By the time they reached the landing platform, Hunter was gripping the side of the airbus with one hand and the back of the pilot's seat with the other, wondering why in the universe he'd ever thought Tech was reckless.
Quinlan Vos took the word reckless, redefined it, and brought it to new heights. He didn't follow any foreseeable route, but flew erratically, only changing his direction when it seemed that a crash was inevitable. He piloted as though completely unaware of everything around him, cutting through airlanes, diving beneath the railings of walkways, and – at one memorable point – tilting the airbus almost on its side to dodge by mere centimeters a droid-driven speeder that had been on a collision-course with them for a good four seconds.
Now, Vos pulled back on the steering yoke, cut speed halfway across the platform, and slammed on the brake. Before the airbus could come to a full stop, and without ever looking back, the Jedi hopped out and headed for the Havoc Marauder, carefully checking the platform for signs of – what, Hunter didn't know.
Slowly releasing the side of the airbus, Hunter forced himself to his feet. Vos, he swore to himself, was never flying again. Not with him as a passenger.
Tech got out and wobbled into Wrecker, who seemed completely unfazed by the insane piloting. For someone who hated heights, Wrecker sure didn't care about crazy flights or probable crashes. Or actual crashes, for that matter . . .
Hunter tilted his head back and removed his helmet, swallowing hard. He'd been through some rough flight sims and never once gotten sick. If the Kaminoans wanted to toughen up their pilots, or permanently scare them away from flying, they should put them in the co-pilot's seat and assign Vos to the controls.
His stomach lurched again. He drew a slow breath and cast a frown at Vos' retreating figure. It wasn't so much the motion of the ship itself – Tech was just about as bad, as far as that went – as the complete unpredictability of Vos' flight pattern.
Crosshair jacked himself out of the front seat, where he'd been squashed between Tech and Vos, and removed his own helmet. Raising a dark eyebrow in reply to Hunter's commiserating look, he said, "Vos is worse than Commander Cody."
"Hey, thanks." Quinlan materialized at his elbow, looking mildly preoccupied, then smirked as a thought struck him. "Y'know, I thought Cody was perfect at everything. What am I worse at?"
"Everything," replied Crosshair, and stalked off toward the ship to lower the boarding ramp.
Vos quirked his mouth to one side. "So, if I'm worse than perfect –"
Hunter did not have the patience for this right now. "Cody flies like a suicidal maniac," he said shortly. "You're even worse."
To his mild surprise, Vos grinned wolfishly. "I wonder if Obi-Wan's ever been piloted somewhere by his commander."
. . . What does that have to do with anything?
Tech cut in. "If you mean General Kenobi, probably not. The Jedi each have a Delta-7 starfighter, much like yours. Under normal circumstances, Jedi generals fly themselves; on occasion, however, they ride in troop transports, for which they already have assigned pilots."
Hunter sighed. "Yeah, Tech. He knows that."
Vos, who didn't seem to have been listening to Tech at all, appeared pleased. "I'm gonna have to remember that phrase for next time I run into Obi-Wan or Cody."
Hunter looked at him slowly. ". . . What phrase?"
"Suicidal maniac." Vos rocked back on his heels. "Is Cody really a crazy pilot?"
Wrecker laughed. "Like you wouldn't believe!"
"Actually, I'd believe it," Vos said, wandering after them as they headed for the Havoc Marauder. "I mean, everyone always thinks that Obi-Wan's the perfect, sensible Jedi, but I can swear to the fact that he has come up with the dumbest, craziest plans. And Cody seems really by-the-book, but I've heard a couple of stories. . ."
Hunter wondered if any of the stories he'd heard had to do with the Bad Batch's first mission. If so, Vos was fully justified in believing them.
"In the meantime," the Jedi continued, clapping his hands together. "I hope you don't mind my coming onboard, because I just remembered that Tech stole my ship."
Tech blinked twice in disbelief. "I did not steal it. As a matter of fact, you specifically asked me to –"
"Guys," Hunter interjected.
Vos and Tech both turned innocently injured looks on him before walking towards the ship. Hunter rubbed at the sides of his head and remembered too late that he'd put grease on his face as well as on his helmet. "Bad Batch. Post-mission briefing. Get onboard. You too, Vos."
Vos was already onboard, but he poked his head back out. "Say what?" he asked blankly, then disappeared.
Wrecker laughed and followed.
Crosshair frowned and inserted a toothpick between his lips, casting a sideways glance at Hunter.
