Little speckles of light chased each other across Hunter's vision, and his eyes felt as though they had been run through with large needles. But that couldn't be right . . . could it? The inside of his mouth was full of cotton – no, maybe it just feel that way. And was that high-pitched ringing an alarm, or was he hearing things?
The familiar weight of his upper armor was gone, and he wondered about that for a moment. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was trying to run from something with . . . Crosshair. He and Crosshair had been running to get away from Bane's grenade, and Tech and Wrecker . . . where were they?
Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Hunter inched one hand out until his fingers brushed the edge of a mattress. He was on his bunk, which meant they were safe. Strange, he didn't remember the end of the battle.
Oh, right – grenade.
He took a short breath, then slowly sat up. The needles in his skull grew sharper, and the ringing in his ears more intense. Well, at least that answered the question as to whether or not he'd been hearing an alarm.
Despite the ringing, he could hear someone breathing nearby. It wasn't Tech – the breathing was a fraction too slow.
"Crosshair?" he muttered. His mouth wasn't full of cotton, apparently, because he heard himself speak, but the words felt strange. "Wrecker?"
"No, it's me. Uh, you kind of look . . . horrid."
Hunter's confusion grew for an instant, but then he managed to put a name to the voice. "Vos."
"Yeah." The Jedi was keeping his voice low, thankfully. "Bane left, but not before you got hit with an EMP grenade."
Hunter thought for a moment. That definitely made sense. "Oh."
"Yup."
There was a faint creak, and Hunter guessed that Vos had sat down on the locker opposite him. The Jedi did not seem inclined to leave.
With a sigh of resignation, Hunter opened his eyes a crack. His head pounded furiously at the added light, but if he could just get past the first few moments, he'd be fine. . . He opened his eyes all the way. A roaring pressure closed around his vision.
The next thing he knew, he was clutching at the edge of the cot to keep from pitching face-first into the ground, and someone's hand was on his shoulder.
"Wow," commented Vos, close to his ear. Hunter jerked away, surprised at his proximity, and Vos released him. "Sorry, you just looked like you were trying for a nosedive."
"I'm good," Hunter replied.
"Okay, but you still look like a –"
"Vos."
The Jedi sighed dramatically and flopped down on the crate.
After a long moment of silence, Hunter re-evaluated his situation. Opening his eyes suddenly hadn't been his best idea ever, but his headache was less now. Good. Give it a few more minutes, and he'd be back to being functional.
Bane must have failed, or Vos would probably be out chasing him down. . . Wait, what had the bounty hunter been after? Had he been trying to locate Vos? Or had he just been testing the commandos' capabilities?
When his internal chronometer reached three minutes, Hunter opened his eyes again. This time, he did not black out – in fact, the dim light made his fading headache only marginally worse.
Quinlan Vos still sat across from him, swinging his legs idly and gazing off into space. When he caught sight of Hunter looking at him, he gave him a relieved smirk. "You know, I was afraid that grenade had broken your head."
Hunter squinted at him, trying to reason through that statement. "It was an EMP grenade. It knocks out people."
"Yeah, well you looked like death. I mean, apart from the skull tattoo and all."
Hunter just looked at him for a moment, then got carefully to his feet and moved towards the door. "Where are the others?"
"Oh, uh. Outside . . . somewhere."
Hunter stopped short, one hand resting on the side of the door. "Vos – what aren't you telling me?"
Quinlan followed the commando sergeant out of the barracks and into the cargo hold, keeping an eye on Hunter in case he decided to black out again. "Well, Crosshair and Wrecker are keeping an eye on the platform. I don't know exactly where Tech is. He grabbed my speeder and took off after Bane."
"Why?" Hunter's voice was remarkably calm – maybe because raising his voice would make his headache worse.
"I literally have no idea." Quinlan raised an eyebrow as Hunter hesitated in front of the closed door, but didn't comment. "I thought the knockout gas Bane used had taken him out, but he was faking it."
Hunter sighed. In one movement, he opened the door and stepped onto the boarding ramp, ducking his head and shading his eyes against the slightly brighter light.
