It's the sixth rotation, now.
The others are rising from their bunks in the aftermath of the gong's morning toll. Tech's the only one who doesn't really move, the infection running deep in his veins. Everything hurts, and it's agonizing. He can't so much as tilt his head an inch without the bunkroom spinning around him. His throat is parched, his stomach as empty as Echo's has been for the majority of their time here- majority meaning that Echo's eating again, now that he's back on his feet and working in the mine again. Tech had just made it through that fifth rotation, his body in such a poor condition that even the clone-traumatized Padawan couldn't entirely hide pity from his features. In the end, he'd collapsed, holding his removed cybernetic finger and wondering why the kriff he's so incredibly weak in comparison to his brothers.
Omega, ever so curious about the galaxy, has gained Hunter's permission to speak with the young Caleb Dume- on the sole condition that he isn't made aware of her being a clone, of course. In Tech's good moments, she asks him questions about the Jedi culture, and he does his best to answer them. She even asks them of the Order's downfall, and he explains the events of Kaller and the execution of Order 66 to her.
"Is it true, that the regular clones were told to kill all of the Jedi?"
"Yes, they were- and they followed through with it."
"And they all died?" She asks.
"Yes, Omega, I am afraid so." He doesn't dare lie to her.
His body is such a jittery, uncoordinated mess that even the guards deem him unfit to work, leaving him to lay alone as the other head off to work. He sweats as he shivers, he aches as he sleeps, and he knows that there is nothing that he can do but to cling onto the hope that his body has enough strength to ride out the storm. But he doubts that it does- he's losing control of himself quicker than Echo had. He has a sneaking suspicion that he, unlike Echo, is dying.
He clings onto his detached cybernetic finger, because it's the only thing he has left, other than his siblings. The Marauder is presumably abandoned in the mountains of Ord Mantell, his gear is Force knows where, his medkit is far from his reach. At least, he still has something, even if it's no longer functioning properly at this point. He holds onto what he has, because it's all he can do.
He's not quite prepared for the fever dreams.
.
"Why do I have the feeling that we're going to be here forever?" Echo asks, scowling. The focus of the scenery behind him is unclear, but it might be the bunkroom. "We left the Empire because we were tired of being controlled, and look where that's gotten us."
"Ha!" Wrecker boasts, coming to stand in front of Echo, who fades into the background. "No one can control me!"
The light grows harsher, the giant clone's shadow shows on the ground. The bunkroom transitions into the barren, rocky lands of Ord Mantell. It's so hot, Tech's burning, he can't think- a beam of purple suddenly cuts across his view, and the shadow's growing when he can see it again, mutating. Wrecker's legs are shortening themselves, his tailbone extending, his arms growing in length. His torso swells, and his head rises like dough, becoming several times the size it should be.
Tech looks up- his brother's mouth is huge, his teeth sharp, shining in the fading sunlight.
Another flash of violet shoots past, and his brother- the Rancor- is slumping forward, those teeth glistening red, flies buzzing around the carcass the moment it hits the dusty rock. A booted foot plants itself on the Rancor's back, and a half-blind Zygerrian laughs down at Tech. He moves to scramble back, and arms seize his own, dragging him away with ease.
The scene fades away to darkness.
"You know, I thought finding the kid was a lot, but Clone Force 99 with him? I'm surprised we found them so fast. Wonder what happened to that lucky streak of theirs."
"Yeah…We just gotta keep this one alive long enough to have the commander send him through to medbay before the brig. Heard the longnecks won't be happy if any of them don't make it."
"-Hey, is it just me, or is he waking up?"
Bright balls of light shine at him through the darkness, like the twin suns of Tatooine.
"Not enough to be a problem for us."
"Good. Utapau gave us a run for our reputation. These boys would destroy us."
"Yeah, right. Look at him, Boil. I honestly don't know how he's breathing. Kriffing Zygerrians, don't know when to quit. They're-"
Silence.
It begins to grow lighter, at last, and trees spring up from the ground on either side of him, stretching on farther than he can see with his goggles. It's not very warm here, but his back is burning, his shadow cast out in front of him, occasionally disappearing as he's guided beneath the canopies of the tall trees. The rest of him is so, so cold- but there's no snow. Everything spins around him, the warm forest warping to his eyes. His bare feet grab at the ground, but the force holding his arms doesn't allow him any respite for a long time.
When it does, he's being shoved down to his knees, and the planet begins shaking beneath him, trees begin to collapse, the ground starts to cave into the planetary core.
"Call in a medic to meet us in the hangar. He's fading fast…"
He falls into the abyss. It's quiet, there. No noise. No sounds. Just a dull ache in his back.
.
.
After what feels like a few long minutes, the ache gradually begins to grow back into something not intense, but stronger than before. There's a soft, steady glow behind the black curtain in front of him, a small, distant star in the void of space- a beacon of life in a sea of death. He's always wondered what it would be like to be physically able to touch a star. He can't help but to reach out towards it, to close his fingers around it. It feels...like himself. How peculiar.
The wave of tranquility begins to fade, his head surfacing from beneath Kamino's waters…
"-iet! I think he's waking up." Someone says.
Tech flinches at the suddenality of the sound as his eyes drift open, gasping for breath. Above, a bright light glares down at him, like the star from his dream, adding to the intense pounding of his skull. With a sound of protest, he squints against it, and someone else's arm raises to shield his eyes for him. Why the kriff is he laying on his back? Isn't it infected?
"Easy, Tech." The familiar voice that belongs to the arm above him is gentle. It's Hunter- he only knows it because a reg would never speak to him in such a manner. "You with us?"
Half blind, taking deep breaths, he nods.
His brother's whole aura eases at that. "Good, good. Catch your breath, vod'ika. You alright?"
"...Was drowning." The words come automatically, without his thinking it through. At Hunter's baffled expression he adds,"Fever dream."
"Don't worry, Tech! You're safe now." Omega brightly assures him from somewhere on his left.
"Safe." Echo's scowl reaches his voice. "These Imperials are anything but safe…"
"Imperials?" That catches his attention, and he jerks away from Hunter's grasp, scrambling up to one knee, narrowing his eyes as he examines the room they're in. He notes that Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega wear orange prison garb, he and Echo are clothed with the familiar red patient uniform. Their shock collars are long gone. The room itself is as dark as the black of the Crosshair's new armor. But the moment that his gaze stops on the ray shield, he knows that this is not anywhere from the facility on Kadavo. He glances back at the others, at a loss. "...Where are we?"
"Welcome aboard the Negotiator, flagship of the Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth." Echo responds, the sarcasm not lacking.