Hunter blinked tiredly at him. "Let's just . . . yeah. Post-mission briefing."
They headed for the main deck's cargo hold. It wasn't particularly large, but they ended up using it as their living space, most of the time.
Tech sat on a crate while Wrecker stood beside it, leaning his weight against one edge. Crosshair went to his favorite position – a tall supply crate in one corner where he could have his back to the wall and still be higher up – and Hunter stood midway between them, arms folded.
Vos was nowhere to be seen. Of course not.
"Tech. Where's Vos?"
"He is in the cockpit," Tech replied, carefully removing his helmet. He had the start of what would be a significant bruise on one side of his forehead and cheekbone.
Hunter raised an eyebrow. "You want to start massaging that before it swells up so bad you can't get your helmet back on?"
Tech rolled his eyes, but set to work all the same, pressing two fingers against his face. Hunter's head was still aching, but when he touched it there was no blood, so he figured it was fine for now. Wrecker looked okay. And Crosshair . . . had been shot.
Hunter looked at him and waited patiently.
Crosshair did not move.
Wrecker glanced between them a couple of times before deciding to step in. "Hey, CROSSHAIR!"
The sniper gazed coldly at him. "What."
"You're ignoring Hunter again."
With reluctance dripping from every movement, Crosshair removed his med pack from his belt, took out a piece of cloth, and pressed it against the area between his shoulder and neck, just inside the edge of his armor. "It's only a scratch."
Outwardly, Hunter shook his head at the completely ineffective method of treatment, but inwardly he felt icy. That had been very, very close. A sniper bolt through the neck could kill as surely as one through the head. And he hadn't realized at first that Crosshair had been shot. The sniper hadn't reacted at the time.
Of course, it wasn't like this kind of thing hadn't happened before. Hunter let out his breath slowly and wondered whether he should question Wrecker as to whether or not he was injured. No, probably not. Wrecker had his own faults, but he was unerringly honest and forward. The other two weren't dishonest, exactly, but neither did they bother to report things that Hunter, as team leader, was supposed to know.
Tech had been less obvious about this particular failing at first, but as time went on, Hunter had slowly come to realize that he was every bit as sneaky as Crosshair. Tech just happened to be more friendly and communicative, so that no one ever suspected he was hiding things.
Of course, once Hunter realized that Tech liked to use random and useless pieces of information to distract him, it had more or less lost its usefulness as a diversionary tactic.
Vos still hadn't made an appearance.
Hunter tilted his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. It was strange, but the faults and failings of each member of the Bad Batch, including himself, had seemed to become more prominent once they were actually in the field. He couldn't remember that he'd ever really worried about his team's physical well-being while on Kamino.
Well, apart from the time he'd caught Wrecker testing explosives in the bunker; the time he'd found Crosshair attempting to climb to the top of Tipoca City from the outside; the time Tech had given himself an electric shock by getting hyper-focused on one section of the computer he was fixing and forgetting about the power backup; the time Tech and Wrecker had gotten trapped in that collapsed corridor on their training mission; the time during that same mission where Crosshair had started to call in and then been cut off, and had failed to report in for three hours because his comlink had been smashed by a super battle droid . . .
Hunter raised a mental eyebrow. On second thought, never mind. He'd had ample cause to worry. It had just been more sporadic, and in at least partially controlled environments. Now, though, they were without backup and without real help if something were to go truly wrong.
Hunter had always tried to treat his training seriously, acting as though each mission and exercise was as important as though it had been real . . . but somehow, being in the field just didn't compare.
Quinlan Vos finally came into the room, face cleared of the grease he'd used to disguise his tattoos, and tossed a clean rag to Hunter. "I recommend you take that off before it becomes permanent."
". . . Thanks."
"No problem." He flicked a strand of hair from his eyes. "You guys are all set, I guess?"
Tech looked up. "That would depend on what you mean by 'all set'. If you mean that we are relatively uninjured, then yes. If you mean that we are prepared to undertake the rest of this mission on our own, I disagree."
Wrecker chucked his helmet across the room in the general direction of the storage rack. "Aw, Tech, we can handle it!"
"Yes, well," Tech retorted. "We didn't exactly handle the last segment of the mission particularly well."
Hunter rubbed the cloth gingerly against his forehead, trying to remove the grease while avoiding the worst area of his headache. "What do you mean?"
