The next day aboard Resolute, Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker are again camped out in the large waiting area of the ship's vast medbay.
Hunter works through his backlog of messages and reviews some of the footage from their most recent missions. Crosshair is seated languidly in the chair next to him, repairing some of Tech and Echo's gear that was damaged during their capture, while tersely offering his insight whenever Hunter asks for it. Wrecker is stretched out in the row of chairs across from them, using about six of them as a cot, and snoring loudly enough to bother the other clusters of clones scattered throughout the sitting area.
Hunter's just about ready to tell Wrecker to go to an actual bunk to get some actual sleep when he senses a medic—who sounds and smells like Knuckles—approaching from just beyond the closed doors concealing the inpatient ward.
"Incoming," he alerts Crosshair, setting his datapad aside and rolling the kinks out of his neck.
The sharpshooter curtly nods, sits up in his seat, then aggressively prods the sleeping Wrecker once with the toe of his boot.
"Wha-what!" says the giant, bolting upright mid-snore and noisily knocking over several rows of chairs. "Wha' happened?"
"News," Crosshair tells him flatly, rolling his eyes at Wrecker's confusion.
"Here he comes," Hunter murmurs to them, "that same reg we've seen before."
"Clone Force 99?" says Knuckles, sidestepping Wrecker's heap of overturned chairs and appearing before the three Bad Batch commandos. "I've got updates on your guys."
"Good updates?" asks Wrecker, eyes wide and mouth agape, his hopeful tone practically begging the reg to say yes.
"Actually, yes," the young medic allows. "Pretty good."
"Great," Hunter comments eagerly, blowing a massive sigh of relief. He stands to meet Knuckles eye to eye while gesturing for Crosshair and Wrecker to remain seated.
"What's the word?"
"I'll start with Tech. The surgery went well this morning and that should be the last one unless anything unexpected happens during his recuperation. He's just been lifted from his final bacta dunk and is being cleaned up. He's got some long weeks ahead of him, but everything looks promising," Knuckles informs them as he consults his issued datapad.
"And Echo?" Hunter asks. He's pleased with the news so far, but not really ready to celebrate until he's told the same goes for their brave ARC.
"Echo's doing well too," says Knuckles. "His superficial wounds are almost fully healed. He desperately needs more rest, and we'll be monitoring him closely until he can get the necessary repairs to his neural system. But he's not regressing at all. Says he's feeling stronger and been telling us he's fighting fit."
"He would," Crosshair scoffs, peevishly folding his arms across his chest.
Hunter senses no genuine malice in his brother's demeanor, just a mixture of pride and relief with maybe just a hint of irritation.
"Can we see them?" Hunter asks the reg, wishing he had Crosshair's eyes as he tries to steal a glance at the text displayed on Knuckles' datapad. It's then that Hunter notices that sometime in the past few days, the medic has gotten the eight Aurebesh characters of his name tattooed across his knuckles in black and red ink.
"Sorry, not this very moment," the medic explains, angling the device so that none of the Batch can spy on it.
"But I'll come get you as soon as Tech's been situated back in their room. Echo's due for fluids and diagnostics at the top of the hour. It should take about 15 minutes. If everything looks good and if he's up for it, he can have visitors afterward. I can't be sure Tech will be awake, but you can at least see him and visit quietly with Echo."
"Sounds good," Hunter says adamantly. "We'll be right here, looking for the invite."
…
While they anticipate Knuckles' return, they work together to clean up Wrecker's impressive mess and then settle back in for what will hopefully be a very brief wait.
They're quietly discussing the promising news about Tech and Echo's health when a pair of regs—whom Hunter senses are neither medics nor patients—stride purposefully into the waiting area. Supposing they're just another pair of vode looking for news, or just here to see a convalescing teammate, Hunter politely pays them no mind.
But when the duo advances toward the Bad Batch with recognizable intent to engage, Hunter and his brothers immediately shift their collective focus on them.
"Hunter!" one of them calls out suddenly and with a jolly wave. "Crosshair, Wrecker!"
The two self-assured strangers are wearing the tidy, grey dress uniform of restricted line naval personnel, and both sport matching, neat, regulation haircuts and shaves. Not one of the three wary Bad Batch commandos has ever seen them before, yet these two regs approach with the gumption and confidence of long-lost battle buddies.
It's unlikely they've ever worked with the Bad Batch directly or have ever seen any real ground action. As such, Hunter's suspicions start to build. But as the two regs briskly saunter nearer, something about them puts Hunter immediately at ease. Then, epiphany punches him like one of Wrecker's fists.
"It's you," says Hunter says with wistful conviction as he climbs to his feet to greet the two regs. "Isn't it, Easy?"
"The one. The only," says the clone called Easy, his warm, cocoa-colored eyes crinkling in amusement as he opens his arms to theatrically present himself.
Hunter wastes no time in rushing up to clap Easy with the same handshake that he would give to Commander Cody, Captain Rex, or any number of the lads who had gone to Hells and back with and for them. Easy returns the gesture firmly and automatically, making it clear that he's familiar with the greeting... a greeting popular amongst only the most battle-hardened commandos.
"It's good to finally put a face to a name," Hunter tells him.
"Heh," Easy chuckles. "It's good to have a face and not just be a squawking speaker box."
"I mean, that was some pretty crucial squawking you were doing at us," Hunter reminds him.
"That? Psh! We were just earnin' our keep," Easy says modestly as he cheerfully elbows the more stoic reg standing next to him. "Besides, we weren't about to leave you boys hanging. Especially after you promised us drinks."
"Well, it's because of you that we got Tech and Echo back alive, so thanks for that," Hunter says. "I mean it."
He then turns to greet Easy's companion.
"And thank you, brother," he says. "You must be-
"This is Slowpoke," Easy announces, proudly presenting the vod standing barely a hair's breadth to his right.
This more reticent clone—who is probably Easy's wingman—has sharp, hazel eyes that unflinchingly drill into Hunter's own. He's also a shade on the leaner side, especially for someone whose name conjures an image of extreme lethargy.
Slowpoke nods, almost imperceptibly, but does so to each of the Bad Batch with a fist clenched tightly over his heart. His other hand remains at his side, cradling an unusual-looking cargo case that's strapped across one of his rigid shoulders.
Hunter offers Slowpoke the same passionate handshake he'd shared with Easy. The reg's movements are quick and precise in mirroring the gesture. Afterward, Slowpoke smartly steps back into his natural place at his own sergeant's side.
Crosshair and Wrecker rise to offer their own forms of greeting as well. Crosshair's salutations closely mimic those of Slowpoke. But ever the affectionate brute, Wrecker shamelessly gathers Easy and Slowpoke into a giant embrace, lifting both startled regs about a foot off the ground before either of the two realizes what's happening.
"Oho," Easy says hoarsely as Wrecker enthusiastically jostles the two fully grown men as if they're mere toys. "Guess that super strength wasn't a rumor."
"Nope!" Wrecker says happily, squeezing both of the regs even harder. "Thanks, guys, we owe ya!"
"Any-" Easy starts as the wind gets forced out of him, "-time!"
"Alright, Wrecker," Hunter tells the massive clone, emphatically patting him on his immense back. They've now gathered the undivided attention of every person in the room, and effectively destroyed the tranquility of the environment. "Let 'em down now."
"Sorry," Wrecker says sheepishly, sniffling a little bit as he places both men back on their own feet. "I'm so happy to finally meet you guys. I just… jus' got carried away."
"No worries there, Gundark-grip," chuckles Easy, catching his breath and straightening his uniform. "We're glad to see you guys too. Right, Slopes?"
"Elated," mutters the rumpled clone beside Easy, not lifting his hazel gaze from his black trousers as he slaps at and flattens some emergent wrinkles there.
"You boys wanna sit down and join us?" Hunter asks, offering the seats next to the ones that Wrecker and Crosshair have just reclaimed. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you to thank you sooner. We've been… well, we-
"You've been distracted," Easy interrupts him. "And for good reason."