"We're in the brig." Hunter adds, as if that isn't obvious.
"Lovely." He mumbles, sighing. Slaver problem solved, Empire problem back in full force. There's no break. Their luck evidently has not improved while he was unconscious. But, it does seem that the Imperials have had him treated for the infection, for his back does not hurt nearly as much as he last remembers. Nonetheless, there are many questions still unanswered. "How did they find us?"
"They were looking for the kid." Wrecker's answer isn't quite what he hoped for.
"Omega?" He frowns, puzzled.
"The Jedi." The larger clone's voice is a dramatic whisper, and Tech almost rolls his eyes.
"Oh. Right." Caleb Dume. He finds himself scanning the cell yet again, looking for any sign of the solo Padawan. But his poor eyesight doesn't pick up anything, and Hunter reaffirms the obvious yet again.
"He's not here, Tech." The sergeant says. "They took him somewhere else when they brought us in. Not sure what they're planning on doing to him, but it's nothing good."
Images flash through Tech's head, glimpses of recent memories: a daunting match against live fire training droids; a mother sheltering her child, a renowned freedom fighter coming to greet the squad; Crosshair pointing his Firepuncher at them; a flash of fear in the face of such a loyal friend; the dwindling number of rations; a glimpse of Omega hanging from a Pantoran tower, a figure in an orange-topped helmet reaching down for her; the barren plains of Ord Mantell stretching endlessly before the Marauder, dotted with small mountain ranges; the yellow-orange glow of an electronet; a young, dead Rancor falling from the grasp of a creature that it had been unable to defeat; his armor laying out before him, as his brothers' does them; shame, at an intensity he has never felt before; stale bread and dirty water; horrible worry that tears at every fragment of his being; a fire rooting itself deep within his back, flaring up so powerful that even reality warps away into places he's never dreamed of revisiting.
Good does not belong in the same sentence as the Empire, an entity constructed from blood, betrayal, and fear. The Republic had been built on protection and compassion, on hope- hope that had been destroyed with three simple, catastrophic words. "Execute Order 66." The Empire is born of ash, a hollow reformation of what had preceded it. Hollow…just as Tech feels. Every ounce of his being has been poured into protecting Omega and his remaining brothers from harm, and, when there was no way around it, tossing himself into such a position for them- only for them to wind back up where they began, captives among blood kin.
"No, I don't imagine so." He murmurs, after a moment, in silent agreement, slowly slinking back to Hunter's side, settling beside him on the floor. He absently moves to tap his fingers together, pulls up short halfway through the motion upon the reminder that he had taken the cybernetic digit off. Where it is now, he has no clue. He won't be surprised if he learns that the Empire's taken it. As if they have a use for it. After it'd been given to him, he'd easily redone half of the mechanics and structure to fit him. It won't fit a regular clone, should one need it. He could certainly use it-
"Your finger, how didn't I sense it?" Hunter wonders.
Tech shrugs to the best of his ability. "You were not looking for it."
-He could use a lot of things, really. They all could.
They could do with Crosshair's return. They could do with the removal of their supposed inhibitor chips. They could do with making more friendly contacts. They could do with the aid of a whole defective battalion- kriff, perhaps even the aid of the extremist Saw Gerrera. They could really just do with bringing the whole Empire down, to be honest- with Crosshair alongside them, of course. Because the Bad Batch only functions at its best with all of its members- something proven time and time again, something solidified by their pathetic defeat on Ord Mantell. They have to have their hundred percent to do their hundred percent. They know that, now. Why had they been so naïve as to take on such a task when they're anything but whole?
Tech really must look glum, for one of Hunter's arms wraps around his shoulders and pulls him close.
"We'll figure this out, Tech, I promise."
His eyes flicker up to his brother's tattooed face, because that's a steep promise to make. The probability of it being true, the probability of it lasting…so low. This transformed galaxy is unkind to anything akin to peace or happiness.
But Hunter's face doesn't falter, and Tech knows that he intends to see his promise made good.
.
Time goes by slowly, locked up in the brig of the Venator. There's really not all that much they can do. They can sleep, make small talk, play word games all they like, but even those don't distract them completely. Even Omega seems more subdued than she normally is. Tech's thoughts roam, as they often do, always circling back to the situation they're stuck in.
They must've been the Empire's captives for at least a couple of rotations, now, given how well his back seems to be healing. He knows that an infection as deeply rooted as the one he had had would take a lot to work out of his system, that a few hours in a bacta tank would never suffice. They must've had to give him a good number of antibiotics, must've had to give him quite a few antitoxin injections. Oh, thank the Force he wasn't conscious for any of that. He wonders what the Empire wants with them, for them to heal him, for them to aid in Echo's own recovery process. It must be for something important, he supposes. The thought of the Imperials scheming to use them for something unnerves him, sends chills up his spine. He can only hope that it's not related to their malfunctioning inhibitor chips. He doesn't want any of them to end up like Crosshair and the regs, like the commander of the battalion that this very ship belongs to. To be a slave to such a thing, it's worse than death.
The moments of silence bother Tech. He misses the familiar rhythm of work from the mine on Kadavo- it's the only thing he misses from Kadavo, the only thing he ever will miss from back there. He's not sure if the absent tapping of his foot is to fill that void or to release nervous energy. It's not helping either case all that much anyway. Still, the rhythmic tapping helps ground him, and helps to mask any sound of distress that may slip from him as his mind wanders. Hunter does nudge him a few times and half-heartedly ask him to try not to do it, but his foot keeps starting up again anyway.
.
"I spy, with my little eye, something…" Wrecker trails off for a moment, eyes flickering around the cell. His voice returns triumphantly. "Something orange!"
"Orange?" Omega's frown reaches her voice. "But we already did our jumpsuits. That's the only orange in here."
The brawler lowers his voice to a near-whisper, unsubtly aiding her. "Look at the ray shield."
"But the ray shield is red-" She cuts off abruptly, just as the hum of the ray shield stops and the red light blinks out.
Tech looks up, surprised, to see one of the reg guards cautiously stepping into the cell, a good handful of what appear to be ration bars in his grasp. The Batch warily watches the trooper, and two armed men behind him watch them, as if they expect them to grab the food-bearing man and beat him. Of course, they don't- they're smarter than that.
"The commander wants you to keep your strength up." The reg grunts, dropping the stack of ration bars to the floor. He turns to leave. "I suggest that you do it."
"Yes, sir." Echo sarcastically mutters under his breath, just loud enough for the rest of the Batch to hear.
As Hunter and Tech sigh, Wrecker snorts. "You tell 'em, Echo. Nobody controls us."
