"How did you get in the last time?"
Sitting in an airspeeder next to the Republic Administration is like sitting on a burner cap. It sleeps for now — but there's no telling when it's gonna get turned on.
"Fadrina got me a pass. I drove in and waited in the garage. From there, we snuck the stiff in."
There'll be no passes this time, Krev knows. Every fart the reps make now needs to be okayed with Coruscant.
"Smart decision, eh? To store it in there. Who came up with it?"
The demonman sneers. "Where else could we store it? And we needed it to make you all cooperative."
"Coulda bought some old warehouse, you know. Not like that would beggar Alnam."
He still can't believe how easy it was to buy one. No IDs asked. Krev had known where to look for a right real estate agent, sure. Still was surprised.
The Devaronian shrugs.
"We should just leave it there," Krev says. He's only half-joking. "What are the chances the next representative will kick the bucket any time soon? They won't even know there's a dead clone in their fridge."
"And what if they find it? That would put Fadrina in danger. And we don't want that, do we?"
Krev wouldn't mind that. Let the whole jolly company be in danger, not just him.
"How do we get it out?" he asks.
"Hell if I know. But we'd better do it in the next week."
The new rep is going to arrive shortly after that. Chances are, some of his security will get to Telos in advance to check if everything's okay. If there are any unaccounted dead men anywhere on the premises.
"You were inside. You know the layout."
"Lotsa good knowing the layout will do us. We are outside, old man — if you haven't noticed."
"Let's just start with something."
The demonman scratches his head. The rings on his horns make a deep, low sound whenever he hits them with his nails. "The garage is two levels down from the main entrance. The morgue is one level down from there."
"So not a long way away?"
"Not really. There's a lift right in the garage, but Fadrina didn't know the code that would take it down to the morgue."
"How did you get in, then?"
"We took the stairs. There's a separate code for the back door and the lift."
"The code could have changed."
"No shit."
Krev thinks. "No. That's unlikely. They have a lot of shit on their hands right now. Why would they change the code to the fucking morgue, of all things?"
"It can be an automatized process."
"Okay. So what happens if we enter a wrong code?"
The Devaronian shrugs again. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"I thought you were the tech prodigy in our relationship."
"Fuck yes I'm smart. But I don't automatically see how electro things do their electro magic," the demonman syllabizes. "What you saw on that holo-feature was made up. "How should I know? Maybe they don't think the morgue is super important. At least, unless there's somebody stored. So maybe you're just prompted to put in another code. Or maybe it raises the alarm."
It just can stop getting better, can it?
"Fine," says Krev. "Let's leave the codes for now. Are there cameras?"
"It's a Republic facility. Of course there are cameras. It's chock-fucking-full of cameras."
"How did you deal with them the last time?"
"I didn't. Fadrina deleted the records later."
"How come you didn't get caught in process? Nobody's watching the feed?"
"Pfft. Even a droid's brain will fry after a few days of watching over an empty room."
The Republic in all its no-fucks-given glory, ladies and gents. On Manaan, they had to check the CCTV once every ten minutes — no excuses. Had some special algorithms tracking if anything unusual had occurred in-between the checks.
"Okay. So Fadrina will delete the feed for us once more." That's reassuring: it's something he doesn't have to do.
The red fucker doesn't think so. "No. Too dangerous for her."
"She did it once, she can do it again."
"That was before they started trying to look good. Don't you know how it works? Shit hits the fan, and suddenly there's this rush to make the facility look exemplary."
"Please tell me you're fucking with me. She works there, for heaven's sake."
"Exactly, and I don't want her to get into any more trouble than she's already in."
Oh, great. A fair lady's champion. Dumb as a boot and full of resolve.
"Look," says Krev, "if we are caught, she's fucked anyway. I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna keep silent when the Repos start breaking my toes."
"Then we'd better not get caught. We'll delete the feed on our own and turn the cameras off while we're at it."
There's no arguing with somebody this stupid. Krev's not about to, anyway. Maybe the Galaxy will make the big red idiot change his mind when they're in. Until then, it's like talking to a duracrete wall.
"Won't they suspect something's not right when they see the cameras are off?"
"They'll just think it's a malfunction. Nothing's gonna get stolen — far as they'll be able to tell. They won't look into it."
"Do you know where the security post is?"
"Didn't see it myself. Fadrina should know, though."
"Nice. So we'll have to go by a woman's directions. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better."