"Yeah. We kinda have," Hunter admits.
"Exactly. No apology necessary, vod. And actually, me and Slopes can't stay long. We just came to show you our drop-dead gorgeous faces," the reg sergeant says wryly. "And to ask how your guys are coming along."
"Eh-hem," Slowpoke interjects softly, with a gentle tap on Easy's bicep.
Slowpoke then indicates the object he's carrying by sharply patting on the side of the case.
"Ah for kriff's sake, Slopes, what would I do without you?" says Easy noticing his companion's signal. "And we come bearing a gift."
"Hey, what..." Hunter says, taken aback. "Come on fellas, you've already done plenty for us. Helping us rescue our brothers was the ultimate gift."
"And speaking of that…" Easy says in a more sober tone. "How are the two dauntless escapees doing? They both gonna pull through and get back to tiptop shape?"
"Looks like it. The medics say they're doing as well as they can be for now," Hunter shares. "With proper care, rest, and time, they both should be able to make a full recovery."
"Now that's good news if I've ever heard any," says Easy happily as Slowpoke nods his own silent appreciation for the report. "So, what we brought will be helpful then."
"Helpful?" asks Wrecker, looking tentatively at the bag Slowpoke's unpacking. "You mean that thing in there? What is it?"
"This, my friend, is present for Tech. It's a therapeutic contraption that'll help him rehabilitate his busted wing. It worked a treat for me back when I broke the kriff out of my own arm," Easy says, subconsciously flexing his elbow and wiggling the fingers of his right arm. "Slopes, will you show them how to work it? I think I saw ol' Doubles over there on our way in and I need to talk to him really quick."
"Yep," Slowpoke says. "Will do, boss. Just remember that we need to head out in a few."
"Thanks, mate," says Easy warmly. "Back in a sec."
Slowpoke discretely watches his sergeant hurry over to and dap up with a few regs from ship's company who are seated several rows away. Then, he shifts his focus back to the Batch.
"It's pretty straightforward," Slowpoke tells them as he produces the device and demonstrates how to use it. "And it really did make a big difference for my Sarge. Hopefully, it'll help Tech regain full mobility too."
The reg is articulate and succinct as he shows and explains how the device is to be utilized properly. When nobody from the Batch has any further questions about it, Slowpoke carefully repacks the clever gadget and hands it over to Hunter.
"Thanks," Hunter tells him, passing the bag to Crosshair for safekeeping.
"You're welcome," Slowpoke says, taking a quick glance at his chrono and then over at Easy. "If Tech ever has any questions, give us a shout."
"We will," Hunter says, stealing his own glance at the reg sergeant across the room and accidentally eavesdropping on the discussion Easy's having with the other regs. Before he realizes it, he's inadvertently focusing his extraordinary sense of hearing on the distant group, and he catches a couple of fragments of their conversation.
"Those guys over there… You know 'em?" says an unfamiliar trooper chatting with Easy. "Them?" says Easy, nudging his chin back in Hunter's direction. "Hell yeah! It's them we came to see." "Oh," says the trooper, surprised. "Aren't they… all defects or... something?" "They're different," Easy allows. "But believe you me, brother. They're all absolute class…"The recognition of Easy's blatantly supportive, pro-Bad Batch statement is enough to shake Hunter from the unintended intrusion. Yeah, Easy and his friend had been talking about Hunter's boys… But still, Hunter doesn't like to pry into business that doesn't actively affect or concern his own men. Even though it was brief, he's annoyed with himself for letting his enhanced abilities meander out of his control. He takes a deep breath, clears his mind, and forces himself to tune out all background sounds.
Turning his attention back to Slowpoke, he finds the reg watching him suspiciously.
This one clocked what I just did there, Hunter thinks, realizing that Slowpoke just caught him snooping on his sergeant and best friend. Guilt flickers within Hunter for a moment. That wasn't really an ideal way for him to foster trust and respect within newly acquired alliances...
But it looks like Slowpoke is perceptive enough to recognize that the shady deed was an accident. The taciturn, hazel-eyed clone doesn't say anything about it and is content to remain in dignified silence until his counterpart returns.
And Easy, making good on Slowpoke's timetable reminder, returns very shortly after the incident.
"Thanks for waiting," Easy says as he approaches Slowpoke and the Bad Batch. "Slopes and I gotta roll, but let's all get together soon. Tell Tech we send our humble regards, will you?"
Hunter's happy to do so, but there's something a little off about their request regarding Tech.
"Will do. But…" Hunter starts, with a quizzical glance at Crosshair and Wrecker. The former narrows his amber eyes distrustfully, while the latter ponderously shrugs his massive shoulders. "How do you guys know Tech?"
"We go way back." Easy declares jovially. Beside him, Slowpoke grins deviously and shakes his head, almost fondly. "Though we mostly just know him as 'Marauder.' He'll know us if you mention me, Slowpoke, or 'Specter.'"
"Yeah?" says Hunter, racking his brains and frowning when nothing comes to mind. He can't deny that he feels defensive thinking that these regs might know things about his little brother and lifelong squadmate that he doesn't. "How's that?" he asks, reaching for a tone of objectivity he doesn't truly feel.
"Ha!" Easy barks, amused. "He's a fucking legend to Specter—that's our unit's name, by the way—and how we train our rookies. We call Tech when-
Easy breaks off when Slowpoke gives him a sharp nudge in the ribs and pointedly glances around at the other people in the large compartment.
"Hmm right," Easy says, lowering his voice so that only Slowpoke and the Bad Batch can hear. "We shouldn't talk about it now, but what are you boys up to later? Come on by our shop for a visit. There'll be fewer prying eyes and ears up there, and we'll tell you all."
"Wrecker's been booked for an ordnance course tonight," Hunter says, reflecting on how the three healthy members of the Bad Batch have already been requested to participate in various shipboard evolutions.
Officially, the egregiously wounded men of Clone Force 99 aren't expected to die during the elite squad's extended stay. Since word travels faster than light speed in the GAR, several companies onboard Resolute have made it clear that they expect Hunter and his men to earn the gracious hospitality they're being shown.
Hunter glances to Crosshair, who shrugs in lazy acquiescence to the unspoken question.
"But Crosshair and I can stop by any time after 19:00," he tells Easy.
"Nice," Easy says, genuinely pleased. "Make it 19:30, then. No sooner because we've got brass coming by for a scheduled spot-check right after chow. Sorry, Wrecker, we'll get you for a visit next time, big guy."
"S'okay, Easy," Wrecker assures the reg. "Duty calls. Explosives duty!"
"Ah, so no hard feelings," Easy says as he and Slowpoke prepare to depart. "See you at 19:30 then, lads. I'll have Slopes send you our shop's tac number and the clearance codes to get past the vestibule. We're fancy like that."
"You're on," says Hunter warmly. "See you then, fellas."
…
It's not long after the top of the hour that Knuckles comes back into the waiting area to fetch Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker. At long last, the three of them are invited back to pay a visit to their convalescing vode.
The room Tech and Echo are sharing is indeed larger and more comfortable than the standard narrow stalls that any clone trooper could expect to occupy for the duration of his recovery. Boasting two comfortable single beds, each built into the bulkhead on either side of the suite, the room is designed to comfortably accommodate two severely wounded patients and their respective caretakers and visitors.
Not unlike the bunks on Marauder, the beds are designed to detach from the wall for transport or emergency access to the patient. Echo's bunk has been drawn away from the wall and situated flush with Tech's again. It's heartening to see that the medical staff is being so accommodating for Tech and Echo's personal comfort.
But such luxury didn't come without a heavy price, nor did it come without justifiable reason. Because of his shocking modifications, it's ultimately better for everyone if Echo's given the extra privacy that the room affords. Plus, the abundant space is conducive to his unique medical needs. Not one clone in the GAR would be truly jealous of Echo for getting bunked in such a palatial recovery room. Furthermore, despite the fact that it's been days since their rescue, the two occupants of the room are still a long way from what Hunter would call "fighting fit" for either of them.