"You better watch it, lab scrabber, or you'll return to Kamino with another mark on that face of yours." The reg warns from the doorway, nodding for someone to reactivate the ray shield. He sneers. "Wouldn't want that, would you?"
Wrecker falls silent.
"That's what I thought."
A transparent, warbling wall of red shoots up from the floor, locking them in once again. The security group turns and marches on to whatever cell they're needed at next, leaving the cell in a tense silence. The ration bars sit in the middle of the space, yet to be touched. Tech's stomach growls, splitting the quiet, but he makes no move towards the food. Omega reaches for one, then pulls back uncertainly, drops her hand back to her side.
Hunter gives her a gentle nod. "Eat up, kid. You'll feel worse if you don't."
She glances at Wrecker, who's arms are crossed across his chest as if he thinks they'll heal what wounds the reg's threat dug.
"He'll be fine." The sergeant promises. "He's heard far worse. Isn't that right, Wrecker?"
"Huh?" The brawler looks up. "Oh- yeah, yeah. That was nothin'. I'm fine."
"See?" Hunter glances back to Omega, who still hasn't moved from Wrecker's side. "It's nothing to worry about. Come on, eat up. You too, Tech. And don't try to tell me that you're not hungry- we all heard your stomach."
"I was not going to." Tech retorts, though he's not certain whether it's a lie or not.
"You know you were."
He merely shrugs, not seeing the sense in continuing the blooming debate. He nods to Omega, silently indicating that she grab something from the ration bar pile before him. She is a child, after all, and the lack of food will only stunt her growth. Not that a few seconds will do much of anything, but Tech's always been courteous.
Omega gives a small smile and reaches forward, plucking a ration bar from the pile, then another. One, she hands to Wrecker, who lights up at the prospect of eating food. She begins to open up her own, the packaging crinkling loudly.
Tech takes a moment to stretch out from his cramped position, following an instinctive procedure as he does so. His arms first, then his legs, followed by his back- that one hurts, but not as much as he expects. He makes sure that he covers every joint, down to the knuckles of each finger- it's a difficult process with his right hand, given that his cybernetic finger is not on his person any longer. There are a few other sore spots throughout his body, for he hasn't properly rested, really, in a few rotations. Stretching feels good, after several hours of sitting in that upward fetal position. Perhaps, if they are in here for much longer, he will turn some of his foot-tapping into periodic pacing, just to keep his joints lax, to keep the blood flowing through his body. Too much work on Kadavo, too much of a break here. He really shouldn't be complaining about it, but- there really is no in between, is there?
He claims a ration bar for himself, and Hunter grabs the last two, tossing one up to Echo, the only one actually on the bench in the back of the cell.
Ration bars taste bland- always have, always will- but bland tastes much better than the dry, stale texture of the bread on Kadavo. He never thought that he'd be glad for the near-flavorless thing, but here he is. He feels his hunger more strongly than before as he eats, his stomach silently rumbling as it devours the nutrients in the ration bar, spreading them throughout his system and giving him the slightest bit more energy. It's not nearly enough food to satisfy his half-starved body, but he's thankful for it nonetheless- there's no dust in it, and that alone is a big upgrade from Kadavo. Echo makes sure to express the same sentiment aloud.
Funny thing, how he's almost scarfed his food down as quickly as Wrecker and Omega. He's usually the slowest eater- though, he's also usually working on something when he eats.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to get some sleep while I can." Echo declares, stretching his arms, and laying back on the bench, curling his cybernetic legs up to his chest to leave more room beside him if anyone decides they're tired of the floor.
"Good idea." Hunter murmurs. "The rest of you should get some sleep too- I'll wake you if anything important wakes me." Because it's a given that something will wake him.
But Tech knows that none of them are actually going to sleep, as they curl up. Being locked in a cell for so long, they have too much built up energy to sleep. And, they have too much on their minds- he's not the only one burdened by the situation, it's merely worse for him because of his blasted enhancement. Nonetheless, Wrecker lays down on his side, pulls Omega close in replacement for his stuffed Tooka doll. Hunter lowers himself to his back, crosses his arms behind his head. Tech doesn't even bother moving, simply shifts more of his weight to lean against the wall behind him. Silence washes over them.
He still hates the silence. It's even worse, now, with the others all pretending to be trying to sleep. He hears naught but the occasional sigh, the rhythmic deep inhales and exhales of air. He yearns for someone to say something, anything. But they don't, and his mind takes him to other places.
The roaring of Kamino's waves, drowned out only by the sound of thunder, the shake of the city.
The booming laugh of Wrecker, full of joy, lengthy and heart-lightening.
The bustle of a seedy planet town, the way they keep looking over their shoulders, just in case.
The crashing of rocks, tumbling down a mountainside, dragging him away from his brothers.
The sound of a ship's guns, the shuddering of the Havoc Marauder, the alarms blaring fiercely.
The whispers of the regs, Crosshair's hands curling around his fork, ready to stab someone.
The high pitch of a battle droid's voice, the feeling of a blaster pressing to his skull, ready to kill.
The familiar resonance of an explosion, the acrid tang of something burning, everything ablaze.
The hum of the Marauder's engines, strong and familiar, soothing to his soul.
The horrid sound of a projectile tearing flesh, a rush of pain, a sudden spurt of crimson fluid.
The static of disabled comms, the sickening worry pulling him down, the weakness of his legs.
The bellow of an angry Rancor, ready for battle, the salt of blood in its foul breath.
The steady beep of a heartbeat monitor, the sterile smell, the prick of a needle in his arm.
The tapping of his foot- Hunter steps on it. Oh.
He mumbles a sheepish apology.
It falls quiet again. The ray shield continues warbling, a wall of transparent red static between them and freedom. But it is more complicated than that, is it not? The Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth, a whole battalion of Imperial troops, are still aboard the ship, as is Caleb Dume. There's no way that the regs would just let them escape, with the kid or not. Tech already knows that they'll likely go after the Padawan. He's a survivor, and should remain so. He and the Batch, they're each the last of their kind- of what they originally stood for. They stood for the Republic, as unstable as it had been in its final days. Who knows how many others are out there who think the same, who are against the Empire? Saw Gerrera had given the Batch an option, on Onderon: to either adapt and survive, or to die with the past. And Force forbid that second option comes true. The past isn't done, not yet. Far from it.
"If we give up now, everything we fought for, everyone we've lost, will have been for nothing. I won't let that happen. The Clone War may have ended, the Civil War is about to begin."