Good thing it's not daylight, Quinlan mused. He'd probably give himself an aneurysm.
Crosshair appeared at the end of the ramp, eyed Hunter and then Quinlan, and said exactly nothing. He seemed mostly recovered from the attack – a little sore, maybe, but that was all.
Wrecker, on the other hand, stomped over to them muttering loudly under his breath. "Hunter, you okay?"
"Yes."
"Good, because Tech cut his comms."
Hunter's tone remained absolutely mild. "He what?"
"Cut his comms!"
"When?"
"A couple minutes ago. He was headed east, last I saw. Said he was on a retrieval mission."
Quinlan blinked. "Retrieval? But Bane didn't get what he was after – I hid the urn and the light . . . sabers. . ." He smacked himself in the forehead, somewhat to Crosshair's surprise. "Lightsaber! I am such an idiot!"
Quinlan spun around and dove back into the ship's cockpit. "Before we went on that mission to Grakkus' place, I left my own lightsaber here!" he called over his shoulder. He rifled quickly through the small weapon's locker. "Yeah, it's gone."
"So Bane took it?" Wrecker yelled into the ship.
"Yeah, he must have thought we got it from Grakkus' vault." Quinlan rejoined them, folding his arms in annoyance. "Blast it all – how'd I miss seeing that he had it?"
"Hm," said Hunter. "Tech obviously saw it."
"Why didn't he say anything, though?"
Crosshair rolled his eyes. "Because he knew you'd go after it if he did."
"Oh, now you know this?"
"Yes."
Quinlan frowned at the sniper, who frowned back.
Their silent disagreement was interrupted by the high-pitched whine of a speeder, and all four of them turned to watch the edge of the platform.
Tech coasted in, braked to a halt beside them, and powered down the speeder.
"Hi, Tech." Wrecker stumped around the front of the speeder.
Tech scrambled off on the opposite side, hurriedly joined Crosshair, and pretended that he hadn't been trying to get away from Wrecker. "Hunter! I – didn't expect you'd be awake so quickly."
"Hm, I imagine not." Hunter's tone was even as he looked back at his recalcitrant squad mate. "Did you get Vos' lightsaber?"
"I did." Tech removed the weapon from his belt and handed it to Quinlan.
Wrecker drew closer.
Tech took a casual step away, putting Crosshair between himself and the bigger clone as he took off his helmet. "Why is everyone standing around outside the ship?"
"We were waiting for you," replied Hunter. "Why did you cut your comms?"
Tech's gaze shifted guiltily. "Because I was attempting to focus, and Wrecker's questions were distracting me."
Quinlan turned the lightsaber over. It looked completely unharmed. "You got this from Bane – but how?"
Tech gave him a tiny smirk. "I reached his ship's landing platform ahead of him, set some charges, shocked him when he arrived, and handcuffed him before he could recover."
Quinlan couldn't help a quick feeling of vindication. "Good! Wait. . . you didn't leave his ship intact, did you?"
Tech looked affronted. "I most certainly did not. I disabled it with an electromagnetic pulse charge."
"Poetic justice," Quinlan said gleefully, then caught Hunter's look. "What? It was. . ."
"Tech," said Hunter, folding his arms. "If Bane had gotten the better of you while your comms were off, we wouldn't have been able to find you in time."
Tech pursed his lips. "He wasn't supposed to kill us, though."
"He might have anyway!" Hunter looked as though his headache had returned with a vengeance. "What made you think a bounty hunter like Bane always follows orders? We don't always follow our orders, do we?"
"No," Tech admitted begrudgingly.
"And even if he didn't kill or injure you, your following him could have jeopardized the mission!"
Tech's gaze faltered.
"If you're going to rush off without backup and without orders, you at least have to maintain communications." Hunter raised his voice. "Do not deactivate your comms unless you have no other option. That is an order!"
Tech glanced at him apologetically. "Yes, Hunter."
"Just . . ." Hunter grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly seeming to deflate. "Let's get back inside and regroup."