Both patients have been garbed in comfortable, loose-fitting garments to facilitate care. Echo's wearing the dark red uniform issued to in-patient troopers, while Tech has only been dressed in an oversized, simple, grey hospital nightshirt.
The evidence of Tech's extreme ordeal is still present for all to see and he's looking very much like he still has a lot of healing to do. He's sleeping on his back with his recently-repaired arm injury neatly wrapped and protectively encased across his chest. Copious layers of bandages peek out from under his shirt, and almost all of his visible skin is still marred by bruising or scabbing. Thankfully, the swelling in Tech's face has gone down significantly, and the rise and fall of his chest indicate healthy, normal—and not agonizing—breathing. It's bizarre to see him so relaxed, so devoid of any movement, energy, or chatter, but Hunter knows it's absolutely necessary for his recovery and much, much preferable to the unthinkable alternative of losing him.
In the bed beside Tech's, their faithful Echo looks gaunt and emaciated where he sits, neatly propped up with a few pillows and surrounded by medical and cybernetic servicing equipment in equal shares. Though he looks like he hasn't slept a wink in weeks, he still flashes his brothers a tired smile as they all shuffle over to reunite.
"Hello boys," Echo says happily, though his voice is somehow even deeper and gruffer than usual. "Was wondering when they'd let you back to see us again."
"It took longer than we'd have liked," Hunter tells their fearless ARC. "But they weren't gonna be able to bar us forever."
"Don't I know it," says Echo with a grin, letting Wrecker lean in and hug him, gently. "Your timing's actually perfect because I think Tech's finally coming around. You guys have time to pull up a seat?"
"Have time? Oh, we're stayin' as long as they let us, Echo!" Wrecker explains, gathering three chairs with one arm and placing them within forearm's reach of both recovery beds.
"Or," Crosshair drawls as he lowers himself into a seat and languidly kicks his feet up onto the foot of Echo's bed. "Until you get fed up with Wrecker. Whichever."
"Hey! We all got kicked out last time," Wrecker supplies, anxiously glancing behind him at the two medics in the room. "Remember?"
"That wasn't our fault," Crosshair tells him, casting his own menacing glance at the reg medics. "They shoulda put their racks together from the get-go."
Hunter watches Crosshair's sharp eyes sweep over every single detail in the room, and the Sergeant finds himself reminded of the pivotal role their sharpshooter played in getting Tech and Echo where they are now. For that, he allows Crosshair's loud, rude complaint to go unchecked for the moment.
Wrecker scoots his own chair as close as it will physically get to the two beds, then happily plops himself down and begins to ask Echo a thousand questions about how he's feeling, what he needs, and what sorta contraband they can sneak into medbay for him.
As Hunter is claiming his own seat, he starts detecting small changes in Tech's vitals and focuses his attention on their youngest.
Just as Echo had predicted, Hunter watches Tech stir and show signs of waking up. It starts with the microscopic twitching of his eyes behind their lids, the slight shifting of his arm and legs, and the steady quickening of his breathing. Then, after groaning softly and clearing his throat reflexively from a rare and lengthy stint of disuse, Tech's eyes flutter, he blinks heavily and he's finally able to coax them open.
By now, the rest of the Batch has also noticed what Hunter sees, and soon all of them are fixated hopefully on Tech.
"Tech?" Echo says tenderly. "You awake over there, buddy?"
"I am in...the process," Tech says, sighing sleepily and automatically reaching his free hand up to his forehead to find his goggles. He frowns when his hand comes up empty. "Echo?"
"Echo," the ARC confirms, identifying himself in this dignifiedly ironic fashion. "You good? We have visitors."
"I... believe so," Tech responds drowsily, trying in vain to squint Echo, their three mystery guests, and the rest of the room into focus.
"Oi Tech!" says Wrecker happily. "Rise'n'shine, buddy!"
"I refuse to do either…" Tech says slowly, "Wrecker?"
"Got it in one!" Wrecker confirms.
"Crosshair?" Tech asks hopefully, squinting at the silver-hued blob that would be indicative of the sniper's distinctive, fair, grey hair.
"Present," drawls the sniper.
"And... and Sarge?"
"I'm here too, Tech," Hunter assures him. "It's gonna take a lot more than some selfish, stupid bounty hunters to get between the boys of the Bad Batch."
"I agree," Tech says, visibly relaxing. "How are all of you-
"We're all fine, Tech," the sergeant interrupts. "We're taking good care of the Marauder and the command's keeping us busy. I promise you, we're fine. Our only priority right now is you and Echo getting well."
Visibly excited by the information, Tech tries to roll over on his side and face his brothers, but he bumps some of his still-healing injuries in the process.
"Oh, kriff it," their youngest curses with a wince.
A medic moves in to investigate and administer medication into Tech's IV, and Echo reaches over to help him adjust into a comfortable position. But, as for the rest of them...
"Ooo," Wrecker crows, happily. "Vod'ika said a bad word!"
Once they'd learned Tech hadn't actually hurt himself too seriously, the rest of the Batch began hooting in delight at hearing his coarse outburst. Frustratingly articulate and pedantic as he is, it's pretty rare for Tech to swear, and Hunter and the boys find these occasions to be ridiculously hilarious.
"Tsk tsk," Crosshair reproaches with a wicked, melodious laugh. "You kiss your mother with that mouth, Tech?"
Tech's tired, pale features take on what is likely supposed to be a withering look.
"For several reasons, no," their engineer remarks mildly. "Please, pardon my vulgarity."
"Oi, say it again!" Wrecker insists. "Say some more!"
"Why?" Tech huffs. The medic has finished helping him back into a relaxed, reclined position. He frowns distastefully as he contemplates Wrecker's request. "It makes one sound incompetent and… and…" he breaks off to yawn. "Uneducated."
"Aw come on, buddy!" Wrecker pleads. "It's funny!"
"Sorry, Tech," Hunter admits with a guilty guffaw of his own. "It really is."
"Hmph. Fine," Tech concedes tiredly, his fingers on his left hand fidgeting with the edge of his blanket in agitation. "Mmm… kriff. Kriff it all. To Hells."
The small list of crisply delivered cuss words is enough to supply everyone in the room with quality entertainment. By now, even Echo and the nearby medics have joined in on the laughter.
"Kark," Tech continues blandly, possibly encouraged by his brothers' amusement. Possibly not. "Fuck. Shit. Ass. Cock-
-oookay!" Echo cuts in, ending what was sure to be lengthy elocution of shocking curse words. And all delivered primly and indifferently within earshot of an unknown number of regs and possibly officers. "That'll do it, Tech."
Hunter's grateful that at least someone has the tact and maturity to step in because he's only just barely able to stop laughing enough to agree with Echo's intervention. Wrecker and Crosshair have both doubled over in mirth, but it seems to start gradually abating within a minute or two.
Tech immediately respects Echo's suggestion. Blinking sleepily, he ceases his string of expletives and smiles lopsidedly at his cackling brothers.
Hunter listens to the satisfied lulling in the room, but his full attention soon returns to Tech. He notices Tech still squinting wearily at what probably isn't much more than a blurry, convoluted scene surrounding him.
He's still in a lot of pain, Hunter knows, watching closely as Tech grimaces and suffers in silence.
Hunter can easily sense that Tech is, at the very least, tired and disoriented. But without goggles or glasses, Tech must be experiencing a whole other level of distress and frustration. His enormously large, round, ocher eyes are only made awkwardly larger looking by the absence of eyewear. But that kind, clever, curiosity usually shining within them has been dimmed by pain, fatigue, and dismay.
Hunter desperately watches his wounded brother, longing to see the inquisitive cock of Tech's head or that wily twinkle in his eye that he gets when he's devised another brilliant idea. But sadly, poor Tech only looks hollow, listless, and bleak.