"There are plenty of ways it can. We still don't know how to get inside."
When the demonman's right, he's right.
"They won't let us in the garage," Sorval says. "That's the biggest problem."
"Yeah, we can't exactly smuggle the corpse in our pockets. Wait," Krev jumps in his seat, "is there a furnace in there?"
Today's not the day of the Galaxy being kind to Krev, though.
"No," the demonman says. "It's just a room with a bunch of freezing chambers. That's what a morgue is, right?"
"Shit." Time to think again, Krev boy. With how much you've been doing that nowadays, you'd think you're some fancy philosopher from Alderaan. "Alright. We can't just drive in. But we can walk in. Or rather, you can."
The Devaronian looks at him.
"It's an embassy," Krev keeps going. "They let you in if you have a reason to be there. Like if you need a Republic visa."
The Devaronian nods. Then he jerks his head and says, "You ever tried getting one? I have. It takes several months to just schedule an appointment. And that's in normal circumstances — not in the clusterfuck that's up now."
"Fadrina will speed the process up. And don't give me any of that 'we can't put her in danger' crap. Her mastermind planning is what got us into this mess, so let her do something useful."
The Devaronian looks as if he's ready to charge. Krev's ready for that, too.
But eventually, Sorval just says, "Let's say she does that. We go in."
"No-no-no. You go in. You go in and open the garage for me."
"And just how do I go about that?"
"You hide inside the building until everybody leaves."
"It's the stupidest thing you could've said, old man. There's always somebody inside."
"Okay, until most of them leave. Fadrina wasn't taking you in when it was a workday, was she? You hide inside, you wait, you turn off the cameras, and you open the garage."
"And you just drive in and out? Why don't you just sit this one out while you're at it?"
Krev's trying to be patient. "Look. I can't apply for a fucking visa. I'm a wanted man. Besides, and try to listen this time, I'm not the one who knows how to turn the cameras off. I'm not the one who's been inside. You're better qualified for it."
"Fuck." The Devaronian angrily leans back in his seat.
"Let me know when you get a better plan."
"Fuck. When do we do it?"
"As soon as Fadrina gets you an appointment. Which should be as soon as possible, if she doesn't want anyone to find the surprise. And before we go in, we have to get our agitprop gig up and running."
Sorval seems to be as happy as Krev is to change the topic. "Everything's in order. Secure lines, computers, everything."
"Then hire the guys. You told me you knew someone who can do the thing."
"Yeah."
"So hire them. Tell me how much money you need, and I'll pay them."
The demonman is fast. He organizes the Shadowfeed warriors the next evening. Two of them: a Human male, very young, and a Besalisk one, much older.
"The Republic has fallen," Agvar, the Besalisk, tells Krev at the briefing. "The Senate has been overtaken by a secret cabal that gathers at the moon of Sojourn once a standard year. They conspire to further make us all complacent and take away our freedoms."
"What's your position on the war?"
"They call them Separatists and swine-dogs and such. But in reality, the CIS is the only beacon of hope that's still left. Even the Jedi Order has been neutralized by the elites! They've got their teeth removed and can't protect us any longer. I'm not trying to say Count Dooku or the Muuns have our best interests in mind, of course — that would be foolish. But they are our best hope to change the status quo and take back our liberty!"
"I bet you're gonna like the job, then." Krev turns to the youth. "What about you?"
"Me? I'm just a student, man."
"A student, huh? Journalism? Technology?"
"No, medicine. I just need money."
"Which you'll get. That is, if you show more enthusiasm than I'm seeing now."
"Yeah, the Republic sucks, okay? Look, I promise I will be, you know, authentic. It's just easier for me to communicate over the Net. I have a large experience, um," the boy glances at Sorval, "um, communicating both in the Holonet and the Shadowfeed. So don't worry, I'll do everything, uh... perfectly."
Krev looks at the Devaronian too.
"He's good," the demonman says. "They both are."
Krev briefs his hirelings. He tells about: ConCare. Some clones are lobotomized — emphasis on some. (Agvar gets disappointed by that). The Republic is evil and incompetent. He doesn't tell about: the many tax schemes. Who's behind the operation. Dangor Industries engineers.
"I'll give you the documents," he says. "It doesn't matter where they come from. What matters in that their author was a clone trooper. You'll be spreading his memoirs, so to speak."
What he gives them is a greatly sanitized, Alnam-approved version of the diary. No mentions of anything too crazy.
Enough to prove it's not a work of fiction, though.