Everything used to be so simple. Allegiances were clearer, blasters were cleaner, relationships were stronger. There was an answer for everything. Now, there is only a cause: to fight to survive, to preserve the past. And that's easier said than done, as they're coming to learn- the galaxy is no longer just the black of Crosshair's new armor and the white of the regs', but the gray of Kamino's stormy skies.
"Echo?" Omega quietly inquires, scattering Tech's thoughts.
"What is it?" The cyborg returns.
"Can you tell a story?" She asks. Echo's the Batch storyteller, really. Probably because most of his stories are ones that the other Batchers have never heard before, are something new to their ears. "It's too quiet."
"Yeah, sure." The former ARC trooper consents. "Just give me a few minutes to think of one."
"Okay!"
A few beats pass.
A reg walks past the cell, barking something to someone farther down the corridor. Tech's mind flashes back to the image of the rations patrol, and something clicks. And just like on Kamino, he wonders why he hadn't thought of it before. Because, really, jumping a reg is not difficult at all- it's not as though they haven't done it before. They just have to wait for the right moment, for the right reg- one who won't suspect a thing. And given how both he and Echo are still dressed in patients' clothing...a medic. They don't tend to walk around armed. Yes, a medic would do wonderfully.
"I know that look." Hunter's lifted his head to look at him. "What do you have, Tech?"
The others turn to look at him, now, too. He can feel their eyes on him. He keeps his voice low as he speaks, to avoid catching outside attention, his words confident for the first time since before their capture. "Echo and I are still patients. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that they will send a medic to escort us to the medbay for a physical exam. And medics usually travel on their own."
The sergeant hums thoughtfully, encouraging him. "I like where you're going with this."
Tech nods. "I suggest that Wrecker jumps the medic when he arrives. From there, we can find our gear, assuming it has been transferred to the Empire's possession- and possibly the Padawan- and make our escape to the hangar. It will not be difficult to steal one of their ships once we are there."
"I like it!" Wrecker laughs, causing Omega to flinch at the volume.
"Question is: how long do we have to wait?" Echo points out.
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have more than enough time to tell Omega that story she asked for." Hunter humors him.
"How about the Battle of Kamino?" The cyborg asks the girl. "Have I told you that one?"
"No." Omega shakes her head.
Tech's eyebrows raise in surprise. This is a story that none of them have been told."You were there?"
"Oh, yeah. I was there, alright." The older clone confirms. "My twin and I both. That's the day we were referred to the ARC trooper program. Rex was proud."
And he tells them. He tells them of leading a squad of reg cadets, he tells them of his twin's speech. He tells them of old 99, his bravery and his fall- and that sparks a whole side conversation about the old clone, who had given Wrecker his name, who had touched the heart of even Crosshair. In turn, they tell Echo of their own meetings with 99, and he tells them how the maintenance crew leader is the reason that his own first batch even made it through training and out onto the battlefield. Omega's the only one among the Bad Batch who never got the chance to meet the old clone. Tech thinks she'd have liked him.
"Come on, boys- do you know how much work it is to clean the mess hall after one of your fights?"
"Uh, sorry, 99." Wrecker rubs his neck.
"I'm not." But there's a light gleam in Crosshair's eyes.
"It won't happen again." Hunter says.
"Actually, the probability that it does-"
"-I don't want to hear the numbers, Tech."
"No, no, it's alright." 99 assures them. "But that table you flipped yesterday..."
Hunter turns to Wrecker. He hadn't been there. "Table?!"
The conversation is light-hearted, in comparison to where they are now, and he misses it the moment that their words begin to fade back into silence.
Somehow, Wrecker and Omega drift off into sleep, their deep breathing filling the air, providing something to listen to other than the ray shield. And, for the moment, there is nothing to worry about. They could almost be back aboard the Marauder, or in their barracks on Kamino, merely awaiting their next orders. That's what it feels like to him, anyway- and it's what he wishes it to be. He tries to pretend that's what it is. Waiting for orders feels much better than the anticipation of waiting to break out of a cell, at any rate.
.
Time trickles by slowly, like the occasional drop of water from a leaky faucet. Drip, drip. Tick, tick. The pace of the rhythm is the same.
Tech's, admittedly, starting to doze off himself, his foot having long since fallen still, his chin tucked against his chest. Being locked in a cell is, oddly, the safest place he's felt in quite some time now. He doesn't feel the same uneasy sense of danger here that he felt on Kadavo, and before that, on Ord Mantell. It's really quite nice. But he's still- they're still- far from safe.
Hunter's moving, suddenly, accidentally jostling him with a broad foot, pushing him over onto his side. He jerks from his state of near-sleep, scrambling upright, his eyes wide in a mix of surprise and curiosity.
"What is it?" He murmurs.
"I think..." Hunter frowns. He's crouching by the ray shield, now. He tilts his head, listening, his brow furrowing. All of the electrical energy must be messing with his senses. His voice is sharp with his next words. "Tech, the kid's out."
"About time." Echo mutters. "Maybe he'll swing by and grab us."
Tech snorts. "I highly doubt that."
"Can't tell." The sergeant grunts. "I can hear him cutting down the regs. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that." He pauses. "Wake Wrecker and Omega. We need to be ready to-"
The ray shield flickers out, the transparent red dissipating. In its place, a single orange and white reg, a red cross on his left pauldron- the medic they've been waiting for. He's unarmed, and alone. Just as Tech knew he would be.
"CT-9907, you need to come with me." The trooper orders.
No one moves.
A moment passes.
Two.
The medic takes an uncertain step forward.
Hunter's fist collides with his helmet, and his body crumples to the floor, duraplast clacking loudly. There's a brief moment of hesitation before the sergeant grabs the motionless trooper and heaves him out of the corridor, drops him at Wrecker's feet. He lightly kicks the giant, startling him awake in an instant, Omega shooting up immediately after, bleary-eyed. Echo hops down from his perch, extends a hand to Tech, pulls him up.
"Aww, I wanted to knock 'im out." Wrecker whines, glaring at the unconscious reg.
"Next time." Hunter promises. "Let's move. It won't be long before they find us, even with the kid out too."
"He got out?" Omega asks.
"Yeah. We'll figure that out later. Come on- let's at least get out of the prison level by the time they realize we're gone."
The sergeant turns, peeking his head outside the cell, as if he doesn't trust his senses. Then he turns, nods to the others, and waves them forward, staying low as he sprints out into the corridor. The rest of the squad follows, because there's no way they're staying. Even Wrecker, for once, manages to keep quiet as they slip down the hall, past other cells that contain sleeping occupants. Tech wonders how many are criminals from the Clone War, how many are innocents who have been captured since the rise of the Empire.