Thanks largely to whatever medications were given to him, and to Echo's gentle, soothing touches, Tech drifts from his quiet, uncomfortable, idleness back to what appears to be a peaceful doze. And as much as Hunter wants to see his youngest brother awake, he can't help but be relieved that Tech's getting the rest that he needs.
Hunter makes a mental note to check on the status of the special order they placed through Countess Kryze, then joins in on the quiet discussion that the rest of his brothers have already begun.
"…yeah. The scars are gonna be gnarly," Wrecker says. "Tech's gonna have to show 'em to Commander Cody."
"Why him?" Crosshair wonders aloud.
"Because Cody's scars are also from a Trandoshan," Echo supplies. "He tangled with some lunatic named Crossk back in the day. Says one of his guys was literally holding his face together with his hands until they could find a medic."
"Ugh," groans Wrecker, looking queasy. "Can we change the subject now? Echo, how you feelin'? You got dinged pretty bad too."
"I guess," Echo grouses. "But I've already been patched up. I think the only major troubles left are to do with my upstairs situation. I uh… I think I kinda overdid it."
"You think?" Crosshair complains. "First you were attacked. Then you were vivisected and shot full of holes. And then, being the great di'kut that you are, you still felt the need to sample your limits."
"Yeah, brother," Hunter adds. "You really pushed it. And that was after we'd safely put that moon in our rearview and after you'd already taken way too many serious hits. You best take it easy for a while."
"You mean the remote slicing thing?" Echo asks, looking abashed. "Because I didn't even really know what I was doing. Still not too sure that's what I was actually doing."
"No excuses," Crosshair hisses. "You know what you're doing now so don't do anything but rest and whatever these reg medics tell you."
"Fine," Echo grumbles. "But only because I'm tired. Not because you said."
"Don't care," the sniper says darkly. "Just don't do anything idiotic for a while. Physically or... remotely."
"Now hang on, Cross," Hunter says, remembering their theory and confusion about Echo talking to the Marauder. "We don't yet know for sure Echo was really slicing into our ship's database without a physical connection. That's something we're gonna need Tech to look into."
"Yeah," Wrecker agrees. "Echo was all fuzzy in the head. Who can say he wasn't just talkin' in his sleep?"
"I can say," contends Crosshair, narrowing his eyes. "It was all accurate. And he's hardheaded enough to make shit like that happen."
"Well, let it go, for now, Cross," Hunter says as he shrugs and turns to the ARC. "We truly don't know if you're really capable of something like that, Echo."
"Of course, he is capable," says a soft voice from behind Echo in that oh-so-lovable tone that could make any clone feel like the biggest imbecile ever decanted.
Surprised, the four of them turn to find that Tech hasn't actually fallen back asleep just yet.
"You should be resting," Echo reproaches him worriedly. "If you wanna heal, you're gonna need a lot more shut-eye, buddy."
"I am simply stating," Tech mumbles weakly. "That you are an exceptionally resourceful operative, Echo. You are also an extraordinarily selfless and empathetic human being. It is... only logical to expect the unprecedented when… it comes to your new abilities..."
"Enough," Crosshair snarls, rolling his eyes. "Back to sleep, Tech. Now."
Hunter knows this isn't the discussion Tech was hoping for, but the engineer is either too irritated to honor Crosshair with a response or simply too tired to talk anymore. They all watch Tech more carefully this time, ensuring that their youngest brother is actually falling back into a nice, deep healing sleep before they say anything else that could tempt him to comment.
Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker continue quietly chatting with Echo and seem to be significantly lifting their laid-up ARC's spirits. They end up being allowed to stay all the way up until evening meal, at which point they get bounced out of medbay by several caregivers. Reluctantly, they bid good night to Echo and file out of the recovery room to resume their responsibilities and roles as temporarily-embarked soldiers on a warship in service of the GAR.
Later in the evening, Hunter and Crosshair ascend to the highest levels aboard Resolute and find themselves traversing some very, very unfamiliar territory. Not only are the hallways spotless up here, but it's chilly almost to the point of sterility, and utterly buzzing with electromagnetic activity.
"You okay?" Crosshair says from Hunter's side, likely observing the uncomfortable effect that the thermal and electromagnetic changes are having on his sergeant's capacity to function peacefully.
"I'm good," Hunter assures him. "So long as we don't plan on making camp up here."
"Let me know if it gets to be too much," Crosshair mutters. "We could cancel."
"Nah, I'm fine, Cross. Seriously," Hunter says as they reach the hatch for Specter unit's shop and are scanned for security reasons. "Besides, I'm curious about these guys. And I wanna be sure to thank everyone who helped us get Tech and Echo back."
"Same," Crosshair admits.
Once they're cleared for entry, Hunter and Crosshair step into the compartment that's the professional home of Easy's division. It's a massive chamber, dimly lit with predominantly blue lighting and it's even more frigid than the passageways en route had been. There's a huge, open space with multiple large work tables and tool chests leading to and encompassing a lower level with several rows of radar consoles and intelligence-oriented workstations. Throughout the room, there are several unmarked doors that lead to different rooms and corridors containing Force-only-knows what. One door swings open to reveal a reg, deep in thought, stepping out a narrow hallway bathed in an eerie, purple glow. But then, another door is pushed open to reveal just a simple closet with a trash bin, rack of brooms, and a shelf with standard cleaning supplies. Hunter finds himself grateful to have spied something in the room as mundane as the broom cupboard because up until that moment, the room's intense technological sophistication had been threatening to genuinely intimidate him.
Due to the late hour, the official workday's long concluded, and the only members of Specter present include the junior guys on watch and a few senior guys with collateral responsibilities. They all look remarkably similar with their tidy, grey uniforms and shiny boots, and Hunter's starting to feel as awkward as a Gungan at a Gala. In fact, the more he observes within the workspace, the more foreign it becomes. Suddenly, he's all too aware of Tech's absence and, without his little brother's technological expertise—be it solicited, or not—at his immediate disposal, a sense of vulnerability rears its ugly head.
"Easy's not here," Crosshair drawls, pulling Hunter out of his reflections. "But Slowpoke's over there."
Hunter's gaze follows his brother's slender, outstretched finger to one of the big worktables near the far wall. Sure enough, there's a reg sitting with his back to them, attentively working on something. Hunter's not sure how Crosshair knows it's Slowpoke, but he wholly trusts his brother's judgment.
"Recognized the scar on the back of his head," Crosshair explains without prompt. "Really kriffs with the clean line of that stupid haircut, doesn't it?"
"Uhh... I'll take your word for it," Hunter tells him, ignoring the plethora of ogling looks they're starting to garner, and leading Crosshair over to greet Easy's wingman. "How'd you reckon a restricted liner gets a scar there?"
"Was wondering the same," Crosshair says pensively. "Something's up with him and Easy."
"I think so too," Hunter admits. "Either they had one hell of a rough time learning how to read blips on a radar and type on a keypad or… they've seen some action."
"They've seen action," Crosshair confirms with conviction, likely having picked up on microscopic visual clues that only he could see when they all met down in medbay.
The pair of Bad Batch commandos tread in silence across the last stretch of deckplates leading to Slowpoke's worktable. When they get near enough to engage politely, Hunter clears his throat so he won't startle Slowpoke or any of the regs who are diligently minding their various scopes and frequencies.
"Evenin', Slowpoke," Hunter says when the Slowpoke turns to investigate the sound.
"Hunter. Crosshair. Hey," says the reg flatly, nodding to each of his guests. "Easy's still in the inspection. Have a seat if you want. Won't be much longer."
Silently and without further ado, Crosshair traipses over to the far side of the table, pulls out a chair with his foot, and drapes himself in a seat directly across from Slowpoke. Before taking an offered seat, Hunter checks his chrono.
"Did we get here too early?" he asks apologetically. "We don't mean to be a bother."
"No bother," says Slowpoke, reading a datapad and tinkering with what looks like some very advanced comms equipment. "Just taking longer than expected is all. Hope you don't mind the wait."
