It had been a rather long couple of hours, all told. Hunter, still suffering from the persistent headache that ebbed and spiked every few minutes, stayed in the background as much as he could . . . which wasn't much, because preparing for a mission meant that he was always overseeing several things at once.
Currently, he was sitting in the cockpit, leaning back as he held a datapad so Tech could easily see it. Tech had removed one of the metal panels from the wall and was referring to the datapad every four seconds as he checked his latest fuel line upgrade.
In the cargo hold behind them, Wrecker had emptied the munitions crates and was checking each ammo clip and powerpack for readiness. The job should have taken him about an hour, but he'd kept on stopping to throw things at Crosshair, who was being annoying again. Hunter hadn't heard the argument, but it probably had something to do with Crosshair being able to pick out faulty ammo clips from across the hold, whereas Wrecker had to examine each one carefully.
About fifteen minutes ago, Hunter had sent Crosshair out to scout the landing platform with Vos, who'd left some time earlier. It probably hadn't been a tactically sound decision, now that he really stopped to think about it. Still, they were working together the entire mission, so Crosshair had better figure out how to work with the Jedi now.
Hunter sighed. "If Vos is going to be on the Havoc Marauder the entire mission like he suspects. . . it's going to be an interesting flight." He glanced down at his hyper-focused teammate and realized he was talking to himself.
Well – not like he hadn't done that before. He leaned his head back against the wall and kept talking, the datapad hanging limply from his fingers. "I wonder how long the flight will take. I couldn't find anything about Malachor in the GAR database. . . Presumably it's in the Outer Rim somewhere."
Tech looked blankly up. "Did you say something?"
"Just thinking aloud about Malachor."
Tech went back to making minor adjustments to a junction box. "Well, Malachor isn't in the GAR database," he said. Apparently he'd registered that Hunter was talking, but not what he'd just said.
"Right," said Hunter.
"There are, however, legends about it on the holonet. It is most likely situated in the Outer Rim, or possibly even in Wild Space."
"Yeah, that's what I figured." Hunter shifted his position, inadvertently moving the datapad away, and Tech reached up to adjust it.
Wrecker entered the cockpit. "All the ammo's taken care of," he announced.
"Good job." Hunter got to his feet and handed him the datapad. "Here, hold this for Tech. We've got a few minutes until Vos' ship arrives. I'm going to check on the others."
He went to the boarding ramp and stepped out into the cool night. The airfield was on a high enough level that the atmosphere was fresh, and one could still feel what faint breezes there were. Hunter was just glad that they were on Nar Shaddaa and not Nal Hutta. That place had given him a crawling sensation the entire time they were there.
Keeping one hand on his pistol, he moved silently across the dimly lit platform. He found Vos immediately.
The Jedi was kneeling at the very edge, hands folded in his lap, staring grimly out over the city as though feeling its soul. . . or something else dark.
Crosshair slipped silently up behind Hunter. "He's been like that for ten minutes."
Hunter nodded his understanding. "The platform's secure?"
"Yes." With that, Crosshair headed out on another circuit around the platform, leaving Hunter to talk to Vos.
Hunter stared down at the Jedi for a moment. He honestly didn't know what to think of Vos. At one moment, he'd be looking at one of the commandos as though he could see straight through him; then, an instant later, he'd be making a random statement or a snide remark, or be wandering about the hold, tapping here and there on the wall or stopping to examine some object or other.
Hunter cleared his throat. "Vos."
The Jedi blinked once or twice, as though coming out of a trance, and looked up in faint surprise.
"We've got a couple minutes left," said Hunter. "The starfighter's about here."
"Oh, right. Yeah." Vos looked out over the city again, then jumped to his feet. "Well, let's get out of the way. Wouldn't want Tech to land my ship on our heads."
He ran back to the ship, leaving Hunter to follow, more perplexed than before. The Jedi's eyes had looked almost old when he was watching the city, and now he was back to being – well, weird in a different way than he'd been being a minute ago.
Crosshair joined Hunter, and they mounted the steps in silence.
They entered the ship in time to see Tech, his head bent over a datapad, walk out of the cockpit and right into Quinlan Vos.
Tech paused, as though resetting his spatial awareness. "Oh."
The Jedi took the datapad and looked at it upside down. "What's so interesting?"