It hurts his head, being in a decently lit environment, squinting for all the details, surveying every inch of the corridor for danger. It's been so long since he's had to properly focus his sight on something, and it's so much more difficult without his goggles. He hopes, again, that their gear is here somewhere, that his goggles and cybernetic finger are with it. Because Force knows how he'll survive without them.
They make their way around corners, dart across intersections, take each step as silently as possible, as they make their exit. They speak little, and what words that do pass through their lips are no louder than whispers. It reminds him of how they had made their way back towards the hangar on Kamino, that fateful day that Crosshair was turned. They occasionally halt, ducking through a doorway or back down a hall, letting a reg patrol pass. All of the patrols seem to be headed in the same direction, moving at a brisk pace. Towards the Jedi, Tech knows- they'll have to hurry, lest the boy be overwhelmed and killed, just like his Master on Kaller.
They find their gear when they're hiding in one of those side rooms. It's an armory, lights off, empty of all life, abandoned by the troopers chasing after Caleb, racing blindly to their deaths under the order of a single, crucial piece of technology inside their heads. In the back, opposite of the door, a two-faced helmet sticks up from an open crate- Hunter's helmet. It's Omega who points it out to them, her voice joyful. Yes, she definitely has Crosshair's observation skills. At first, Tech had been slightly upset that they'd gone back to Kamino for her, as that's when they lost Crosshair, really…but now, he's glad. Because the effects of Crosshair's chip would have only worsened anyway. Omega's by no means his replacement, but she does a good job at helping to fulfill the gaps he's left behind. They would be much worse off without her, and she without them.
Hunter's the first to open the crate, digging through it, giving only the quick warning of "Tech, catch," before something hits the engineer's chest.
He catches the strap of his goggles by a single finger, and smiles as he recognizes the feel of it on his skin. "I was wondering if I would ever get these back." He puts them on, the elastic-like material feeling strange after going however long without it. The sudden rush of detail is almost overwhelming, and he's glad it's dark. Nonetheless, confidence bubbles up in his chest. "This will take some getting used to, again."
As Hunter and Echo sort through their gear and Omega changes back into her Kaminoan outfit, Tech slips his datapad and turns it on. At first, he screws his eyes against the sudden light, but they slowly adjust, and it's not long before he's beginning to hack into the regs' comm channels, searching for the most chaotic one. The air is alive with static and voices as he sorts through them. Hunter merely sighs, shaking his head, as he wraps his bandanna around his head, reminds him to gear up too.
The others are nearly ready to go when the engineer finally patches through to the right channel. He keeps the volume low enough not to attract outside attention, turns to grab his own armor.
Hunter shoves his chestplate into his hands.
Tech's not prepared, and nearly drops it. "This is much heavier than I remember."
"I'd like to see you try to fit in it." Echo's struggling with getting his own armor tight enough to make up for the weight he's lost.
It's not long before the crate is empty, all of the armor in the hands of its rightful owners, a pack full of explosives slung over Wrecker's shoulder. In its place, there are three sets of orange prison dress, two of red medical garments. It's comforting, to have their armor back. The weight of the holsters at Tech's hips, the pack on his back, the helmet on his head. His shield is back, so to speak. He feels less vulnerable, now, even if his back isn't very fond of the load pulling down on it. But he's not leaving anything behind- even his useless cybernetic finger is in a pouch on his belt, the empty slot of his glove awkwardly tucked in. His DC-17s fit comfortably within his hands, switched to stun, prepared for the inevitable firefight they'll end up in.
They've sat by and let things happen to them long enough. It's time they take things into their own hands and actually take proper care of themselves.
According to the comm chatter, Caleb's making his way down to Bay 5. There's talk of a couple platoons heading there to cut him off, and it's clear that the Batch needs to find and warn him before he gets there. Among the chaos, though it takes several minutes, their own absence is also noted. Someone mentions to shoot to kill them, that they've been declared a lost cause- Of what? Tech suspects that there was more to his forgotten medical checkup than he originally thought. They were going to surgically activate our chips, he realizes. And he's all the more glad that they slipped from their cell when they did- they've just narrowly avoided a fate worse than death. Not that death's off the table either, yet. Far from it.
Now that they have their gear back, they're a little less cautious as they make their way through the ship- and it's not just because of the unmufflable clacking of their armor. Having their gear back, it's given them all an extra boost of confidence. They know that they can fight their way out, especially with the Padawan's aid. It makes them more dangerous, and more daring. They don't stop to duck away from many of the reg patrols, but take them out instead. They move quicker, this way- more of their style. Fast, always on the move-
"Good. That's the only way I know."
The regs can't possibly keep up, if they catch onto their location and directly pursue them. The Separatists never really could. Captain Rex and the ARC trooper Jesse hardly could on Anaxes- it was both infuriating and amusing, then. These chip-controlled regs are hardly better than clankers themselves, and definitely not anywhere near the level of their temporary old Five-Oh-First companions. It's a comforting thought- but it doesn't mean that the regs won't cut them off along the way. The Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth's in chaos, and who knows where half of the men are right now. So, they move faster, faster, faster...so fast that the details flash past, and Tech's overwhelmed eyes don't have to worry about taking them in.
As a matter of fact, it seems as if everything goes by rather quickly, Hunter guiding them through corridor after corridor, and it's not long before the rest of the squad can hear the sounds of a fight ahead, blasters firing, regs screaming, a lightsaber humming as it swings through the air. Tech's almost forgotten that they're soldiers themselves. It feels strange, hearing the sounds of a proper battle after hearing nothing but the chipping of rock and the snap of an electro-whip for so long. Here they are, back in the action. And it's time to do things as they do them.
"There's no turning back now. Get ready." Hunter advises, as they round one of the final corners.
Echo passes his spare pistol down to Omega. "Only use it if you have to. Got it?"
"Got it, Echo." She nods.
"Tech, Wrecker?" The sergeant pauses while he can, turns back to look at them.
"Ha- I'm always ready, Sarge." Wrecker boasts, hefting his blaster up for emphasis.
Tech offers an indifferent shrug. His back protests. "Let's get this over with."
"Right." Hunter glances over them all. "Stay together, stay sharp- we'll be alright."
Standing tall, blasters at the ready, Clone Force 99 bursts around the final corner, flooding out into the action.
The regs aren't expecting an attack from behind, too busy attempting to push a frontal assault on the Jedi. Stun blasts pulse from the Batch's blasters, felling several of the Empire's men by the second. The occasional red blaster bolt is reflected off of a vibrant blue beam of plasma energy at the end of the hall, slamming back into a trooper here or there. The floor is covered in the familiar orange and white armor that belongs only to the men of Cody's battalion, the air is thick with the smoke of a couple dozen discharging blasters- Omega wisely covers her nose and mouth, but the majority don't pay it any mind, too focused on the task at hand.