He and Crosshair entered the ship, and Quinlan clipped his lightsaber thoughtfully to his belt. Tech had said something about none of the Bad Batch being a corporal. Was Hunter the only one who could keep these guys in order? If Hunter had given Tech a direct order to return while he was chasing Bane, would Tech have listened, or continued on?
Just now, Tech hadn't answered as a soldier to a sergeant. In fact, Quinlan got the distinct impression that Tech was apologizing for worrying Hunter, and possibly for having been foolish – but not for having been out of line.
Quinlan scratched his jaw and glanced down the boarding ramp, where Tech and Wrecker were whispering furiously. He distinctly heard Wrecker mutter, ". . . told you he'd be mad."
Tech straightened in outrage and elbowed Wrecker hard, somehow managing to send the bigger clone stumbling a step or two to the right.
Quinlan cleared his throat. "Hey, Tech."
The commando turned deliberately away from Wrecker. "Yes?"
"Thanks for getting my saber back. I, uh . . . didn't even notice when Bane took it."
Tech shrugged, his expression a bit uncomfortable. "I suppose I should have told you."
"Would have been nice," Quinlan admitted. "But anyway. How'd you get through those speeder codes so fast?"
"I sliced them earlier today, while accessing your starfighter. You used the same algorithm for both codes."
"Ah. Yeah, silly of me . . ." Quinlan followed Wrecker up the ramp. "Crosshair said you guys all knew about the speeder?"
"Yup!" Wrecker tossed his gun on a storage rack and headed through the cargo hold. Tech trailed after him.
Quinlan hesitated, then followed. "Okay, but how?"
Crosshair appeared in the doorway Wrecker had just gone through. "I saw it."
"You saw it. Through the duracrete?"
"No," said Tech. "Crosshair was in the building you had us investigate. It is higher than this platform, and he happened to be at the right angle."
Crosshair smirked. "Tech means you hid it badly."
Tech rolled his eyes and slipped past the sniper.
"Crosshair," said Hunter from inside the room. "If you and Vos could get in here sometime before Bane returns, I'd appreciate it."
With a final glance in each other's direction, they went in.
Hunter was seated at the table, slouched against the wall and still looking like he'd been run over by one of those droid tanks the Separatists were so fond of.
Quinlan blinked at him. "You look like you've been run over by a tank."
Wrecker snorted, and Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Thanks. I guess it's a step up from looking like death."
Quinlan nodded amiably and folded his arms, viewing the room with interest. It was actually pretty comfortable, as far as ship galleys went. Of course, when one was traveling in a ship all the time, it was best to have somewhere to relax, because there sure wasn't much space to move around in. Inside the ship, anyway.
The galley was small, but efficiently designed. Two of the walls were lined with packages of rations and mineral drinks. A rectangular table rested in one corner, surrounded on three sides by a bench.
Wrecker marched over to the table with an armload of ration packs, utensils, and drinks and dumped them in a pile. "Hey, Vos! You want something?"
Quinlan shook his head. "Thanks, but I've got stuff on my ship."
"Which is currently gone," Tech reminded him.
"Yeah, but –"
"We've got plenty of time before your ship arrives," Hunter pointed out. "Not much else to do right now."
Both things were true . . . and besides, Quinlan wasn't exactly looking forward to eating out-of-date ration bars again, though he'd never tell them that. "Okay, thanks."
Tech slipped in next to Hunter, Wrecker sat across from them, and Crosshair took the shorter bench between them. Quinlan continued to stand in the doorway.
"Sit down, Vos," Hunter suggested. His words were polite, but the intonation in his voice implied that he was tired of seeing Quinlan hover.
"Uh . . . yeah." He seated himself gingerly in the corner between Wrecker and Crosshair and caught the ration pack that Tech slid to him. "I guess we should be figuring out what happens once my starfighter lands here."
"Hm," said Hunter, who wasn't eating. "How are we going to play that, anyway?"
Quinlan snapped the middle of the ration pack to start it heating. "Well . . . I'm open to ideas."
For a moment all four of them watched him.
Quinlan eyed them cautiously back as he opened the rations. He sniffed appreciatively at the scent of meat and vegetable stew and reached for a spoon. "Anything wrong with being open to ideas?"