"I sliced into the airfield tower's power grid," Tech said. He plucked the datapad out of Vos' hands, turned it right side up, and gave it back. "The floodlights and security cameras will be down for six and a half minutes, starting – now."
The slight shadows that Hunter and Crosshair were casting vanished suddenly, and Hunter turned back to see that the whole airfield had gone pitch black. He stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind them.
"Good," said Quinlan. "We don't want any sort of record available."
"That you're not in your ship?" Hunter verified.
"Right."
Wrecker joined them, towering over Tech. "You think Vythia will check?"
"No . . . but I don't like taking chances."
"You don't?" Hunter eyed him. "So what was that with the knife and the droid?"
"Oh, that. Uh –" The Jedi rubbed at one arm. "It was a calculated risk."
Crosshair sniffed. "Oh, please."
"Fine," Vos admitted. "It was an instinctive reaction. But I'm serious about taking risks when it comes to mission planning. If we mess up once, we're dead men walking."
"What?" Wrecker asked, confused.
Vos turned to face him and leaned one shoulder against the wall. His expression and eyes were completely serious. "I mean that Vythia is the dangerous type. If she discovers who we are or what our purpose is, she won't let us know. She'll lead us on, hire us, take us on the mission, whatever it takes . . . then, the instant she's got an advantage or finds what she wants, she'll either kill us herself or have us killed."
"She sounds like a dangerous enemy," Hunter said. "But how do you know all that?"
The Jedi shook his head. "I don't know it, not the way you mean. I just have this feeling. Which –" He glanced around at them. "Yeah, I guess that isn't very reassuring, is it? I guess that kind of feeling doesn't mean much to people who aren't Force-sensitive."
"It does," said Crosshair unexpectedly, casting a look at Hunter. "If by 'feeling' you mean 'instinct'."
Vos studied him. "A feeling or premonition from the Force isn't the same as instinct, but I guess that's close enough."
Hunter wondered if the Force feeling that Vos talked about was similar to the feeling for danger that he himself had. Maybe that had something to do with his mutation, though, not with instinct. He'd never thought to ask.
"Your starfighter is landing," Tech reported. "What should we do?"
"Stay in the ship," Vos said, heading for the cargo hold entrance. "I'll sneak out and be back in a minute."
Wrecker pushed Tech forward so he could move all the way into the corridor. "I don't like this, Hunter."
"What part of it, exactly?" Hunter asked.
"All this sneaking around. We don't have someone to fight, because we're pretending to be on her side. We don't even know what we're doing yet."
Hunter let out his breath. "Yeah. I know what you mean."
"We have to outsmart her," said Crosshair, a tone of actual interest in his voice. "We have to act as though we don't suspect her, while undermining her plans."
"Cross," said Hunter leniently. "Why is it the one time the rest of us aren't happy about the mission, you are?"
"I'm not happy about it." Crosshair paused, as though trying to put his thoughts into words. "It's . . . a different kind of challenge."
"Yes," put in Tech. "We will be performing an infiltration, as we have before, but this time our skills will be put to a different use – as will any data we gain."
"Well, yeah," said Wrecker. "But what if we have to spend the entire time pretending and not doing anything?"
"I doubt that will be the case," Crosshair said.
"Just think . . ." A spark of excitement entered Tech's eyes. "If Vythia hires us, we'll be going to a planet no one has visited in thousands of years!"
I should have known that Tech would be interested in that aspect, thought Hunter in resignation. "Right," he said aloud. "Which means there could be anything there."
"I know!" Tech said with a small, excited smile.
"Anything," repeated Hunter, folding his arms. "Including very dangerous creatures or places. We'll probably be entering ancient buildings and tunnels. We don't even know if there is a native population or not."
Tech did not look phased in the least. If anything, he looked more fascinated.
Hunter sighed.
A knock on the door signaled Vos' return, and Crosshair opened it.
The Jedi slipped in, shutting the door so fast that it nearly closed on the short cape he wore. "Okay. I shut off the lifeform signal generator. I think we're all set."
"So what now?" Wrecker asked.
"Now, we wait about half an hour and then I'll comm Vythia and we'll head to the Prince's territory." Vos cast a slightly apprehensive look toward the cargo hold. "You've heard nothing from Bane, I suppose."
"His ship is still on the platform where I left it," confirmed Tech.