Additional rules: only work from this here warehouse. Only work through a secure line. Make your outbound traffic bounce around a little across various systems and transceivers. No talking about the gig to anyone.
The Besalisk gives Krev real bad vibes on that account.
"Can we trust the four-hands?" he asks Sorval once the four-hands and the young one have left.
"He's an alright guy."
"Doesn't look like he can keep his mouth shut."
"Well, you shouldn't have told him all our secrets, then." The Devaronian sighs. "He can keep a secret, believe you me."
"Has kept yours?"
"Ask him."
This whole thing is giving Krev real bad vibes.
"What about your Rep visa?"
"I was hoping you wouldn't remember," Sorval says. "The day after tomorrow."
"Uh-huh. I'll get a car by then, then."
"I still don't know how I'll be able to hide in the fucking embassy for so long. My appointment is for 3 PM, and they aren't leaving until at least, I don't know, eight."
"Don't try to drag the meeting out. The later it is, the fewer people the guards have to keep an eye on."
"They'll also get tired by the end of their shift. So I don't know. They have these passes. I'll need to close mine at the exit but somehow stay inside."
"Okay. We still have time to come up with something."
"Yeah, that's what I wanted to hear. Something. Glad you're not the one risking your ass, fucko?"
To tell the truth, Krev is.
Not once he gets in an aircar in two days, though. No gladness is left then.
From there, it really looks like Krev's risking his ass all right. His car hovers two levels above the embassy's main building, across the lane from it. Sticks out like a sore thumb — no other speeders parked here.
He bought the aircar used from Gzulla's distant kinsman. Another grace bestowed on him by Vygo Alnam. The insides of it smell like a Dug. Hours and hours of Dug howling on the stereo. Dug trinkets and amulets glued to the rearview screen. The altitude clutch is all fucked up. Sinks right in when you as much as suggest diving.
However: good, spacious body. Good for body transportations.
Krev sits waiting. Dugs howl at him from the speakers. His blaster warms his thigh up.
Krev's done some preparation: counted the hours real carefully and took some G right so that the euphoria has expired by now. His hands are steady. His mind is not.
Why is he even here? He could've taken the money and run: Alnam doesn't transfer funds to his account as the need arises. Too attention-drawing, if you believe the old fucker. It's all there already. Krev's seen it: almost two million credits. All there. Enough to start a new life. Enough to start any life. Just take it. Alnam will be notified, sure. You'll have to run. But you've done it before. Escaped Manaan before they found you. Why not try it now?
Did you start believing in the old fucker's cause?
Can it really work out? The four-handed Agvar and the laid-back Triskin fan Alnam's fire even now. What if it works?
It's stupid to think about it now, he tells himself.
Sure is, he also replies. But it beats thinking about the mission.
Another Republic. One without banthashit lobbying and tax evasion schemes. One without a war to keep in people who don't want to stay in. One that doesn't cut parts of people's brains out to see what happens and how they would socially adapt.
Alnam is no better than Palpatine, Krev tells himself. Don't let him fool you. They are all one and the same. Not one is better than the rest.
But maybe — just maybe — he can give it all a kick in the right direction.
What's that? I thought your naivety died on Kessel. It should have, at any rate.
His comlink goes off. Fadrina.
"I'm done for today," she says. "But I can go home on my own. Just pick up the boy, will you?"
Speaking the spy language. She's not wrong: a one-way secure channel built-in by the comlink manufacturer has got nothing on Alnam's stationary access points. A secure channel doesn't prevent shit — well, maybe save for the neighborhood kiddies playing hackers.
But the news is good. What she says: she managed to sneak Sorval's pass out. Sorval has officially left the embassy.
Now it's all up to the demonman.
Krev waits. It's getting hard to focus on anything: Fadrina's call was a border. Before it, Krev had known there still was time.
Fucking clone. Should have just run away. Could be living a good life now. A Krev sort of life, really — so maybe not so good. Still better than lying dead in an ice cell of some bumfuck nowhere embassy.
Could've been a better shooter. Then it would've been up to him to get Krev's corpse out of there.
No, Krev thinks, this is where your good intentions get you. In a fucking ice cell. You're a pawn — a good, physical pawn, none of that holographic shit: Vygo Alnam can afford things that actually exist — and sometimes, you get knocked off the board when the great Alnam plays his another pawn. The clone didn't understand it. Can be forgiven: he was just a test-tuber. Had no life experience. You can't, and you won't, because there'll be no one to forgive you.
