the assembled company, automated by touch.
"Here are all the files," said Jensen, grabbing holograms and tossing them into the air, where they remained suspended and motionless. "I can give you a brief rundown of-"
"I don't want 'brief'," said the Commissioner severely. "I need everything, from the very beginning."
Jensen looked dumbfounded. "Of course, Commissioner, but you do realize that it will take me nearly half the night to explain-"
"Then we'd best get started now," snapped the Commissioner. "My wife will expect me to be home at a reasonable hour."
Jensen shook his head in wonder before finally collecting himself. "Bartlet, get us something strong; we're going to need it."
The fat officer stood up and went into the other room, closing the door behind him. After wiping his brow again, Jensen pulled one of the holograms down from the air and tapped it. The file, which was shaped like a box, sprang open to reveal a myriad of holographic screens and databases. Jensen held it like a folder and began his presentation.
"Well, Commissioner, Sven Vocifer, also known as "Darth Oro", doesn't have much of a past. As with most Sith, it's hard to get hold of much of his background because they are usually inducted into the Order at a very early age. Alpheridian records indicate that he was a lowlife street musician and small-time tinkerer by the age of six, and by the age of seven he had created no less than fourteen unique musical instruments from junkyard scraps and was an accomplished vocalist. His childhood seems to have been an abused one, though no established links to his parents have been identified.
"Though it is unusual for Miralukans to be coerced by Sith teachings, all of our records of Vocifer indicate that he was a shady character from an early age; we believe that his lowlife upbringing is largely to blame for this. As an outcast of Miralukan society, he had not far to fall. It is not surprising at all, however, that the Sith talent-spotted Vocifer in the first place; DNA samples from both his early years and during his time in our custody indicate that he is possessed of an extraordinarily high midi-chlorian count, even for a Miralukan, and in every analysis we've seen on his psychiatric condition he has tested as having well-above average intelligence. We believe that Vocifer was snatched from the gutters approximately three weeks into the Alpheridian New Year, when witnesses said that his music stopped playing in the alleys.
"At this point, public records stop and Sith accounts begin; there is no doubt in my mind that Vocifer joined the Sith shortly...oh, thanks Bartlet."
Bartlet had just returned with a tray of strong-smelling drinks. Jensen drank his liquor gratefully; the Commissioner, in stark contrast, pensively twirled his tumbler between his fingers and drank nothing. Jensen glowered at the Commissioner momentarily before continuing.
"Aaah, that's better. So, we believe that Vocifer joined the Sith Order a few months after he turned seven. Here-"
"Just a moment," said the Commissioner, thoughtfully. "Where did you get hold of Sith records?"
"Well, technically we didn't," admitted Jensen. "A few witnesses and colleagues of his came forward to testify; they claimed to be Sven Vocifer's alchemical aides. They're sorcerers."
"Did you have to strike a bargain with them to get this information?" asked the Commissioner, casually.
Jensen narrowed his eyes. "Yes, but the deal was very simple; they wanted the metal artifacts embedded in Vocifer's body."
"What artifacts? Why?"
"I presumed that they had some sort of historical significance when I first made the deal, as they appeared to have no practical use. Fortunately, I got the information out of Vocifer's aides before we realized that we could not remove the objects; they were literally drilled into his bones, and in very sensitive areas. Any attempt to remove them could cause uncontrollable hemorrhaging."
"Hmm. What did they tell you?"
"Some scary ****. I'm glad I didn't give them those metal bits; I think they were more important than the alchemists let on. If I'm right, then our man is a lot more dangerous than we thought."
"Get on with it Inspector! What did they tell you?"
"I'm getting there, I'm getting there! The minutes of my conversation with the aides say that Vocifer was trained on Yavin IV to be an alchemist, as befitted his talent for tinkering and craftsmanship. Apparently he brought his obsession with music with him, and he created a rather...well, shall we say "far-fetched" philosophy concerning it."
"What was it?"
"Vocifer claimed that music and sounds make sentients feel a certain way because they are actually influencing the midi-chlorians in their cells. He said that the waves directly speak to the Force itself, altering its behavior in all manner of lifeforms. The idea was to use sonic vibrations to act as a catalyst for speaking to and manipulating the midi-chlorians, creating a well of Force energy."