"Right. . . Okay. I guess I'd better destroy that artifact now."
"Want help?" Wrecker offered. "I've got some quiet explosives."
"Thanks, but no." Vos gave him a quick grin and headed for the hold, where they'd stored the spirit urn. "Carry on, guys, I'll be back shortly."
Hunter watched him leave. "Crosshair, Wrecker, make sure everything's locked down. Tech, double-check the new door seal I installed after you run pre-flight checks. I don't want to get there and find out we've got something to fix."
He waited until they left – Tech for the cockpit and Wrecker and Crosshair for the barracks and cargo hold – then slipped outside, shutting the door behind him. He took cover near the back of the Marauder. Vos probably wouldn't destroy the artifact inside the ship. Earlier, before he'd decided to hold off on destroying it, he'd been headed outside.
Hunter could tell that Vos didn't want anyone around right now, but if dark side energy affected the Jedi the way that EMPs affected Hunter, well – Sorry, Vos, but a concussed Jedi is the last thing we need on this mission.
Honestly . . . Vos was bad enough unconcussed.
A moment later, the door hissed open. Hunter caught a brief glimpse of Vos walking down the steps, the spirit urn clenched in one hand, before the closing door cut off the light. Hunter closed his eyes to accustom them to the dark for a moment, then opened them again.
Vos stopped only a few meters away, apparently unaware of Hunter's presence, and Hunter realized two things: first, that even without his helmet, Hunter could see better than Vos; and second, that the presence of this . . . dark side energy . . . interfered more severely with Vos' abilities than he'd initially thought. Of course, Vos hadn't sensed Aurra's lasers earlier, but Hunter was much closer than Aurra had been.
That did not bode well. If Vythia was right about the artifacts, Malachor would probably be full of dark side energy. Oh, this isn't good. But at least the squad won't be directly affected by it. . . though the mission will be.
Vos drew in a long breath, and then there was a shattering of glass as he threw the spirit urn to the duracrete.
Before Hunter could really register his surprise at how simple destroying the urn had been, the Jedi let out a hiss and nearly doubled over. Hunter jumped towards him. Just as he reached out, Vos collapsed to his knees, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other hand pressed to his head.
He hadn't passed out, though, and didn't look to be in danger of giving himself a concussion, so Hunter stepped back and waited.
It took nearly half a minute for the Jedi to recognize his presence. When he did, he forced himself to straighten, brought his hand away from his face, and gritted out, "Why are you here?"
"Thought you might need help," Hunter said laconically.
"I. . . ugh." He doubled over again, looking like he was about to be sick. "Go away."
Hunter nodded and obeyed, speaking over one shoulder as he left. "Two minutes, then I'm coming out to get you. Airfield lights are back on in three."
The only answer was a groan.
Hunter entered the ship to see Crosshair eyeing him curiously. "What?"
"Nothing." Crosshair left.
Before Hunter could decide whether or not to take his words at face value, Wrecker came out of the cargo hold. "Everything's locked down! We can leave whenever you want."
"Great." Hunter leaned into the cockpit. "Tech? Everything ready in here?"
"Yep, Sarge, we're ready."
"Hunter," he corrected.
"Ah, yes." Tech blinked in displeasure at his mistake. "We're ready, Hunter. I am running a remote preflight check on Quinlan Vos' starfighter, but everything looks just fine."
"Okay. We'll probably be leaving shortly."
Hunter stood in the corridor, lounging against the wall as he waited. Ninety-four seconds later, Vos entered the ship, face pinched and eyes dark. The instant the door closed behind him, the Jedi leaned against the wall, slid down it, pulled his knees up to his chin, and rested his forehead on them.
Hunter said nothing.
Crosshair, when he entered the corridor, also said nothing, merely stepping past with a single glance on his way to the cargo hold.
Tech appeared briefly to report that the airfield's power grid was back online.
Hunter went to fetch his blaster and a rag and then returned to the corridor, where he set to work carefully cleaning each piece. He'd done it earlier, of course; he always cleaned his weapons directly after each mission, but it was something that kept his hands busy, and there were no more explosives to wire at the moment.
He could hear Tech tinkering with something or other – probably that new scramble key he'd managed to get last time they were on Kamino. Tiny clinking sounds indicated that Wrecker was lifting weights. Hunter hoped he was using actual weights this time, and not a weapons locker. He'd lost his balance while doing that during a flight, once, and dropped the entire locker with an alarming crash.