It's not like he can leave now. He needs to do this mission. Then, after Alnam gives him access to the account again...
Why does Krev feel like he won't run away? Like he'll go out of his way to emulate the poor test-tuber idiot?
He tries convincing himself he'll fly to Coruscant as soon as he can. He tries bargaining. Alnam is done for, he tells himself. Just look at his organization: these morons can't do anything without shitting their pants. You're now trying to clean the mess they created simply hiring you.
Nothing works.
Hours go by. Soundtrack: Dug songs. All sound the same, yet when a new one starts, something shifts in the tone and hits Krev as if with electricity. At least he can't fall asleep for long. Not that his mind would let him anyway.
Hours go by. Republic people start flying away from the embassy. Their cars are all nice and fancy. Some are probably the only specimens of their models on Telos IV. You can tell the Republic people in the crowd — same as you could tell the mine owners and big shots on Kessel. Same attitude, same coloring.
And you think there'll be no people like that with Alnam as the supreme chancellor?
He knows there will, but hope grows inside his chest like a tumor: what if there won't? Alnam was able to build a huge industrial empire. Why can't he reform the Republic into something better?
Okay. Even if he can — which no adult should believe — he can do it with or without Krev. What's Krev? He's nobody. Whatever he can do, someone else can do better. And Alnam's money can buy that someone. No need for Krev to stay. He's not a revolutionary.
And you'd rob Alnam for two millions?
Why wouldn't he? What are two million credits — give or take — to Alnam? He's got hundreds of billions.
And if he wins? Do you think he's going to forget about you?
The Galaxy at large should forget about Krev Devin. Won't be the first time she forgot someone. A new name. A new face — maybe. A new life. Two millions can buy many things.
And if Alnam does win in the end? Really does? You won't have to hide anymore.
And become a guard dog for the new regime? No thanks.
That's the best case. Nobody needs grunts like you after the revolution's done. You're easier to get rid of than to make complacent.
So what? The next time Alnam opens the account, you're stealing all the money from it? Putting it all into another bank? That sort of shit will look suspicious. No. Open many accounts beforehand. Spread the money across them. That's gonna take time. Come up with something that's going to cost a shit ton so that Alnam doesn't immediately get suspicious. Well, he's going to get suspicious the moment you tell him you need exactly as much money as there is on the account. Shoot lower.
Or the other way around? Shoot higher? What can the gig need that costs more than two million?
He can figure it out later. That's not a bad idea, though. And if he can manage to convince Alnam it's Alnam's idea... nah, that's not gonna fly. The old man is too smart and careful. But he can buy that Krev needs more funding. Maybe. And Krev can maybe find something much cheaper than initially expected. Save Alnam some money.
That can work.
His comlink gives two beeps. A signal from the demonman.
Or not. Krev peers into the embassy's dark windows. Tells himself no one would torture Sorval into telling about their plan even if the dumb fucker got caught. They'd just take him out of the building. Maybe call the cops — at worst.
But what if the dumb fucker got scared and started talking before they asked him anything?
Krev tells himself to shut it.
The clutch sinks in. The airspeeder's nose drops. Krev checks the rearview. Many-handed Dug deities look back at him.
He's ready to floor it as he flies the aircar closer to the embassy garage. The dumb fucker could've got caught even after signaling him.
But the heavy metal shutter slides left, waking half the planet up. The Repos got themselves some nice technology: Krev can barely see the force field.
A single cargo speeder inside the garage. The windows are dead and empty. The demonman stands near a door in the back of the garage.
Krev parks his car. Takes a breathing mask out of the glove box. Puts it on: Sorval might have turned the CCTV off, but who knows what surprises the Repos can have in their domain.
Note the cargo speeder. Can have a dashcam inside.
So he puts the mask on.
And he's very fucking much right to do so.
"Cameras off?" he asks the demonman.
"Not yet," the dumb fucker replies.
Sometimes, it shocks Krev how smart he is.
"Why the fuck not?"
"We need the body first."
"No, we... It's not a fucking argument! Why the fuck didn't you turn the cameras off?"
"I didn't, okay? Now let's take the corpse out."
Krev's ready to shoot him. Krev's ready to run. Krev's ready to shoot him.
"We got a problem?"
"Not if you cooperate," the horned bastard says.
Krev grabs him by the lapels. "Then why the fuck didn't you turn the cameras off?"