The regs are in chaos, barking orders, screaming as they crumble to the floor, panicking as they realize that the most formidable group of their brethren is now upon them, working with the Padawan. It's an absolute mess.
There's no retreat for the men of the Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth. They try to slip past the young Jedi's reinforcements, but it's really no use. They're fighting the Bad Batch, the sole squad that failed not even a single mission during the entirety of the war against the Separatists. Clones and Jedi have always made a near-invincible team, and this is no exception- fighting other clones or not, in a mutated galaxy or not.
"What are you doing?" Caleb calls to them, voice full of wary surprise, as he cuts down another trooper who'd gotten too close to him. The boy's wearing a green and gray outfit, a darker shade of the Forty-First's signature color adorning an armored right arm. It doesn't look bad on him, nor does it make a horrible disguise for his Jedi heritage.
"We're escaping." Echo retorts, twisting to his left and firing a stun round into a reg's chest.
One trooper reaches for his comm, to report the latest development- the Batch's arrival to the scene- in, but Tech's faster, planting a blue pulse of energy into the clone's chest. Duraplast hits the floor, the man within unconscious. Several other regs follow him down, choked cries of surprise tearing from their throats. It's done before any of them can finish calling for backup, a flurry of blaster shots and explosions.
"There's going to be more coming, now that they know you're with me." The Jedi warns, slashing down one of the final regs and kicking the body aside as it falls. "You're just making everything harder."
Hunter sighs. "You wanna come with us, kid, have someone to watch your back out there?"
"I don't need protection. And certainly not from clones." Dune snaps. His eyes flicker towards the way the squad had come, as if expecting more of the Empire's troops to come around at any second. "But…I'll lead them away from the hangar. Split them up a bit. You can, I don't know, maybe get a ship or something."
"Right, kid. I can see there's no changing your mind." The sergeant says. "How're you gonna get out of here?"
"Yeah, I'm not falling for that one." The Jedi comments, pointing his lightsaber in warning as he backs away, about to leave. "I'm not your problem. You worry about you, I'll worry about me."
The pounding footsteps of the next wave of Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth men is audible, accompanied by a relay of orders. The Padawan's eyes narrow, the Batch tightens their hold on their weapons.
"Good luck, little Jedi." Wrecker encourages. "You're gonna need it."
Tech gives the slightest nod of agreement.
"Be careful!" Omega calls.
Caleb turns to go.
"Commander." Echo's voice stops him, utterly sincere in its words. "May the Force be with you."
Sea green eyes- Oh, they match his outfit- widen, and his head bobs in a stiff nod. "Yeah…Let's hope."
Caleb Dume says nothing more. He doesn't wish them luck, doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't even look back, his blue-bladed lightsaber rising in front of him. As the next group of regs rounds the corner, he charges them, slicing three apart in a heartbeat. And then, he runs, vanishes deeper within the Venator, troopers tailing him. It's the last they ever see of him.
The times of Jedi and clones fighting together have passed, but their final meeting doesn't have to end with pain and death. This one didn't. It's the only one that didn't. And it hurts all the more, knowing that.
It's silent, for a moment, other than the sounds of the regs pursuing the boy. Their footsteps and shouts carry back to the Batch, the blastershots and the screams echoing as the escapee fights back.
Then, Hunter shakes his head, snapping out of it. "He's right. It won't be long before they catch up with us. Tech, how far are we from the hangar?"
"Bay 5 is not far from here. I doubt that we will run into any trouble before we arrive." Tech has long since memorized the layout of a Venator- it was part of his training. "Follow me."
.
The path to the hangar is indeed clear. They don't cross paths with even a single reg. It would be odd, if they hadn't had access to the Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth's comms, if they didn't know that they're walking into a trap. It's funny, in a twisted sense, how they're willingly walking into a trap after the Zygerrian camp on Ord Mantell. But then again, there's no reward without at least a little risk. They have no other option.
The whole you'll-either-do-it-or-die thing is by no means new to them. They've fought countless battles without any outside support before. But this time feels different. Because they are more on their own now than ever before, because the Republic is gone and the Bad Batch is all that's been left uncorrupted- though not entirely, given Crosshair. They have no one to call in to send down more supplies, no one to miss them should they fail to escape. Not that they would've been missed by many even if they had been terminated during the war. But, they have a real cause now, one that actually means something: taking care of each other. And, perhaps, rescuing Crosshair should they learn more about the ships and have the opportunity to reach him. It's something, and it's a better cause than what the Republic ever offered them. Tech knows that they will never take fighting to their last breaths more literally than they are now, not until those goals have been accomplished.
"We are here." He quietly informs the others, as they pull up to the closed hangar door. He raises a hand to halt them, pulls down his visor, switching it to read thermal signatures. Orange shapes leap up at him almost immediately, bleeding through the hangar walls. A dozen, two- maybe even three. All appear to be armed, and all face the door, waiting. "That…is not ideal."
"How many we got in there?" Hunter asks.
"Too many." He huffs, shoving his visor back up, scanning over their gear thoughtfully.
Wrecker reaches over his shoulder, pulls something from his back. Once his hand is in view again, an open pack full of thermal detonators and charges hangs in his grasp- the bag that he stole from the armory. "Will this help?"
"I forgot you grabbed that." Tech remarks. Then, he nods. "It certainly will help, Wrecker." He glances back to the door, nodding again, though to himself, as a plan begins to formulate. "Place some charges on the door. I suggest the rest of us back off a bit."
"Why can't we just open it?" Omega frowns.
"Because that is what they are expecting." He replies. "It is best to catch them off guard. It raises our chances by a lot."
"He's right. Surprise is a soldier's greatest weapon. More useful than any blaster." Echo backs him up, as they move back down the corridor. "After working with General Skywalker for most of the war, I would know."
"Quiet down." Hunter murmurs. "Let's not give ourselves away yet."
After peering around the nearest corner and ensuring that the coast is clear, they slip around it, patiently wait for Wrecker to set the charges. It takes Tech telling him that the five already on the door are more than sufficient to get the explosives specialist to finally give in, hurrying over to them. Once Hunter gives the green light, Wrecker hits the detonator, and they duck back around the corner completely as the door is blown into oblivion, the busted frame fracturing in its wake. The air tastes of smoke.
"Alright, let's go!" Hunter barks, and they spring to action, launching around the corner, racing towards the flaming doorway, blasters in front of them.