"Not at all," Hunter says, taking a seat next to Crosshair.
"Hn," Crosshair grumbles noncommittally, reaching into his pocket for a toothpick and then unbuckling the weapon holstered around his narrow waistline. Within seconds, the sharpshooter has his sidearm and a few cleaning supplies spread neatly out on a soft cloth atop the table before him.
For a few moments, Hunter watches Crosshair, comforted to watch a familiar ritual, as his brother expertly disassembles the issued blaster and begins to meticulously clean and polish each of the pieces. Then, with both of the other vode at the table focused on their own tasks, Hunter lapses into a peaceful, mindful stillness; serenely assessing more of the unfamiliar space and drinking in the strangeness of it all.
Specter's workplace environment is such a far cry from the gritty, boorish, tangible mainstays of life as a special operative, that it's hard to believe they're still aboard the same starship right now. They are though, and this fact compels Hunter to ruminate on his own ignorance.
He's earned the rank of Sergeant and leads a team of highly decorated, competent troopers, and yet there are entire realms of other vode he knows nothing about, all carrying out duties for the same Republic he's sworn to defend. He and his own squad of elite soldiers are so accustomed to working as one small, self-sustainable, tightly-kit unit, that he's never really taken the time to ponder the larger mechanisms at play in the GAR.
Stuff like intelligence, espionage, logistics, operations, fire control, public affairs… there are so many cogs in the GAR wheel that Hunter hasn't justifiably considered. Perhaps the Bad Batch's new friendship with Easy and Specter squad will make them more well-rounded and versatile as operatives. If not, it'll at least teach them a thing or two about camaraderie with regs and help them to appreciate what all goes into gathering and relaying the priceless intel that is so often paramount to their missions.
Hunter's focus wanders to Crosshair and Slowpoke. Both men have a certain guile that makes them challenging to read, but it's not long until Hunter has a pretty decent grasp on each of their current attitudes. He can feel their agitated energies and he can sense suspicious thoughts churning within both of their minds. But if there's a way to make this situation more amicable and productive for everyone, Hunter's resolved to find out what it is.
So, he sits back and decides to observe how the two regard each other, and how to possibly convince each of them that there's no reason for hostility. He finds his brother and the reg sitting in a strained silence, glimpsing up from their projects to eye one another coldly, and each attempting to clinically calculate the other man's intentions.
Then, to Hunter's surprise, the interaction between the two vode gets a little more interesting.
"Nice shooter," Slowpoke comments.
Kark, Hunter thinks. Kark. Kark. Kark.
This is probably the part where Crosshair expresses his true desire for all regs in his general vicinity to fuck off. For all of eternity.
So much for camaraderie.
Hunter doesn't expect Crosshair to do much more than glare rudely or grunt dismissively at the comment. His brother is not only extra tense because of his concerns for Tech and Echo, but he's loathed to be disturbed while he's maintaining one of his precious firearms. So, Hunter's absolutely dumbfounded when the surly sniper gives an actual answer. An answer that's both verbal and reasonable…
"Thanks," Crosshair mutters, still eyeing the reg critically but not necessarily putting out his patented air of disgust.
"Mhm," Slowpoke responds before the pair lapse back into a comfortable silence, each continuing to work on their own personal tasks.
Somehow, Hunter feels that the silence is now less strained than it was just moments ago as Crosshair and Slowpoke continue with their respective business. He's still not over his initial shock from their first exchange, when a few moments later, Hunter hears Slowpoke breaks the silence again.
"Need a touch-up?" the reg asks.
Hunter sees that Slowpoke has his index finger pointed up to his eye in a mirror image of where Crosshair's trademark tattoo is etched. The reg is seated comfortably across from Crosshair and is showing no trace of apology or shame in asking the dour sharpshooter such a direct, personal question.
"I do my own," Crosshair mutters, somehow seeming not to mind.
"So?" says Slowpoke. "That's not what I asked."
"So," Crosshair clarifies with an evoked exasperation. "Thanks to Wrecker, we're out of the ink I need."
"What pigment?"
"Corellian Black," Crosshair murmurs absently. "Number three."
"Number three," Slowpoke repeats slowly, thoughtfully. "We've got a vial in one of the storerooms. Have it."
"No," Hunter's brother says firmly, noticeably surprised by the generous offer. "Keep it. It's scarce."
"It's yours," Slowpoke insists with a finality that contends with Crosshair's own. "No one in Specter needs it."
Without waiting for any further objection, Slowpoke darts out of his seat in a single, swift motion, and vanishes behind one of many closed doors in the shop. While he's gone, Crosshair takes the opportunity to gape uncomprehendingly at Hunter.
Hunter, feeling just as surprised as his brother looks, only quirks an eyebrow at him in return.
It's then that Hunter becomes almost certain that Slowpoke was given his name in jest because the reg slips back into his seat at the workbench with a finesse that smacks of urgency and efficiency. Then, without a sound, the reg tosses a small, black vial across the table.
Crosshair deftly snatches the vial out of the air, then carefully turns it over to inspect the contents. Hunter hears him hum contently at what he sees.
"Only a moron would give this away," Crosshair tells Slowpoke, confirming that it's the ink he needs. "But thanks. I'll put it to good use."
"No problem," Slowpoke grunts as he returns to work on the project he'd temporarily abandoned. "Wha'd the giant use all yours on anyway?"
"Ugh," Crosshair scoffs irritably, in juxtaposition to the way he's reverently swirling the ink inside its bottle. "A kriffing sunset."
"Sunset?" Slowpoke sneers in distaste.
"Yeah, massive," Crosshair continues. "Over a lake. Takes up his entire lard-loving thigh."
"Sounds dumb," Slowpoke says sullenly, shaking his head in disappointment.
"It is," Crosshair agrees. He then pockets the small vial and resumes maintenance on his blaster.
Hunter's still pleasantly shocked by his brother's sustained and decent interaction with Slowpoke. Then, inexplicably and against all odds, Crosshair continues the conversation… just as any actual, ordinary, polite human being might.
"You got any?" Crosshair drawls, not looking away from the expertly dismantled pieces of weapon arranged on the cloth.
"A few," Slowpoke tells him. "You said you do needlework."
"Right."
"Just your own?"
"No," Crosshair says. "Need a decent artist?"
"If you've got the time," Slowpoke answers.
"Thanks to them," Crosshair says darkly in reference to Tech and Echo still lying beaten to all Hells and convalescing down in Resolute's medbay. "I do."
"Delightful," Slowpoke says flatly, but not lacking in any sincerity.
"Yep," Crosshair agrees.
…
As Hunter sits there with Crosshair and Slowpoke, contemplating how all Hells must have frozen over, how blurrgs must now fly, and how rathtars now make fantastic housepets, Easy joins them at last.
Stepping out of one of Specter squad's largest equipment chambers, Sergeant Easy is leading General Kenobi to the shop's entrance after what appears to have been a successful, albeit lengthy, inspection. Upon finding the Hunter and Crosshair seated with Slowpoke waiting for him, Easy stows the datapad used for the spot-check and leads the Jedi Master over to greet the Bad Batch commandos.
Hunter, Crosshair, and Slowpoke all move to stand as the General approaches.
"At ease," says Kenobi with a humble wave of dismissal. "I daresay we burned the midnight oil on that inspection, wouldn't you agree, Easy?"
"I would, sir," Easy tells Kenobi. "If we'd have known the inspection was going to be with you, we'd have told Hunter and Crosshair to avoid our shop like the plague."
Hunter feels his eyes go wide with surprise and he notices Crosshair stiffen in the seat next to him. They know that Easy's a friendly guy, but the reg's amiable, familiar tone with High General Kenobi is nothing short of shocking. How could a group of restricted line intel spooks be so close with a Jedi Master General who's known for leading only the most dangerous ground assaults in the bloodiest campaigns?