"I don't believe it."
"Oh just wait, it gets better. Vocifer also said that these frequencies could be used to interfere with the brain waves of sentient beings, causing them to act erratically. By augmenting sound waves with Force energy, Vocifer claimed that he could exert a certain level of mind control over other beings. He said he could do this using 'The Voice'. I think he planned on singing; perhaps the vibrato would create vibrations strong enough to interfere with brain activity?"
"Could he have been right?"
"We don't know; Vocifer had his accident before the final product could be tested. His aides said that one of the alchemical experiments on the mouth and neck harnesses went terribly wrong. The mechanisms exploded while Vocifer himself was wearing them, severely damaging his vocal chords, neck structure, and facial features. The aides also said that the wounds were caused by the Dark Side and could not be cured. We are certain they were correct; we've had to change his facial bandages several times since he was captured, and his injuries show no signs of healing."
"That would explain that neck brace of his."
"Yes, it's extraordinary, isn't it? The aides said that Vocifer wrote the instructions to create the device while he was in critical condition, and they manufactured it for him while he was in hospice. I've seen the designs; it's a stunning piece of work."
"But there's still one thing I don't get," puzzled Bartlet, scratching his robust belly as he pondered. "The guy's a mute, and you said the device is activated by sonic vibrations. Why did he complete it if he couldn't use it himself?"
Jensen smiled. "I was just gettin' there, Bart. You're right; Vocifer is, for all intensive purposes, mute; his vocal chords are very weak and do not allow him to talk a lot, and his ability to articulate is fairly limited. Despite this, he never scrapped the project; he altered the designs to create tubes pipes, splints, and rattlers to attach to his bones - the devices the alchemists wanted - to make the melodic notes for him. They move and vibrate according to the motion of his bloodstream, smooth muscle tissues, and breathing."
"Kind of takes the point out of his plan, though; even if it does disrupt people's brainwaves, he can't actually give people any orders to obey."
"True, but the idea that they're not thinking clearly is still the same, and you have to remember that Vocifer thinks of himself as a Sorcerer. I suspect he hoped to exert his will over his victims through the Force alone; he needn't have uttered a word to get what he wanted."
"So let me get this straight," said the Commissioner, massaging his brow gingerly. "You mean to tell me that Sven Vocifer - the man we have locked in a room directly next to us - has turned his body into a mind-controlling musical instrument."
"That's what he thinks he's done, though no one I have talked to who has spent any deal of time with him seemed to act peculiarly. Well, I mean, we're all irritable, but we're sick and tired of that blasted noise he's always making. His body does create a very powerful vibration and a distinctive hum, and it's driving people bananas. I had a minor nosebleed while I was interrogating him. I think the vibrations broke a blood vessel or something."
"How bizarre. Perhaps he wasn't trying to influence you during your little talk? What about the mouthpiece; why would he need that if he can't make sounds."
Jensen huffed irritably. "He's mute; that doesn't mean he can't make any noise. Besides which, sound travels through air or water waves, and Vocifer is perfectly capable of creating both of those. Finally, he IS making sounds; the device simply magnifies and projects the sound waves created by his body through his mouth and into the air.
"You're starting to ramble," said the Commissioner, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. "I haven't heard any convincing evidence that this man is a threat to anyone; delusional, perhaps, but virtually harmless. I want him released."
"WHAT?" roared Jensen, throwing the hologram in outrage.
"That's right," said the Commissioner, hazily. "Not enough evidence to detain him. Release him."
"Sir, I must protest!" shouted Jensen as he clumsily attempted to staunch his newly renewed nosebleed. "We have witnesses who claimed he is a Sith agent and a murderer! We have to-"
"That is enough, Inspector!" hissed the Commissioner. He stood up, and Officer Bartlet stood up with him. "Officer, would you kindly show mister Vocifer off of the premises."
Jensen was nearly choking with rage. He sputtered for something, anything to say that might convince the Commissioner otherwise, but nothing came to him; he simply couldn't think.
"Perhaps you should leave too, Inspector," said the Commissioner somberly. "You've had a long night, and you need to get some rest. Go on, off with you."