They get about halfway down the corridor in their dash for the door before they have to leap behind the wythes lining the hallway, taking cover from the volley of fire from the regs when they regain themselves. Tech thrusts Omega between him and the wythe he's thrown himself behind, as red beams of light fly past them. Echo and Hunter occasionally popping out to fire a few useless shots back. Wrecker shields the bag of explosives between him and the wall.
It feels like the fight in the hangar on Kamino all over again, except this time they're fighting the Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth instead of Crosshair. Like last time, they're pinned. But, last time, they were trying to fall back, to retreat- and that's not what they're trying to do this time. This time, they're trying to push forward, and- that, they can do. That, they can win.
"There's too many!" Echo cries, clearly unnerved by the regs' numbers.
"Tech, what's step two?" Hunter calls across the hall to him, flinching as a blaster bolt flies past his face.
Step two, step two, step two…His eyes lock onto the bag of explosives again. "Wrecker, the bag!"
"You want me to throw the whole thing?" The tone of the large clone's voice suggests that he's more than aware of the damage that will come of the explosion.
"Stay behind cover." He tells Omega, resting a closed hand on her shoulder, when she tries to follow Hunter's example of firing back at the regs. To Wrecker, raising his voice just enough for him to hear,"Yes, Wrecker, I do want you to throw the whole thing."
He hears Echo say something to Hunter. "Let's just hope that Cody isn't in there."
It's too late to check. Wrecker's already midway through swinging the pack forward, all of his strength in the motion. It soars through the air when he releases it, slipping between shot after shot after shot, miraculously passing through the metaphorical asteroid field without taking a hit and blowing. It flies far into the hangar.
He's tossing a droid popper through the air, through the dark Anaxes sky, Hunter's rattling off coordinates to Crosshair. The Firepuncher discharges a round, and the EMP's going off-
Oh. This is essentially Plan 82, Shockwave- just a tad more fiery.
And this time, Echo is the one lining up and taking the shot, left index finger closing around the trigger of a DC-17 blaster pistol. The shot hits its mark, some unseen force guiding it straight and true.
In an instant, the bag is engulfed in orange and red and yellow, swallowed by the flames contained within the round devices it had been carrying. The tongues of fire expand in all directions, licking at the shiny armor of the regs, scorching it black- or, in another sense, wiping away the mask of peace to reveal the corruption just beneath the surface. Bodies fly. Screams tear through the air, just barely reaching the Batch over the roar of the flames. Tech holds Omega close, the girl shielding her eyes from the explosion, as the whole ship seems to shake around them. Wrecker lets out a whoop of joy.
There's no blasterfire jumping at them from within the hangar, and they cautiously peer out from their cover as the chaos begins to quiet itself. Silent in the wake of the explosion, they make the final few yards into the hangar, take in the sight of it.
The reg forces have been absolutely annihilated. Scorched orange and white armor is strewn across the flooring. Most of the bodies are unmoving. Others are curled in on themselves, clutching at potentially-fatal wounds, moaning. There are a few brave souls who try their best to get back up, only one who succeeds- he's promptly hit with a stun round from Hunter. Patches of dying fire lick at it all, making the scene all the more anarchic. Tech fights off a wave of regret- he's never enjoyed killing sentient beings, much less ordering one of his brothers to blow up a whole group of them. He's never liked the regs himself, but…this is a bit over the top. More than a bit over the top. It's absolutely overkill.
A hand claps him on the shoulder, jostling his thoughts. It's Hunter. "Come on, Tech. Try not to think about it too hard. It was either them or us, you know that." A little less-gently, he nods towards the rest of the hangar. "Go pick us out a ship. Omega, you go with him."
Tech takes a deep breath, nods, and jerks his head from Omega to the selection of ships laying out before them.
The girl takes the hint, follows him away from the others.
His eyes rove across the many ships set out in the hangar. Of course, those closest to the entry door are damaged, and he passes them by without a second thought.
He ignores the old LAAT gunship models used during the war, fends off memories of the few they'd accompanied regs in- most of those had crashed or been shot down, after all. They're hardly durable. Not to mention completely useless in space. They're only for low altitude, it's even in the name. He has to explain to Omega why they won't work, and he can't help the pang of frustration at the fact that she'd not been trained in anything outside of medical procedures.
It's a Nu-class attack shuttle that catches his attention. Another commonality and a GAR ship, it's actually suited for space travel and is far more durable than the LAATs are. It also has more room on board- more than even the Marauder. Perhaps, if they're unable to retrieve their own ship, this one will suffice as a replacement. But, for now, it will only be temporary. Because, why replace what doesn't need replacing?
.
Tech's just beginning to enlist Omega's aid in grabbing a few cargo crates from nearby- who knows what's in them, though they could really use anything at this point- when voices reach them from beyond the hangar, regs rounding the final corner and stumbling upon the devastation caused no more than five minutes prior.
Marshal Commander Cody's leading them. Cody. One of perhaps half a dozen regs that had ever been friendly towards the Batch. Tech knows it's the chip controlling him. He knows. But it still stings, and he still freezes up. A new firefight erupts, and Omega tugs on his arm to get his attention- she nearly gets shot herself before he thinks to move, and he'll never forgive himself for letting his mind slip yet again. They decide to duck behind the crates they'd been planning to snatch. His grip is painfully tight on his blasters. His hands tremble.
"Get a grip on yourself."
They can hear Wrecker, Echo, and Hunter return fire, desperately retreating further into the hangar. There's a cry of pain as a reg takes a non-lethal hit- but it's not a reg, the pitch of his cry just a tad too deep to be one. It's Hunter. Tech breathes through his teeth. Concentrate on doing something useful.
"Tech, Omega, where are you?" Hunter's voice patches through their comms, and, though it's wavering, and the signal's staticky, it's exactly the inspiration needed for a decent plan. "We need to get out of here, now."
"Omega, do you remember how to power the Marauder's engines?" Tech's been teaching her the workings of their lost ship.
She nods. "I remember."
"I need you to prepare the shuttle for departure." He tells her. He doesn't like being the one to have this power over her, to tell her what to do in such a tense situation. But he needs to get closer to the fight to get his signal through, and he can't very well start up the ship at the same time. Oh, how useful it would be to be in two places at once. "It should be relatively similar to the Marauder."
"What will you do?" Omega asks, frowning, as keen as always.
He cocks his head consideringly, settles on the truth. "I am going back to assist the others."
"But that's dangerous." She protests.