"Yes, poor you," Kenobi simpers to the group of clones. "You see, when I learned one of the senior ship captains had a spot-check with your division, Easy, I begged him for the honor."
"Couldn't resist a reunion with me and Slopes, could you General?" Easy says merrily.
"That and," says Kenobi. "I wanted to be sure this fine division wasn't being entirely sabotaged by you and your previous leadership experiences. Experiences which—may I remind you—happen to be quite unconventional for one assigned to your current post."
"True. And is it, General?" Easy asks. "Being sabotaged, I mean."
"It isn't," Kenobi allows with a grin. "At least, not in its entirety."
"There it is, lads, straight from the varactyl's mouth! I'm not running this place into the Pits, look at me go!" Easy shouts, slapping the sniggering Slowpoke on the back in celebration. He then turns to Hunter and Crosshair.
"Hey, you boys know General Kenobi already, yeah?"
"We do," Hunter confirms. "Good to see you again, General."
"And you, Sergeant," Kenobi says with a nod to him and to Crosshair.
"Aw, just look at them, Slopes. Isn't it cute?," Easy says, nudging his wingman. "Look at the specials trying to figure out how we scope jockeys would be so chummy with the likes of High General Kenobi."
Though it's a pretty insightful assessment of Hunter and Crosshair's sentiments, Hunter chooses not to say anything to that. Neither does Crosshair.
"You mean to tell me that you haven't regaled them with your deeds from your previous designation?" Kenobi asks, calmly stroking his beard. "I'm outraged."
"We haven't had the time yet, sir," Slowpoke explains, finally choosing to join the conversation. "And we wanted to do it justice."
"Yeah," agrees Easy. "And we've been busy busting our hairy assess getting ready for our spot-check with you, sir."
"You mean... the one you didn't know was actually with General Kenobi until it started?" Hunter asks slyly.
"Yep, that's the one," Easy unabashedly declares with a wink. "There's just so much to tell! And now it'll have to be tragically abbreviated due to the unforeseen eternity spent on the inspection."
"Well, my sincerest apologies to you and to your asses. Hairy or otherwise." Kenobi says aridly. "Please allow me and Anakin to make up some lost time for you by covering the basics."
It's only then that Hunter senses the arrival of another in their presence. Not a clone though…
"Just the basics, Obi-Wan," says General Skywalker, suddenly materializing out of the woodwork and startling three of the four vode. "We have an emergency meeting with the Council in ten minutes. Sorry for the intrustion, but I couldn't raise you on your commlink."
"Curious," says Kenobi with a suspicious glimpse at Slowpoke. "Must be some interference in here."
Slowpoke, himself, averts his gaze.
"What interference?" Skywalker asks, looking pensively from his master to Slowpoke.
"Oh-oh! I'll start the story!" Easy hastily interjects. "It was pretty epic. We were with the 212th, partaking in the invasion of Geonosis round two. Slopes and I were in a gunship with General Kenobi, approaching a landing zone... the 'naughty cat' I think it was."
"Bad Kitty," says Slowpoke to Hunter and Crosshair. "The ship was Bad Kitty, and we were en route to Point Rain so that we attack the droid factories there, in force, with two other battalions. "
"Right, right. Details. Love it," Easy agrees. "So, we're in the ship, all hot-blooded and geared-up to crush Poggle, and then BOOM! We get hit. I mean we get slammed. We lose our pilot and our gunners right away and start falling out of the sky like a duracrete balloon. Nothing but black smoke, blaster spray, and bedlam. Some of us even started... you know... makin' our peace."
"We were ambushed while still at altitude," Slowpoke adds. "Not one of us had any chance of surviving the crash."
"That is until," Easy continues. "General Kenobi took matters into his own hands and saved us all. He used his Force magic to secure us safely in the hold upon impact and our lives were spared. And when I say "us," I mean he excluded himself to do the deed. He nearly lost his own life when we finally crashed, but all sixteen of us clones who survived the initial hit walked away from it. It was fucking religious, mate."
"Holy shit," Hunter hears Crosshair utter under his breath. Hunter, himself is also truly astounded.
"Hmm, if that's not vainglorious hyperbole," Kenobi adds pointedly, "then, I'm not sure I know the meaning of the words."
"Funny," says Skywalker darkly. "Because I'd say you don't know the meaning of 'self-preservation' either, Obi-Wan."
"Well, that's rich coming from you, sweet Padawan," Kenobi jabs right back at him. "Easy, I trust you'll fill in the more important aspects of the story? For example, the details about you and your men's heroic deeds during the campaign."
Easy doesn't comment on Kenobi's personal devaluation of the sacrifice he made aboard the plummeting Bad Kitty, nor does Easy answer Kenobi's misdirecting question. He just closes his eyes and heaves an exasperated sigh.
"I will, sir," Slowpoke declares instead. "I'll make sure they get the full story."
"Good. Well, enjoy the evening, gentlemen," says Kenobi bowing and heading for the door. "Shall we, Anakin?"
"Can't keep the Council waiting," says Skywalker sullenly, bidding the clones farewell and moving to follow his Master. "'Til next time, troopers."
Just then, Hunter remembers something important.
"General Kenobi!" he calls as he darts up from the table and intercepts Kenobi just as he and Skywalker have made it out into the quiet hallway. "A quick question, sir."
"Go ahead, Sergeant," says Kenobi invitingly.
"I just wanted to see about that shipment, sir," Hunter tells him, glancing around the corridor for any nosey strangers. "The one for Tech. From...err..."
"The one from your Lady Fair, Obi-Wan," Skywalker chimes in smugly.
"Hmm, I'm not sure what you mean, Padawan," Kenobi says coolly. "But I do have an update for you, Hunter. The courier is en route. We can expect the shipment to arrive within two rotations. I've been assured that Tech will be quite satisfied."
"That's fantastic," Hunter tells them. "Really, sir. This will be great for him."
"We do hope it will," Kenobi says.
"Good for Tech means good for the rest of us," Skywalker points out.
"True. We'll contact you as soon as the product is… ready to sample," Kenobi tells Hunter then continues on his way to his meeting. "We must be off, Sergeant. Good night."
"We'll be in touch," Skywalker adds with a cocky smirk, then falls in alongside Kenobi.
Hunter watches the two Jedi disappear down the dimly lit hallway before returning to Specter's shop to hear more details about Easy and Slowpoke's enigmatic past.
…
"They both gone?" asks Easy about the Jedi Generals.
"They're gone," Hunter confirms.
"Hoo-hoo! Finally!" Easy says sounding indecently alleviated. He must notice the surprised looks on Hunter and Crsshair's faces because he hurriedly explains his excitement. "Not that I don't love those guys, but I wanna give you boys the "unabridged" version of everything if you get me. Now, where was I?"
"Geonosis," Crosshair reminds him.
"The crash and the invasion," Slowpoke adds.
"That's it," Easy says, motioning for the rest of them to follow him toward what looks to be some type of crude lounge set-up. "Let's break out a few beers and get a little more comfortable, shall we? Could be a long night."
"That," Hunter says, thinking about how much beer and simply relaxing with Crosshair, and two of the most intriguing regs he's ever met, appeals to him right about now. "Sounds perfect."
Once everyone is situated comfortably in their seats, cold beer in hand, Easy starts to pick up where he left off with the story. But something else has been weighing heavily on Hunter's mind, and he suspects that Crosshair feels the same.
"Hang on a sec, Easy, because this has been bothering me for hours now," says Hunter. "Can you tell me and Cross how it is that you guys know Tech? I'm dying to know, vod."
"Ha yeah! Now that we've got some privacy, I'd be happy to," says Easy eagerly. "Oh, you boys are gonna love this."
"Don't lead the story with that, Easy," Slowpoke cautions. "What if they're disappointed?"
"Quiet, Slopes," Easy dismisses him with a hoot. "You laughed your skinny ass off last time we brought it up. This shit is funny no matter how you cut it!"