Tech glanced at him. "We were caught off-guard by Aurra Sing. You would have been killed by Grakkus if Quinlan Vos hadn't stepped in."
Hunter reconsidered what he'd been thinking about honesty and who was more forthright. He didn't think Tech really needed to say that . . .
Before he could answer, Crosshair cut in. "Hunter wouldn't have been in danger if we'd gone back to the ship in the first place."
"Fair point," said the Jedi, casually studying his fingernails. "Which is why I wanted to go down by myself."
Hunter tossed aside the rag. "I decided to go down there, Vos, because I didn't want you going there by yourself."
"Yep." Quinlan put his hands on the crate behind himself and hopped onto it to sit cross-legged. "But you wouldn't have decided to do that if I'd gone back to the ship in the first place . . ."
"I just said that," said Crosshair.
Quinlan sniffed. "Yeah, I know. Still, if I'd gone back right away and returned to the tunnel later –"
That proved that Hunter had been right about Vos wanting to sneak away from the ship later. But Hunter wasn't sure what exactly the Jedi was trying to say. . . Vos certainly wasn't agreeing with Hunter. Maybe the Jedi thought he should have been more careful about disguising his intentions?
Tech cocked his head to one side, then to the other, as though he were a bird examining some bit of food. "The point is, we got into a situation we may not have been able to extricate ourselves from without severe injuries, had you not been along; but we would not have been in the situation in the first place if we'd bypassed that tunnel."
Vos gave him a curious look. "Yeah. And my point is, I didn't expect Grakkus or Aurra to be down there. I should've been more careful, but if I'd been alone, it would have been easy to escape. As it was, two of you nearly got killed during a confrontation I could have dealt with myself."
"Hm." Hunter folded his arms. "You seem to think that you should be handling most of this mission alone."
"That's how I operate."
Tech turned fully to face him. "ARC troopers are as highly trained and as skilled as commandos. However, they work alone, and commando squads are nearly always more effective."
"True," admitted Quinlan. "But there's a reason Jedi investigators don't have teams . . . And this mission isn't going to be like anything you're used to dealing with."
Wrecker frowned. "Well, it doesn't matter, because we've been assigned to work with you. Right?"
"I guess." Vos slid off the crate suddenly, as though tossing the topic of conversation aside. "Here, let me get that artifact."
Tech removed it from his pack, and Hunter regarded it for moment. The black urn had a sealed top and was decorated with deep red, nearly black, symbols.
"This language isn't in my database," Tech said. "What is it?"
"The language of the Sith," replied Quinlan, not looking at the symbols. "Tech, give it to me. That thing is full of dark energy."
"What kind of dark energy?" Tech asked, passing it to the Jedi. "Does this particular urn contain the ashes of a Sith lord? Do you know which one?"
"Dark side energy." Vos set the urn on the crate and rubbed his hands against his tunic. "Yes, it contains ashes; no, I don't know who from . . . Not sure I want to."
"How do you destroy it?" Wrecker asked.
"Just like anything else."
Hunter hummed. "Why did we bring it with us, then?"
"Um." Vos squinted at the ceiling for a moment, as though trying to come up with an answer. "How to put this. . ."
"It affects you," Crosshair said abruptly.
Vos gave him a sarcastic look. "Yeah, how could you tell."
"When it gets destroyed," clarified Crosshair.
"Yeah," said Quinlan again, then focused sharply on him. "Wait, how could you tell?"
Crosshair switched his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and didn't answer.
Hunter moved closer to the urn and looked thoughtfully at it. "Dark side energy . . . So you must be able to feel it."
Vos gave him a falsely casual smirk. "Like you with the droids."
"Ah! I see," said Tech suddenly. "When Hunter is too close to a sudden, intense frequency, such as a sudden release of high energy, it can affect him negatively."
Hunter narrowed his eyes. "You're saying that destroying this urn will cause a release of dark side energy?"
"Yep," said the Jedi. "Which I really hate. But there's nothing for it, so . . . I guess I'll just take this outside and –"
His comm beeped, and he stared down at it for a moment. "Huh. It's Vythia."
"Wait!" Tech ordered. "Don't answer that – she'll be able to track your location. Give me a moment to disguise the signal."
He rushed into the cockpit. As usual, Hunter thought, Tech's mind was far ahead of everyone else's. "Good thing we didn't spend an hour down there," he said.
Vos rolled his eyes, but then the comm beeped again. "How long will it take to –"
"All set!" Tech popped back into the room. "I overlaid your comm's identification code with that of your starfighter's comm."