Hunter shook his head, then winced. "No . . ."
"Uh-huh. Then what is it?"
"What do you want me to say?" Hunter reached for a pouch of water. "That having a mission leader who doesn't know what comes next is inspiring?"
There it is again. Quinlan swallowed a mouthful of stew and gestured with his spoon. "No, but I didn't say I didn't know what came next."
Crosshair fidgeted with the seal on his ration pack, which he still hadn't opened, and shot Quinlan a criticizing look. "You implied it."
"I said I was open to ideas."
"You said it uncertainly," mocked Crosshair.
"It didn't sound uncertain to me."
"It did to us."
"Well – whatever."
Wrecker stopped eating to give the two of them an uncertain look. "Hey, why do you two keep arguing?"
Crosshair looked vaguely displeased. He tore the seal off his pack, folded it in a precise square, and set it neatly on the pile of wrappers.
Quinlan tossed his own crumpled wrapper on top of the folded one, then rested his chin in one hand. "Probably because we disagree on key issues," he said mournfully.
Once again, the four commandos stared at him, Tech with his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth.
Heh, threw 'em off balance. Quinlan took another bite, ignoring their surprised looks. They were probably trying to figure out what he meant by 'key issues', but since he hadn't actually meant anything, they'd be unable to.
He chewed deliberately and swallowed. "So, as I was saying. I'm open to ideas about how we're going to pull this off. My ship will land here soon, I will 'meet' you guys and talk you into working for Vythia . . . And then we're on to the mission."
Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Right. So what's there to decide?"
"Price. Supplies. Whether you guys are supposed to have prior experience with artifacts or not. Whether you're willing to work with other bounty hunters or not. The usual."
"Wait," said Wrecker. "We're gonna get paid for sabotaging Vythia's plans?"
"Not unless she's dumb enough to pay us in advance."
Hunter cracked his neck, and Tech shot him a displeased look. "Hunter."
The sergeant cracked both elbows. "Yeah?"
Tech huffed and gave up, and Hunter turned to Quinlan. "Vos, did you negotiate a price with Vythia already?"
"Yep. I don't have a reputation as a bounty hunter, so I pretended to be willing to work for a lower rate."
"Do we have a reputation?" Crosshair asked, stirring his food around.
"Not apart from that whole business with Grakkus. She'll be impressed by that, but I still wouldn't drive a hard bargain with her. Hunter, you'll have to take care of that part of things."
"Right. . ." Hunter glanced down in thought. "Any ideas what a reasonable price would be?"
"For four of you, plus the ship – ? Who knows. Depends on what she wants you to do on the mission. If all she wants you to do is guard the ship while she and I hunt down artifacts, you won't be paid much."
"So we keep playing it by ear," Hunter said.
"Yeah. The real challenge is going to be getting her to let you work with me. If we're constantly under surveillance, coordinating anything will be a problem." Quinlan spooned up the last of the stew.
"What will we need to coordinate?" Tech asked. "Do we know definitely what you will be doing on Malachor? Vythia hired you for your psychometric abilities, but . . ."
Quinlan bent his disposable spoon until it snapped, then stared meditatively at the broken pieces. "Guys, we're literally flying blind here. I'm hoping to get another call from the Jedi Council, but in the end our objectives might not be the ones we start out with."
Wrecker grabbed the pile of trash from the center of the table and crammed it into the disposal unit. "We're making it up as we go? Sounds fun to me!"
"It sounds dangerous," said Crosshair, probably just for the sake of disagreeing, and continued to stir his congealing stew around. He still hadn't eaten anything. If the sniper did this all the time, it was no wonder he looked like a toothpick. . . Hm, that brings to mind the old adage . . .
Quinlan cast Crosshair a sideways look. "They say 'you are what you eat'. Those toothpicks you're so fond of – you don't eat them, do you?"
To his surprise, Hunter snorted with laughter. He grimaced and squinted an instant later, but his eyes still glinted with amusement.
Wrecker chortled and clapped Quinlan so hard on the back that he nearly hit the table with his nose – something which seemed to amuse Crosshair to no end.