"Yeah," mumbled Jensen, bitterly. "Yeah, maybe...maybe." And he slogged out of the room. As he passed by the Commissioner, he happened to catch a glimpse of the man's handkerchief as it was pocketed once more; it was covered with fresh blood.
As Inspector Jensen collected his coat, he passed by the interrogation room. He stopped at the two-way mirror to watch as Bartlet released the fugitive. Sven Vocifer stood up and turned to face the mirror. Jensen knew he was being observed, even through all of those bandages; no mirror or blindfold could fool a Miraluka. And as the man was led away, he held up his fingers to say "OK" before vanishing from sight. Jensen could do nothing. A monster had just been set loose.
Jensen snorted with laughter. "Seriously? You have the nerve to call me back after what you did?"
"Please, Inspector, you've got to believe me! I wasn't in my right mind when I said those things. Ye gods, you weren't either and you know it!"
The Inspector could not deny this; he too had felt that same dizziness and lack of direction that the Commissioner had so recently described. Still, that was no excuse. He hadn't completely ignored good evidence, regardless of how he felt at the time. He wasn't the one who forsook his duty to the law. "I don't know what to believe," said Jensen.
"Well, save your inner-conflict for later; we have a real issue that we can sort out in the here and now."
"What do you want me to do?"
The Commissioner leaned back in his chair. "I cut short our last meeting before we got to the juicy bits, and I'm sorry for that. I need to you to over those details you had planned on revealing before. You said something about Vocifer being a murderer?"
Jensen sighed. "Yes, I did. He killed a third of his alchemical aides to try to protect something he found. That was the reason most of the witnesses I had collected volunteered their information; they said they wanted protection."
"I assume you incarcerated them?"
"Naturally. They admitted to being Sith; I had no alternative, and they knew it."
"What kind of man makes people prefer jail to hiding?...I don't understand, though. Why did he kill his aides?"
"I'm guessing it was to protect his discovery. I'd imagine that only a handful of his assistants would have had access to the designs for his instruments, since it was a very secretive affair; he had to clean up house if he did not want replicas of his tools to be created. It would also explain why the aides who came forward asked for the metal implements; they musn't have been part of his inner-circle. I'm convinced they wanted to examine the instruments for themselves to try and identify how they were made."
"That's an interesting theory," agreed the Commissioner. "It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility."
There was a long period of silence, broken only by the sound of passing shuttles. Finally, Jensen could stand it no longer. "What, that's it? You call me in here to agree with me and to say "I'm sorry"? With all due respect, sir, that just doesn't cut it; you let a terrorist loose!"
"You forget yourself, Inspector," said the Commissioner severely. "You and I both agree that there were forces outside of our control on that night. In any case, that wasn't the only reason I called you here."
Jensen was puzzled. What else could the Commissioner possibly want?
"I called you here," continued the Commissioner, "to issue you a warrant. Though I wasn't convinced last night by your evidence, my superiors were, and they insisted that I commend you for your good work and give you a new assignment. This "Darth Oro" you've stumbled upon is a high-priority target and needs to be brought in as quickly as possible. You know more about the case than anyone on my staff; I am appointing you as Chief Inspector in this investigation and am authorizing you to hunt down and disable Sven Vocifer, using lethal force if necessary. You will have a staff of 25 agents who will help you to accomplish this."
Jensen's jaw had dropped by this point. Things had just become completely absurd. "I'm not a bounty hunter," said Jensen incredulously. "This type of assignment isn't part of my job description."
"Oh I think you'll find that the capture of dangerous fugitives is very much a part of your job description," said the Commissioner, calmly. "There is no time limit to this assignment, but I will be checking in on your progress regularly to see that things are going well. I will want weekly reports on your progress so that I can make mention of it when I report to my superiors. 6 o' clock, Friday evenings."
"And if I refuse?"
The Commissioner looked somber. "I'm sure we could find someone who would be more capable to take on your duties if you find that they are overbearing. You must remember, Inspector, that it is not within your power to choose your assignments; this isn't a buffet."