Vos blinked and thumbed the comm button without comment. "Quinlan Vos here."
"This is Vythia Archane," said a female with an unusual accent.
"Hey, I was wondering when you'd contact me again. You have that job ready yet?"
She laughed. "I take it you're tired of waiting around."
"Yeah, kind of."
Hunter couldn't help a quiet huff. Some 'waiting around' they'd been doing. . .
"Then you'll be glad to know that my agent just reported something very interesting."
Quinlan's expression didn't change, but Hunter noticed that his fingers shifted towards his lightsaber – or, at least, the lightsaber he'd grabbed from Grakkus' hoard.
"A small team of bounty hunters has just completed a successful raid on Grakkus the Hutt's palace."
All the commandos were focused on Quinlan's comm by now, and the Jedi's hand had closed tightly around it.
"They must be skilled to have gotten in and out without losing anyone," Vythia went on reflectively. "There were four, each with a distinct appearance, but all humans."
"Unusual." Vos raised an eyebrow, as though truly intrigued by her words. "You want them watched?"
"No. I want you to talk to them. Find out what they're like. See if they would be interested in the job I hired you for."
"I'll need information on their whereabouts," the Jedi said, leaning over to snatch Tech's datapad. He glanced down at the map for a moment. "My ship's only an hour or so away from your warehouse."
"No need for you to come here. Head to Hutta Town. The last report has their ship at the airfield. Landing platform nine."
Vos tossed the datapad back to Tech and gestured. "Okay, but I hope I get there before they leave."
Tech started typing, and Hunter leaned over to watch as he re-calculated the starfighter's flight plan, sending it back towards the airfield.
"Even if you don't, you'll find them easily enough," Vythia said. "While they were gone from their ship, I had two tracking devices attached to it. I will send you that data."
"Okay. What should I offer them, in terms of – terms?"
She sounded amused when she answered. "I always speak directly with those whose skills intrigue me. Your task is to see if they are interested in work; and, if so, to bring them to the warehouse. Nothing else."
"Right. I'll get back to you on that, then."
"Very well. I'll be waiting."
The comm clicked.
Vos lowered his arm and gazed blankly between the urn and the commandos.
Tech looked up, fingers hovering over the keypad. "It will be a few hours, but your ship is on its way here."
"Good." Vos paced to the door, then turned to Hunter. "Vythia didn't say anything about the urn . . ."
"You think she knows about it?"
"Well, if she does, she probably also knows I'm with you guys . . . which means we're already sunk. But if that were the case, she wouldn't send me to hire you; so, no, I don't think she knows. At least not yet." He frowned. "She might still find out, if this agent of hers watched us while we were in the tunnel area."
"So what's the plan?" Hunter asked.
"We'll work on finding whoever was watching you."
"And the artifact?" Hunter wasn't sure whether dark side energy, whatever it was, could affect his team. Either way, he didn't want the urn lying around.
Vos visibly hesitated. "I – don't know."
"Can't you just smash it?" Wrecker asked.
"Well, yeah, but . . ."
Tech gestured with his datapad. "One of us could destroy it instead."
"No. If we destroy it, I'm taking care of it." Vos stretched backwards suddenly, put his hands on the ground, and flipped over to land back on his feet. "Ow . . . Grakkus and his stupid droid."
Hunter wasn't sure how acrobatics were supposed to help severe bruises, but he said nothing.
Crosshair slid off the crate and leaned his rifle against the wall. "What's the point of waiting?"
"To destroy it, you mean?" The Jedi rested his hands on his waist. "For one thing, if Vythia does manage to find out you guys took the spirit urn, she's going to want it."
"Because it's an artifact?" Wrecker asked, squinting one eye. "I dunno, it doesn't look like much."
"Appearances can be deceiving," replied Quinlan, casting a dark look at the urn. "In fact, they usually are."
Hunter looked up, his attention caught by the odd statement, but Vos was already on to the next thing.
"Hunter," he said. "If you were raiding some place for Jedi artifacts and came across an urn like that, what would you do? Take it or leave it?"
". . . I'd probably leave it," Hunter said slowly. "It doesn't seem like the kind of thing I'd want around, even if I didn't know what it was."
"And if you grabbed a bunch of artifacts, escaped, and then found that one of them was a spirit urn?"
Hunter glanced at Tech, who looked as confused as Hunter felt. "I'd get rid of it."