The fucker just pushes him away. Turns from him. Walks to the door.
Krev realizes.
"You stupid cocksucker," is all he can say.
Then he follows the demonman.
They are on a narrow, poorly-lit stairwell. It looks a great deal like the one that leads into the heart of Vygo Alnam.
The morgue is one level down, Krev remembers. He also remembers they can't enter it willy-nilly.
"The code?" he asks.
"She thinks she's got it."
No names, huh?
Smart.
"And if it's wrong?"
The demonman doesn't reply.
They go through an unlocked door from the stairs into a small hall. Two doors on the left and two on the right. Two planters with something palm-like in each: maybe alive, maybe artificial. A holoclock on the far wall. Time: 22.03.
Krev's eyes search for cameras. There: left corner. Just one.
Even under the mask his face burns. He turns it away from the camera.
The demonman walks to the farther door on the right. The codepad glows slightly in the darkness of the hall. The demonman's hand stops two inches away from it. Then he enters four numbers.
A soft click. The door slides to the side.
Dim orange light within. Their shadows prostrate on the floor, trying to crawl out of the morgue.
Three fridges are sunk into the wall on the right. A low table stands to the left from the entrance.
"Remember which one you put it in or we'll have to play three shells?" Krev asks.
The demonman remembers. He opens the leftmost fridge. Smart — had anyone died in the embassy, they would've put the body in the fridge closest to the door.
With a soft clank, a tray emerges. Krev's surprised how large the fridge is: perhaps a standard issue, big enough to accommodate a dead representative of any species.
The clone looks downright tiny on the autopsy tray. He looks much older now. Krev wonders if it's death that makes him seem like some ancient sage or his fingers stuck as if giving a blessing.
He steps closer to the tray. The clone's eyes are still open. He knows he didn't close them for him, but why didn't Fadrina or Sorval?
He reaches his hand to stop Brate's gaze, but the demonman's hiss stops him: "What are you doing? Take him by his shoulders!"
As they struggle with the body, Krev understands the deserter is doomed to eternal seeing: the Repos don't skimp on power here, and the corpse is frozen almost solid. Even to close the eyelids would be impossible.
Sorry, he thinks for some reason.
They put the body down, and Sorval puts the tray back into the fridge. Closes the door.
"Figure they won't find any... traces?" Krev asks.
"They may — if they bother to check it."
Won't they notice a drop in power consumption, Krev wants to ask. Doesn't: they haven't noticed the increase, have they?
Not to mention, he really doesn't want to make another detour to the substation.
Krev's got an idea: let the red idiot go to the security post while Krev carries the clone to the garage. But by the time they make it to the end of the hall, he knows it ain't working: the body is too rigid. Difficult to manage even together with the demonman.
The stairs prove the toughest. Krev's all sweaty when they enter the garage.
They put Brate in the back of Krev's car. Krev's glad the previous owner left a large blanket there.
What's real tempting: to leave this very moment.
They haven't got your face, he tells himself. No need to delete anything.
They got the demonman's.
It's demonman's problems.
No, fuck it, and Krev means it. He's never left anyone behind. Not Lance Corporal Devin of the short-lived Atnakis People's Militia.
Look at you. A paragon of military virtue, ain't ya?
Fuck it, Krev thinks. Fuck you all.
"Do you know how we get to the security booth?" he asks the demonman.
The demonman's got his own ideas. "Get it out of here."
"What?"
Krev can't believe how relieved his voice sounds. Can only hope it's not so obvious outside the mask.
"You heard me. Get it out."
"And what, come pick you up later? Fuck that. I'm not coming back, so stop fucking around and lead the way."
"Go. I'll take care of everything."
Krev can't believe he's arguing. He still is. "Do you plan to hide until morning? Then what? You don't have a pass, remember?"
"I'll figure something out. Go."
Krev doesn't move. He really wants to, but he doesn't move.
The demonman's eyes are full of commitment. He's in it.
Go, Krev tells himself. You can do nothing here.
The demonman eyes him. Dead-set on doing it his way.
He won't part with his moment of glory. With his exploit.
Krev turns away and gets in the airspeeder.
The demonman keeps watching him until he flies out of the garage.
His fucking choice, Krev tells himself. Let him be a hero if he wants. I mean, he's hidden from whomever's left inside for a couple of hours already. Can probably hide for more.
And if they catch him?
Well, he's definitely not talking, then. You saw that, right? The guy's a fucking loony. Proper fucking fanatic.