Jensen knew that he was right. He had already begun to resign himself to his fate; he, Taric Jensen, would have to hunt down and destroy the man who had occupied this very room 14 hours earlier. A man who, had the Commissioner maintained better control of himself, would have been sentenced to death row in a few weeks time. The sense of overwhelming waste made the Inspector sick to his stomach. He felt tired of the case which he had toiled to create. He was frightened by the mysterious powers that had manipulated him last night. But a feeling sprang up among all of those emotions that was more tumultuous than the others put together: it was disgust at the fact that a death-worshiping, godless butcher was running free among innocent people. "I'll do it," he said, quietly.
"Please, Inspector, you've got to believe me! I wasn't in my right mind when I said those things. Ye gods, you weren't either and you know it!"
The Inspector could not deny this; he too had felt that same dizziness and lack of direction that the Commissioner had so recently described. Still, that was no excuse. He hadn't completely ignored good evidence, regardless of how he felt at the time. He wasn't the one who forsook his duty to the law. "I don't know what to believe," said Jensen.
"Well, save your inner-conflict for later; we have a real issue that we can sort out in the here and now."
"What do you want me to do?"
The Commissioner leaned back in his chair. "I cut short our last meeting before we got to the juicy bits, and I'm sorry for that. I need to you to over those details you had planned on revealing before. You said something about Vocifer being a murderer?"
Jensen sighed. "Yes, I did. He killed a third of his alchemical aides to try to protect something he found. That was the reason most of the witnesses I had collected volunteered their information; they said they wanted protection."
"I assume you incarcerated them?"
"Naturally. They admitted to being Sith; I had no alternative, and they knew it."
"What kind of man makes people prefer jail to hiding?...I don't understand, though. Why did he kill his aides?"
"I'm guessing it was to protect his discovery. I'd imagine that only a handful of his assistants would have had access to the designs for his instruments, since it was a very secretive affair; he had to clean up house if he did not want replicas of his tools to be created. It would also explain why the aides who came forward asked for the metal implements; they musn't have been part of his inner-circle. I'm convinced they wanted to examine the instruments for themselves to try and identify how they were made."
"That's an interesting theory," agreed the Commissioner. "It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility."
There was a long period of silence, broken only by the sound of passing shuttles. Finally, Jensen could stand it no longer. "What, that's it? You call me in here to agree with me and to say "I'm sorry"? With all due respect, sir, that just doesn't cut it; you let a terrorist loose!"
"You forget yourself, Inspector," said the Commissioner severely. "You and I both agree that there were forces outside of our control on that night. In any case, that wasn't the only reason I called you here."
Jensen was puzzled. What else could the Commissioner possibly want?
"I called you here," continued the Commissioner, "to issue you a warrant. Though I wasn't convinced last night by your evidence, my superiors were, and they insisted that I commend you for your good work and give you a new assignment. This "Darth Oro" you've stumbled upon is a high-priority target and needs to be brought in as quickly as possible. You know more about the case than anyone on my staff; I am appointing you as Chief Inspector in this investigation and am authorizing you to hunt down and disable Sven Vocifer, using lethal force if necessary. You will have a staff of 25 agents who will help you to accomplish this."
Jensen's jaw had dropped by this point. Things had just become completely absurd. "I'm not a bounty hunter," said Jensen incredulously. "This type of assignment isn't part of my job description."
"Oh I think you'll find that the capture of dangerous fugitives is very much a part of your job description," said the Commissioner, calmly. "There is no time limit to this assignment, but I will be checking in on your progress regularly to see that things are going well. I will want weekly reports on your progress so that I can make mention of it when I report to my superiors. 6 o' clock, Friday evenings."
"And if I refuse?"
The Commissioner looked somber. "I'm sure we could find someone who would be more capable to take on your duties if you find that they are overbearing. You must remember, Inspector, that it is not within your power to choose your assignments; this isn't a buffet."
Jensen knew that he was right. He had already begun to resign himself to his fate; he, Taric Jensen, would have to hunt down and destroy the man who had occupied this very room 14 hours earlier. A man who, had the Commissioner maintained better control of himself, would have been sentenced to death row in a few weeks time. The sense of overwhelming waste made the Inspector sick to his stomach. He felt tired of the case which he had toiled to create. He was frightened by the mysterious powers that had manipulated him last night. But a feeling sprang up among all of those emotions that was more tumultuous than the others put together: it was disgust at the fact that a death-worshiping, godless butcher was running free among innocent people. "I'll do it," he said, quietly.
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