If Hunter's expectations of the saga were high before, they've now skyrocketed. The idea of Slowpoke so much as chuckling is compelling enough, but the concept of him 'laughing' his 'skinny ass off' is just downright intriguing.
An hour or so goes by and Hunter and Crosshair are still up in Specter's shop swapping stories with Easy and Slowpoke. By now, several more of Easy's guys have wandered over to meet the two Bad Batch commandos and revisit some of the epic tales that are being told. There are still a few guys at their various watch stations, but the ones who've been relieved seem to be forgoing their racks and personal time to join in on the fun.
"So lemme get this straight," Hunter says to his and Crosshair's new mates: the OIC and AOIC of a highly secretive, highly reserved, gang of radar operators and crypto specialists. "You two were both ARC Troopers when you deployed to Geonosis, but you got hurt and now you're both cryptos. And you met Tech... when you were doing deep-dives into encrypted networks?"
"I know it sounds mental," Easy affirms. "But it's the damn truth. Cadet's honor."
"Sorry you boys got hurt," Hunter says.
"Thanks, vod. Yeah, we were sorry too when they yanked our ARC designations," Easy says. "Not sorry at first though. What happened was me and Slopes were caught in a bad blast during the final push. But it was all the typical injuries you know? We still finished the job and all."
"It was only later we learned we'd both sustained some pretty serious TBIs," Slowpoke adds. "When we tried to go back to duty after everything on the outside had healed, we were having a lot of trouble."
"Still do," Easy continues. "Slopes has these violent seizures now and then. It's pretty hard on him. And me, I get bad vertigo pretty often. Can't tell which ways up or down. It's madness. Also—not that my mind was a transparisteel trap before—but my short-term memory's just garbage now."
"The first time vertigo happened to him, we were in formation. All of a sudden, he keels over like a drunkard and starts hugging the deck as if the ship's capsizing," shares Slowpoke as he takes a careful sip from his beer. "Our CO was furious because he thought Easy was takin' the piss. I mean, we all did! But when he looked up at me, green as Endor grass, I just knew something was horribly wrong."
"Yup. Then not long after, Slopes kept getting the shakes more and it became clear that both of us were still affected by whatever that blast did to our brains. Our CO transferred us to medical for eval and treatment, but the long-necks never could cure us. They put us on meds and the meds do help, but we'll always have symptoms. They wanted to decommission us."
"How'd you dodge it?" asks Crosshair.
"Yeah," Hunter says, also craving to know how a medical decision made by one or more Kaminoans was thwarted. "The long-necks are cruel and stubborn when they deem a clone can't perform as promised."
"Kenobi," Easy says simply. "He heard we were being de-commed, then he made other plans for us before the Kaminoans followed through."
"He said he 'negotiated' our 'lateral transfer,'" Slowpoke adds. "But really, we think he pulled us out of there and hid us in Skywalker's inventory somehow. We think he put us in crypto because there's not a whole lot of people who even have the clearance to look at our muster sheet."
"That and it's probably the last place the Kaminoans would expect two infirm, unsound, adrenaline-addicted ex-ARCs to wind up," says Easy, grinning around the growing circle of brothers. "But here we are!"
"Here we are," Slowpoke agrees. "It's a pretty good gig too, eh fellas?"
There's an excited murmur of assent from around the room.
"We do miss working directly for Kenobi, though," says Easy, sounding a little forlorn. "But he kept us close enough by stashing us with Skywalker's crew. We still see him every now and then. Plus, they're so close that if you're working with one, you're pretty much directly working with the other too."
"I can see that," Hunter tells the group, thinking about all the times he's seen the two men joined at the hip both in battle and in banter.
"Works for us," says Slowpoke. "Plus, we figure the best way to show Kenobi our gratitude, is to look after Skywalker."
"Yeah. Just not in the same way we used to on the ground," says Easy. "But with crypto and espionage and instead. Digging up intel and cyber-sneaking around enemy databases and frequencies."
"You're good at what you do," Hunter reminds them, thinking about how instrumental Specter squad was in helping the Batch retrieve Tech and Echo. "Can't see how anyone could stay off your radar. Or how they could keep intel hidden from you if it's something you guys really want."
Easy and Slowpoke share a wry grin and a few mutters and sniggers break out around the room. Vexed by Specter squad's communal reaction, Hunter and Crosshair glance around curiously, feeling very much on the outside of an inside joke.
"We're not laughing at you," Easy tells them sincerely. "Promise. We're laughing because it's so damn ironic you would say that."
"Oh... yeah?" Hunter says, still unsure. "Why?"
"I know why," drawls Crosshair, revelation dawning on his sharp features.
"Why then?" Hunter asks him.
"They tried their little tricks on Tech," mutters Crosshair pensively. Then turning to Easy and Slowpoke. "Didn't you? And he knew it."
"At the heart of it," Easy says. "That's exactly why.
"We weren't 'trying our tricks' on Tech, specifically," Slowpoke clarifies. "We were doing a routine breaching exercise and Havoc Marauder was one of the ships on our scopes. We didn't know anything about her but her name and designation, so we wanted to give it a go. Plus, Easy and I were still relatively new here at the time, and our brass was adamant that we prove our worth."
"Yeah we were new, but we'd already done a hundred tests on a hundred different ships. And we'd cracked all of them without breaking a sweat. So there we were, dumb and cocky enough to think that spying on Havoc Marauder would be like spying on any of the others," Easy adds frankly. "We soon learned the hard way that we were wrong."
"Oh man," Hunter says, feeling like he finally knows where this story's headed. "Wha'd he do when he detected you guys?"
"He identified himself as Marauder to confirm the vessel. And then he warned us fair and square," Easy says. "Said he'd recognized our efforts to slice into Marauder's mainframe and they'd just be futile."
"And, what," Crosshair asks, "you thought the arrogant nerd was bluffing?"
"Of course, we thought he was bluffing," Slowpoke tells him. "By then, we'd looked on the GAR universal database and saw who you guys were, and we figured the one called 'Tech' was on the comms. We thought you guys were too specialized to bother with crypto know-how and we thought our advanced training and equipment platforms would give us the upper hand in this challenge. So we went right ahead with it, trying to show Marauder who was boss."
"He warned us one more time before he counterattacked. And then..." adds Easy. "And then he made us learn just who the kriff we were dealing with."
"How?" drawls Crosshair.
"Then all of our display screens went dark for a few seconds," Easy says. "And when they recovered, a little feature film was playing for our enjoyment. On all of them."
"Oh no..." Hunter says, only daring to imagine what Tech had in store for them at that moment.
"An adult feature film," Slowpoke supplies.
"No way!" Hunter says, hooting in unison with Crosshair.
"And I know what you're thinking," Easy says, cracking up at the memory. "You're thinking 'oh yeah like you've all never seen a porno vids before,' right? Well, it wasn't just any smut film, fellas. It was all Hutts."
The collective groan that sounds out through the rollicking atmosphere of the room only makes everyone laugh even harder.
"But-but, not just Hutts," Easy chokes, fighting back tears of mirth. "They were fucking ancient, elderly, old Hutts."
"Probably the sickest shit I've ever beheld," says Slowpoke, collecting himself.
"And that's saying something!" comments one of the boys Hunter hasn't met yet and Slowpoke looks on, playfully peeved and casially brandishing his middle finger.
"How long did he let it go on?" asks Hunter, almost afraid to find out.
"A good hour," Easy tells him. "And by then, we were on our humble knees, begging him to relinquish control before any of the brass caught on, or we'd all be sent up! So, that's the story of how we "met" Tech."
"And," Slowpoke adds. "We've been friends ever since."
"Friends?" Crosshair grumbles. "You all then just decided you wanted some stranger, cyber maniac as your friend?"
"Yeah, why not?" Easy says. "He was perfectly civil about warning us and we were the ones who bit off more than we could chew. I would have done the same thing he did if someone was trying to mess with my guys' info and I had to teach them a lesson they'd never forget."