"I know it is. That is why I am doing it." He says, rising from his crouch in preparation to make the run back towards the others. He aims for the voice he used to use on Crosshair when the sniper needed to be patched up after a mission. "This is not up for debate. Get aboard the shuttle, Omega."
She holds his gaze for a moment, hopefully, worriedly. He narrows his eyes, daring her to disobey him. Then, she turns and races for the shuttle, and he can release a breath of relief.
Tech turns and lifts his blasters, making his back back towards the front of the hangar. He responds to Hunter as he goes. "We are working on it. Hold on just a moment."
"We don't have a moment!"
"I had a feeling you would say that."
Sprinting between ships, he holsters one of his blasters so that he can grab his datapad, which he plugs into his suit. He doesn't have time to sort through reg comms again. He pulls down his visor, drawing to a halt for a brief moment to scroll through the recorded sounds programmed into his suit's armpiece. Keeradak cries, Tooka growls, detonator explosions…Not good enough, he notes, keeps scrolling. A shrill interference beep? Ah! Perfect. That should do the trick. Now, he just needs to get closer…
Though his back aches, he resumes his forward advance, the fight ahead showing no sign of nearing an end. Regs cry out, bark orders at one another. Blasterfire bounces off of the floor and walls. Tech keeps moving, even when he's spotted and a trooper warns the others to watch their nine. The engines of the shuttle roar to life in the midst of the chaos, Omega fulfilling the orders she was given. Some of the regs try to branch off from the rest, to go shut it down and put a halt to the Batch's escape plan, but Tech cuts them off, leaping out in front of them.
He downs three of the seven troopers he's faced with before one gets a shot off on his arm- his weak one, the only one holding a weapon- and he drops his blaster with a strangled hiss of agony. He raises his arms up in a show of false surrender, his right arm burning as the new wound sizzles. But he smiles, because his datapad is still in his left hand, still connected to his suit.
He presses his thumb against one of the buttons.
It does exactly what he wants it to.
The regs howl in agony, stumbling, blasters dropping to the floor. Only a few are clever enough to rip their helmets from their heads to escape the sudden, shrill screech of Tech's implanted interference. They clamp their hands over their ears, claw at a certain spot on their right temples. Curious…But there's no time for them to regain their senses, for the Batch is leaping from their cover, firing stun blasts into the troopers' chests. Tech retrieves his own blaster from the ground and rejoins them in their final assault.
It doesn't even take moments for the men to fall, for the noise to die down to only the thrum of the shuttles engines and the crackling of fire. Tech stops transmitting the interference over the reg comms, puts his datapad away. The squad holsters their weapons.
"Nice job." Echo gives him a curt nod.
"Wrecker, grab Commander Cody." Hunter requests, jerking his head towards the unconscious form of the Two-Hundred-And-Twelfth commander, laying in the middle of the chaos. The fallen reg's helmet sits nearby, revealing the old scar on his face. "Get him to the shuttle."
"You got it, Sarge." Wrecker steps forward, hoists the commander over his shoulder, begins to make his way to Omega's position. Echo respectfully retrieves Cody's helmet.
"Let's move out. It won't take the ones still alive long to wake up." Hunter's limping. "Grab a couple crates too- we're going to need everything we can get."
.
.
The shuttle glides through the exit, out into the star-filled void of space, guided by Tech's well-trained hands, leaving the Negotiator behind in the wake of the hangar battle. Her engines thrum strongly, a few of the systems beep softly.
In the back, Wrecker straps Cody down, confiscates his weapons. Omega's busy asking him about the commander, questions constantly flooding from her mouth in a curiosity that rivals even Tech's own. Echo digs through the crates, inventorying their supplies- which is ironically greater in number than what they have on the Marauder. They've got the food they've been needing out of all this, in the end. Taking the slaver job has helped them, after all, in a roundabout, twisted way. But all's well that ends well.
Hunter sits beside Tech, in the copilot seat, his arms crossed across his chest, his injured leg resting atop his other, his helmet in his lap. He stares through the viewscreen, his eyes more attached to it than Tech's own, though there's a distant look in them and a slight frown tugging at his lips.
"You think the kid made it out?" He asks, catching the engineer casting a look too many at him.
"Perhaps, perhaps not." Tech replies. "Do not underestimate him, Hunter. Jedi have always been a force to be reckoned with."
"Hmm…" The sergeant gives a noncommittal grunt. "Still, he's-"
"-Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Echo's popping into the cockpit, making them each jump a bit. His helmet's somewhere back in the cargo hold, revealing the conflicted twist of his mouth. "But what'll we do now? Where can we go?"
Hunter absently shrugs.
Tech takes it as his cue to voice his thoughts. "Actually, I was thinking that we should return to Ord Mantell and retrieve the Marauder."
That snaps the sergeant back to focus. His eyes are wide at the suggestion, and his voice betrays his disbelief. "You can't be serious. Tech-"
He releases the controls to flash his four-fingered right hand. "-I have bled for that ship." He lets an uncomfortable moment of silence pass, reclaims the yoke. "Besides, there are a number of other items of use on board that I would rather not leave behind." And, perhaps, it will help convince you to give working for Cid one more chance.
"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this." Hunter sighs, twists in his seat to glance at the former ARC trooper. "Echo?"
"I mean, Tech thinks we should. And we'll never hear the end of it if Wrecker doesn't get his doll back. What else are we supposed to do?"
"Alright, it's settled. Tech, punch in the coordinates for-"
Something shoots past them on their left, shaking the shuttle. Hunter and Tech nearly fall out of their seats, and Echo stumbles into the nearest wall with a sound of indignance. Wrecker's very vocal about it himself, and doesn't fall quiet as he checks on Omega. Hunter curses. They could not have caught onto our leaving this soon, could they?
But when the ship evens out and they peer through the viewscreen- it's an escape pod! The Jedi made it out after all.
Tech flashes a glance at Hunter. "I told you he would be fine."
Wrecker and Omega file into the cockpit to see what's going on. The brawler lets out a whoop of joy the moment he figures it out.
The escape pod continues on, makes a few unsteady course adjustments towards the left- the Batch's shuttle is turning right, because that's the direction that Ord Mantell is in, according to the navigational computer. It's obvious that the boy is heading the opposite way intentionally, to avoid any future run-ins. Probably wise. And the speed that he's going at…Tech shakes his head, connects to the pod's comms.
"I would recommend slowing down, unless you wish to use up all of your fuel before you arrive at another planet." He advises.
There's no response, but the escape pod does slow in its retreat.
Hunter gives a faintly amused huff.
.
The shuttle leaps into hyperspace, and the stars swirl around them in a comforting blanket, welcoming them back.