"Good. Then we can probably get away with destroying this thing."
Hunter blinked. Okay, enough with the vague comments. As Quinlan moved toward the urn, Hunter caught his elbow. "First explain that."
"What?" Quinlan looked around at the others, apparently recognizing the confusion in their eyes. "Oh . . . Sorry. Look, you guys are playing a part, right?"
"If you mean we're pretending to be bounty hunters, then yes," said Hunter, releasing him. "But what does that have to do with whether you destroy the artifact or not?"
The Jedi raised his eyebrows. "Everything."
Tech, still holding a hand against his rapidly darkening bruise, eyed him. "That rather cryptic statement might make sense to you, but it isn't making sense to us."
Quinlan Vos folded his arms, squinted at the ceiling for a moment, and said, "Okay, let me see if I can explain this. We're working on a kind of double-layered mission. I'm here for one reason, you guys are here to help me, but obviously we can't let Vythia know that, because she thinks we're all here for a different reason. To keep ourselves above suspicion, we need to keep our stories straight and above-board. So all the details need to check out."
Not helping, thought Hunter, catching Wrecker's bewildered look.
Vos went on. "Vythia Archane needs to be able to believe us. She needs to think that I'm who I claim to be, and that you are who you claim to be. But she's not stupid. If we forget a detail, she might very well tear our whole story apart. Remember, you guys aren't supposed to know me yet."
"I get it," said Hunter. "What you're saying is we need to have an explanation ready as to why we destroyed the artifact, just in case she finds out that we had it."
"Right. See, Vythia's after Sith artifacts – because of the Prince – and she's hired me to help her gain them. If you found a Sith artifact and then destroyed it, she'd think it unfortunate, but not noteworthy. But if I destroyed one, knowing that she wants it, she'd have real cause to be suspicious. Especially since, you know, it would be weird for me to meet you guys and promptly smash one of the artifacts you'd grabbed."
Hunter mulled this over for a moment. "Fair enough. Vos, why'd you tell Vythia your real name?"
"Because she assumes I've given her a fake name. All she knows for real is that I'm psychometric, a Kiffar, and have no known record."
"Still," Hunter said. "It's possible that she'll try to gain intel on a Quinlan Vos."
"Yeah, but she won't get anywhere. Vos is a clan name, and many members of each clan share the same tattoos. And I don't have personal records available."
Hunter glanced at Tech again. "We read the reports from a couple of your previous missions."
"I don't have records outside the Temple," the Jedi clarified. "Which means I don't have – wait, you got into the Archives?"
"I requested the information," replied Tech.
"Yeah, but how'd you even get into the Temple's system? With a military code? That place is high-clearance. . . Hold on. If you've still got that intel, we could be in danger."
Tech was unfazed. "I spoke with Commander Cody. He communicated my request to General Kenobi, who allowed him access to the Library records. A Jedi Master there compiled a few pertinent reports and sent them to Cody. He had them encrypted and sent to me. I've already removed all traces of their existence from our systems."
"You deleted them?"
Tech looked insulted. "Files can be recovered after simply being 'deleted'. I removed the memory chip containing my communications with the Negotiator and the files from the datapad, crushed it, and replaced it with a previous chip. All traces of our military communications log have been removed from the system. I've recoded our ship's comm and our ID. Even the Kaminoans wouldn't be able to recognize the Marauder now, at least not unless they saw it physically."
For some reason, Vos looked impressed. "You know how to cover your tracks."
"Of course. We were trained for infiltration."
Crosshair flicked his toothpick away and moved closer. "Infiltration, yes. But not the kind we're trying to pull off now."
"No," Hunter agreed, his mind running over everything he'd just heard. "So – we were raiding Grakkus' place because we'd heard that he kept Jedi artifacts. . . Where'd we hear that?"
"Luckily, that part almost doesn't matter." Vos grinned. "It's kind of an open secret and has been for a while. You probably heard it on Nal Hutta – Vythia will be able to establish that you were there pretty quickly, if she hasn't already."
"And we stopped by Nar Shaddaa because we figured it was a good place to pick up some work," Hunter said.
"Yeah, same as me. We'll 'meet' for the first time when my ship lands here. And you're still on landing platform nine because . . ."
Wrecker looked up from where he'd been fidgeting with his rifle. "Because we have to fix the landing gear."
"Yes, we do," said Tech, giving Hunter a narrow-eyed look. "Because Hunter decided to pull out the wires our first time at the palace."