Not the kind Alnam takes him for, though.
He misses his turn and has to fly round the embassy building once more.
Start thinking straight, tells himself. You're drawing attention. Focus on the task at hand. You can do all the philosophy later.
Seeing a slight jam ahead, he raises the airspeeder a lane up. Something catches his eye.
There: a window's lit.
That's probably where the guards are, he thinks. Tells himself: nothing to worry about. Keep going. You're out of there. It's not your problem anymore. Your problem: getting rid of the body.
But he doesn't feel like he's out of the embassy.
He slows down. Looks into the brighter window.
That's where he's left — even though he's piloting the aircar outside.
There: the demonman against the window, in two dancing spots of light. The horned silhouette is unmistakable.
Krev was right: that's where the guards are.
He can't see how many. The speeder's moving too fast past the window. Can't say if they got their blasters out or are just questioning the demonman.
Doesn't need to see or know.
Doesn't think: no time for that.
Before the window's left behind, he does the stupid thing.
The speeder's side rams through the transparisteel. The impact throws Krev against the door, and it pushes it open. Then it closes again — his fear of falling out and forty levels down comes only when he's safe again.
He can feel every table and every piece of debris his speeder hits as if it was his body hitting them. Barely registers the real pain: he knows his shoulder should hurt like mad but doesn't really feel that.
Lights dance before his eyes. Krev can't tell which ones are real and which are concussion-induced.
Then some of them disappear. Krev shakes his head. Some lights linger: those that follow his stare with a lag.
He looks left. No guards in the room: they're probably too busy sealing it off.
Can't see the demonman, either. Being honest with you, Krev, you just might've crushed him with your antics.
He still opens the door.
The air's already getting sour. No shit: a speeder-sized hole in the window. Krev reaches for his breathing mask — it somehow managed to stay in the passenger seat — and only narrowly grabs it from under one hundred kilos of demonman meat that bounce on his laps and then on the seat.
While the demonman's having a coughing fit, Krev brings the speeder outside of the embassy. Something falls down as he does. He can only hope nobody's out for a stroll somewhere in the lower levels.
He doubts anyone is, though: not the weather for strolls tonight.
He's grateful to the altitude clutch: the speeder goes down ten levels in as many seconds. There, Krev sends it past some lower building's fancy corner tower and into the maze of Telos IV. He brings it down and down, and the police sirens that come in half a minute sound as distant as Krev's past.
The demonman's cough transforms into laughter. "I managed to delete it. You won't fucking believe it, man, but I did."
"Yeah, great. Now they won't even know we were there."
The demonman shifts in his seat. His horns hit the roof, and he makes a sudden nod.
"They won't know why we were there," he says and looks in the back of the car.
Krev does too. Half-covered by the blanket, the body seems smaller now than before.
"Uh-huh," says Krev.
They go lower and lower until they arrive at the point of destination. Another abandoned factory: no shortage of those on the Clone-Wars Telos IV. They were making furniture here once — maybe just to relieve the tax burden for some Inner Rim company. Got safety and enviro-friendliness to reflect that, to be sure. A huge furnace takes up two floors. Ejects its ashes and fumes right into the streets.
No need to worry about the ecology when it's already dead.
The demonman has stored two canisters of fuel right by the furnace. One has an almost worn off Gran doing thumbs-up on it.
They refuel the furnace — for the first time in two years, maybe. No need to worry about the locals noticing the smoke — the sky of Telos IV won't betray it.
Krev's been worrying the furnace can be out of order, but the monstrous thing huffs and puffs and starts digesting the fuel it's been given. Its maw glows orange, then yellow, then white.
They put Brate on a furnace tray. His body is not so stiff now, and a puddle of liquid has amassed under it in the car.
Krev tries to close the clone's eyes. The eyelids won't budge.
He watches with the demonman as the deserter's corpse descends into hellfire.
Then a pipe sneezes the ashes out. Krev and Sorval watch through the large window in what must have been a senior manager's office once. A short bang of grey dust hangs in the air for a second — and then dissipates in the atmosphere.
"Man, what a shit place to find your final rest," Sorval sighs.
Krev hems. "At least it's not Geonosis."
He has no strength left in him. Just keeps staring above the factory pipe.
He has no strength left in him but still flies the aircar to the ground level. Breaks the rearview hard disk. Leaves the speeder parked there, on the ground.
And then he goes home.