"True," Crosshair agrees. "He was just protecting us. Sounds like it did the trick."
"Sure did," says Slowpoke. "But we couldn't help but like him so we stayed in touch. We see him logged in as "Marauder" at some of the virtual Crypto conferences that we attend for training. We always say hey and he does too. But, collectively we never messed with Marauder again after that."
"Collectively," Easy reiterates. "Doesn't mean we're above having some of the shinies give it a go on their own when they're getting too big for their britches."
"Yeah, whenever we get students or rookies who come through thinking they're real hot shit," Slowpoke says. "We send them right to Tech. We have them do a test in which they target Marauder and Tech takes care of them for us. You know, knocks them down a peg or two."
"How does Tech only target one guy at a time if they're working out of your shop?" Hunter asks.
"Well, we can't tell you how he does it because we have no karking idea," says Easy.
"None, whatsoever," Slowpoke adds.
"But, we can gladly tell you what he does. It's different every time, but he'll usually send out a mass message from their personal account with something ridiculous typed in the body of it. We've actually got them all saved somewhere..."
Easy then swivels around in his chair to address the gathered members of Specter squad.
"Oi, Specter," he says to them. "Whose got that list of messages that were sent whenever we've had shinies try to spy on Marauder?
"Got it right here, boss," says a clone from Easy's squad, tapping, and scrolling on the datapad at his console.
"Yes, Timber, well done!" Easy then swivels back to Hunter and Crosshair. "Hunter, Crosshair, meet Timber. He's gonna do a dramatic reading of some of the good ones. Aren't you, vod?"
"Can do Sarge," the reg says readily, clearing his throat. "Let's see... oh here's a good one. This one was from a rookie whose unit was here for training before they went on to check in aboard Tranquility."
To everyone's delight, the reg called Timber stands up out of his seat to make sure everyone can hear, then takes on a serious tone of voice to read out the messages.
"Good morning, brothers. Sorry to bother, but does anyone have a spare set of sheets I could borrow for my rack? I pissed in mine again last night and they're absolutely ruined. Thanks in advance.""Damn, Tech," Hunter hears Crosshair whisper fondly as the room erupts into more laughter.
"That one got sent to our whole battalion and the battalion he was due to check in with a few days later," Slowpoke adds happily.
"That one's one of my favorites," Easy says admiringly. "Timber, give us another."
"Sure thing, boss," says Timber.
Hunter finds himself wondering if Timber is Specter squad's designated orator when it comes to recitation of the absolutely absurd.
"Any requests?" asks the reg before sharing another.
"Do the aftershave one!" shouts somebody on watch at comms console.
"You got it," Timber says readily, as he repeats the same process but with a slightly different voice this time so that the audience knows a different rookie is now speaking.
"Dear Vode, does anyone know what that alluring aftershave is that Commander Cody uses? I just passed him in the p-way and it made my mouth water. Can't get it off my mind and thinking of trying it out for myself. Cheers.""Hells, tell me Cody didn't hear about that one," says Hunter eyes going wide but with a guilty grin.
"He did," Slowpoke reports mildly. "From some ass-licker down in Air Frames who was trying to make chief at the time. And the Commander was fuming. "
"Ahhh he sure was!" Easy agrees wistfully. "We actually caught flak for that one too, because it's literally our job to stop external tampering of any kind. And I just had tuck tail and say 'sir, look, if we knew how this guy was doing it, we'd put an end to it.' But, as you guess, that didn't really cut it for ole Code-y."
"'This guy'?" Crosshair asks. "You didn't rat on Tech?"
"'Course not, Crosshair, you sullen prick!" says Easy, playfully cuffing the sniper on the chest. "Kriff, you're pessimistic! We were the ones who set that loud-mouth, blowhard shiny into Tech's lair to begin with. And it's well-known Bad Batch gets far less free time than most."
"Yeah," Slowpoke agrees. "He's doing us a huge favor every time he gives arrogant new guys like that a good lick because it's arrogance that could cost our operations everything. Plus we bounce ideas off him all the time. We kinda lean on him here and there."
"Also, it was a nice reality check for those of us who were thinking we'd take another swing at Marauder's database," Easy admits. "Some of us thought we could find a way past Tech's defenses. But the truth was, we'd just forgotten that if we tried to mess with the wampa, we were gonna wake up, swinging by our ankles, in his cave."
"He did feel bad though when we told him Cody had us on scullery duty for a week after the incident," says Slowpoke. "After that, he stopped including anyone else in the narratives by name."
"Let's hear another message, Sarge," someone requests.
"Alright one more," Easy allows after consulting with and sharing a knowing look with his number two. "But just the one or we could be doin' this all night. Pick another good one for our honored guests, lads."
"The one about the butterfly!" shouts a Specter reg, to an outpour of general agreement.
"No, do the one about the dance recital!" cries another to a similar level of assent.
"Both are fantastic, but let's have the butterfly," says Easy, swiftly and expertly breaking the tie. "Go for it, Timber."
"Butterfly it is," says Timber, preparing for one last little speech.
Hey comrades! I'm looking for a tattoo artist onboard... anyone have any good recs? Preferably someone good with colors because I'd like a maridun butterly on my lower back. And also, someone with a tender touch. I've extra sensitive skin and I cried a lot last time because it really, really hurt. Best regards."Oh shit!" Easy exclaims. "He straight castrated that dude!"
"He kriffin' deserved it, if my memory serves," reasons Slowpoke, casually sipping his drink. "And it does."
...
Hunter and Crosshair laugh heartily together as Easy moves to finally break up the fun. The reg sergeant sends those on watch back to their stations while Slowpoke sends those who aren't, down to their barracks to get some rest. After the shop returns to a general state of order, the four clones sit together peacefully once again.
"And thus concludes the adventure of how we met your Tech long before the mishap with the Bounty Hunters," Easy declares as he pours another round for each of them.
"Well, the story officially did not disappoint," Hunter says, clinking his glass on Slowpoke's. "And to be honest, it's probably the least controversial thing Tech's accomplished with his skills."
"Where does he even come up with that stuff? I mean, he really doesn't mess around," says Easy, still laughing. "And worse, he looks a bit funny ya know? Like someone you could mess with at the cantina. But he's a kriffing savage, he is."
"He is on another level," Hunter agrees fondly.
"He's on his own level," Slowpoke says in a sudden moment of mindfulness. "Bet it gets lonely."
"It did," Crosshair tells the reg flatly. "But that was before Echo. Now, Tech has a partner when it comes to perpetrating cyber crimes."
"Thats's trouble," says Easy, sounding blissfully intrigued. "Oh right... Echo! I forget Echo's got a whole new skillset these days. Hey, do you think Echo would know how to get past Tech's security and then help us finally retaliate? Maybe he'd sympathize as one former ARC to another."
"Fuck no," says Crosshair with a dry bark of cruel laughter. "Fuck. No. And he's still an ARC."
By now, Easy and Slowpoke understand Crosshair's aversion to sugarcoating anything. But Hunter senses that they're still startled at the rigidly abrupt change in the sharpshooter's tone. As his brother and batchmate, Hunter knows Crosshair meant nothing more than emphasis by it, so he readily smooths over any ambiguity felt by the regs.
"What my charming scout sniper means," Hunter says with a laugh and a relaxed smile. "Is sorry, that's not happening, fellas. Our ARC's all business. He doesn't trouble himself with devious pranks and scruples when there's work to be done.
"Well, that and, he'd never tell you," Crosshair mutters, taking a sip from his beer. "Those two have been inseparable since within hours of knowing each other. It's revolting."
"It's true," Hunter adds. "They kinda just meshed from the start. I don't think you could even drive a lightsaber between them at this point."
"Fuck," says Easy, cautiously admiring them. "Well, cheers to them being on our side, eh boys?"
"Cheers," Hunter says in unison with Crosshair and Slowpoke as they bang their glasses together and take a long draught.