Hunter smiled blandly. "Well, Vythia won't need to know about that part."
"Uh-huh." Quinlan thought for a moment. "Just say your ship needed repairs. So, you robbed Grakkus' place, got chased by him, took a wrong turn –"
"We have never taken a wrong turn before," interrupted Tech.
"Well, you did this time. You were being followed, so you panicked."
Crosshair shifted. "We've never panicked, either."
"Whatever." Vos turned back to the urn. "Don't forget, this is only for if she asks about the artifact. If we weren't spied on up to that point, then she knows only that you robbed Grakkus' place successfully."
Wrecker set his gun down with a clatter. "Wait a minute. She knows that we robbed Grakkus, so why doesn't she know that you were there?"
"Probably because no one actually saw the infiltration, which means that someone tracked you . . . remotely . . ." Vos broke off as Tech rushed into the cockpit.
There was a moment of clicking, the slam of a metal cover, and then Tech hurried back in, peering at a scanner. "Vythia had trackers put on our ship while we were gone, so the agent most likely watched us as we left for Grakkus' palace. Since Quinlan Vos left the ship so much earlier than we did, the agent has no reason to know that there were more than four of us."
"So far, so good," Quinlan said. "But . . .?"
"He obviously did not report to Vythia that five of us returned, which means that he was no longer here, but he nevertheless knew when we returned. However, I am not picking up any physical tracking beacons on our armor."
Hunter immediately powered down his comm and handed it to Tech. "He probably managed to remotely tag one of our comm signals."
"It seems likely." Tech set aside his scanner and plugged the comlink into his datapad. "Crosshair, Wrecker, give me yours."
They complied quickly.
Quinlan watched them with a thoughtful frown. "The question is, where is this agent now? If he was close by, he'd have seen us get back here."
"Yeah," said Hunter. "I'd be surprised if he didn't, the way you were flying that airbus."
The Jedi rolled his eyes skyward. "It wasn't that bad."
Crosshair sniffed. "It was that bad."
Everyone paused for a moment while Tech continued to tinker with the coding.
"Anyway," Vos went on. "Can you trace that signal to locate him?"
"No, I've already tried." Tech looked curiously at the comlink in his hand. "He only tagged yours, Hunter."
"He probably figured out you were the leader." Vos sat down on a crate. "Your cutting off his tracking abilities should help, Tech. He'll have to come here to figure out what you're going to do next."
"Not if he still has the beacons on the ship," Crosshair said.
"Yeah, let's not take that chance." Vos pulled out his own datapad and showed it to Tech. "Here's the frequency from Vythia"
"Hm. One moment. . ." Tech worked at his datapad for few seconds. "Ah. I found them. Both are on the exterior of the ship."
"Good," said Hunter. "Tech, you take care of that. Wrecker, you remember where you got that airbus?"
"Sure thing!"
"Return it and get back here. I don't want that vehicle being traced back to the owner. He might remember Vos."
"Got it, Sarge!" Wrecker grabbed his helmet, jammed it over his head, and headed for the door.
"Wrecker," said Hunter. "Remember not to use my rank."
"Oh," Wrecker sounded guitly. "Sorry about that."
Hunter nodded to him, and Wrecker hurried down the stairs to the landing pad.
"Crosshair," Hunter went on. "You and I are going to keep an eye out for this agent, and Vos . . . you should stay put."
"Actually," said Vos cheerfully. "I'm going to 'keep an eye out' too."
"If you're seen –"
"I won't be, trust me. I have an uncomfortable feeling that this agent and I have met before. In fact . . . you guys were probably busy tracking him yesterday."
Crosshair, halfway to the door, stilled abruptly. "You think it's Bane?"
"It's got his fingerprints all over it." Quinlan looked thoughtful for a moment. "Though I don't actually know whether Duros have fingerprints."
"They don't," Tech replied without looking up.
"Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure it's him. We know Bane's working for the Prince, who's mortal enemies with Grakkus. The Prince has got every reason to keep an eye on bounty hunters who visit Hutta Town."
Hunter slid his helmet carefully over his head, wincing. "Well, it wasn't like we needed any further complications on this mission."
Vos smirked. "Actually, if something didn't go wrong, I'd start to get worried."
Hunter left the ship and performed a quick check on his surroundings before glancing at Vos. "How does getting flattened by a two-ton Hutt not count as something going wrong?"
"Because we didn't get flattened. Just – almost."
Crosshair cleared the stairs in one jump and edged around towards the front of the ship. "All clear on this side."
"For now." Tech unlatched and opened the cover for the fuel intake valve. "I suspect that now he has lost the capability to track Hunter through his comlink, this bounty hunter may already be on his way here."
Hunter continued to study the platform and surrounding area as he activated his comm. "Wrecker, come in."
"Right here."
"What's your status?"
"I'm on my way back – might take me a few minutes, but I'm hurrying."
"Okay. Watch yourself." Hunter walked to the back of the ship, watching the lanes of traffic and the buildings for anything unusual. After a moment, he moved to the edge of the platform and cast a quick glance down. They were high enough up that an attack from below seemed unlikely, but it was always better to be safe.
"Beacons disabled," Tech said from behind him.
"Great." Hunter watched as Tech calmly set down the two beacons, drew both pistols, and shot them. "Not taking any chances, Tech?"
Tech replaced his pistols with a faint smile. "Not with this, at any rate."
Hunter's helmet clicked faintly and Quinlan's voice came through. "Hey, guys? I was right about Bane."
"He's here?"
"He's standing on the next platform over. I'd recognize that hat anywhere."
Hunter caught Tech's gaze and tilted his head towards the front of the ship. "Let's go, but keep it careful."
Tech nodded firmly and hurried toward the left, while Hunter took the right and joined Crosshair. Across the wide airlane, on the nearest platform, the Duros stood, leaning against a speeder with arms folded and his head tilted down. Behind him was a starfighter of an unfamiliar model.
"Want me to shoot him?" Crosshair asked.
"Not yet. He's just keeping an eye on us – So far. Vos, where are you?"
His voice came from so close by that Hunter nearly jumped. "Under the ship, keeping out of sight."
". . . Good. Wrecker?"
"Yeah, I heard. Hold him there if you can, huh?"
Cad Bane lifted his head and made a careful adjustment to the angle of his wide-brimmed hat. His red eyes were clearly visible as he looked directly at Hunter.
"He knows we've seen him," Hunter reported calmly.
"Nuts." The Jedi's voice was a bit muffled. "What's he doing?"
"Standing near his ship. Maybe he's waiting to see what we'll do."
"I doubt it . . . he's here for a reason."
Crosshair hefted his rifle with one arm and aimed directly at Bane.
The Duros smirked, lifted his comm, and said something.
There was the faint sound of a jetpack from behind them. "Hunter," said Tech quickly. "A small droid just –"
A little droid with a large head whizzed over the ship and slowed to a hover near Crosshair's head. "Please lower your weapon."
Crosshair glanced up briefly before disregarding it. "Or what."
The droid gestured emphatically with tiny arms. "Cad Bane has no interest in harming you, but neither does he wish to be shot through the head."
Hunter drew his knife. "Then he should stop following us."
Bane sauntered to the edge of the platform, activated the jetpacks in his boots, and flew across. Crosshair cast a quick look at Hunter, who shook his head once.
Cad Bane landed easily and rested a hand on one pistol. He considered them for a long moment before removing a toothpick from his mouth. Hunter couldn't help a faint smirk. Guess Crosshair's not the only one . . .
Bane spoke in a guttural voice. "You found my tracking beacons. I'm impressed."
"Get lost," Hunter said. "Our being here has nothing to do with you, Bane."
"Oh, you know who I am."
"Yeah," said Hunter, gesturing with his knife. "And if you've got business with us, you'd better tell us now. We don't take kindly to being spied on."
"Don't know anyone who does." Bane's red eyes narrowed as he observed the platform from one end to the other. "Missing someone, aren't you?"
"What's that to you?" Hunter dropped into a crouch and readied his knife for a throw, his opposite hand resting on his pistol. "Now get out of here before I pin that hat to your skull."
Bane adjusted his hat conscientiously and looked at the droid. "Not very friendly, are they, Todo?"
"I should say not."
Hunter eyed the droid. "Cross, get ready to shoot that thing."
Bane chuckled. "No worries. We're leaving. Just don't be surprised if you see us around."
He moved to the edge of the platform, then spun suddenly. "Now, Todo!"
Something clinked to the ground just in front of the ship. Hunter and Crosshair dove in opposite directions, but it was too late.
The grenade exploded. Hunter barely had time to realize that his head felt as though it had split open when his muscles seized. A rush of blackness overpowered him, and he dropped to the duracrete.