Hunter reassembled his rifle and moved on to his pistol. There was no sound whatsoever from Crosshair, which most likely meant that he was reading. Crosshair occasionally acted annoyed when Tech spouted random bits of useless knowledge, but, a surprising number of times, he'd add on to Tech's comments instead – and then look sour about it after. It was as though he thought he shouldn't be interested in things that were irrelevant to the current mission. Then again, maybe Crosshair just didn't want anyone to know that he was interested in anything, period.
Tech, of course, didn't care what people thought – if he liked something, he liked it and told everyone about it, too. Hunter had always thought him a little too trusting, a little too friendly. Crosshair was the opposite. His standard behavior, when someone unfamiliar was around, was to close up like a lee romay clam – when he wasn't busy annoying that person.
Wrecker. . . Wrecker followed Hunter's judgment as far as new people went, a fact which had concerned him for several years now. If Hunter tolerated someone, so would Wrecker. If Hunter was suspicious of someone, so was Wrecker. To some extent, all three of Hunter's squad mates were influenced by his instincts about people.
And so far, I've been right, thought Hunter, holstering his pistol. Vos still hadn't moved, so Hunter pulled out his knife and twirled it between his fingers. If I'm ever wrong, though, it might prove fatal.
He shook off the thought. They didn't work with other people much, anyway, and worrying about something he couldn't change was a waste of time and energy. Still . . .
Hunter looked at the Jedi, then his chronometer. It had already been twenty minutes since the starfighter landed outside, but the Jedi was still sitting motionless. Maybe he'd fallen asleep.
"Vos," Hunter said.
Vos mumbled something into his knees.
Okay, not asleep, then. "You still want to pull out of here in ten minutes? We can always delay it, tell Vythia we took a lot of convincing or something."
"No. . ." Vos shifted slowly into a cross-legged position and blinked wearily at the ground for a moment. "Sithspit."
Okay, that's not one I've heard yet. Hunter couldn't help a faint smirk. "Is that an actual expression?"
"Yeah." The Jedi put one hand on the ground and one on the wall and got slowly to his feet. "Stupid Sith and their stupid artifacts."
Hunter sheathed his knife. "They seem to have been effective."
"I still say they're stupid."
Hunter wasn't sure how an artifact could be stupid, since it wasn't actually sentient, but it didn't matter. He glanced at Vos' pale face and the shadows around his eyes and couldn't help himself. "Vos. . . you look like death."
A glimmer of amusement entered the Jedi's eyes, and he shook his head. "Should have seen that one coming."
Hunter headed for the cargo hold, leaving Vos to follow more slowly. Tech was staring fixedly at a bunch of wires, as though somehow his intent glare could untangle them. Wrecker was still lifting the weapons locker over his head – Hunter sighed – and Crosshair was lying flat on his stomach on a nearby crate, reading.
Hunter leaned sideways and squinted at the datapad, but the writing was too small for him to read. Crosshair smirked without ever looking up.
When Vos made it to the hold, Hunter snapped his fingers twice. Tech looked up from the wires, Wrecker managed to set the locker down with only a slight thump, and Crosshair folded himself into a more conventional position.
"I'm going to call Vythia," the Jedi announced, rubbing at his eyes as though to force alertness back into them.
Tech studied him with a frown. "Do you feel unwell?"
"Nope. I feel horrid. Where'd I put that comlink?"
Tech looked pointedly at Vos' glove.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He slipped it out from between the fabric and his skin. "Listen, if she asks to hear from any of you, keep it to Hunter as much as possible. We want her to know from the first that you guys are a team, and he's in charge."
"That will not be difficult," Tech said with a slight shrug.
"Yeah," said Wrecker. "We don't have to pretend that!"
"Good." Vos cleared his throat, straightened up, and activated the comlink.
It beeped a couple of times before Vythia spoke. "This is Vythia Archane."
"Quinlan Vos. The team's onboard. Literally."
"That was a quick decision," she mused.
"Yeah, I was kind of surprised." The Jedi glanced at Hunter. "That, or they knew something about the Prince already . . . But part of it's definitely that they want to leave Hutta Town fast anyway. Turns out, they somehow managed to annoy Bane after annoying Grakkus."
"Hm. So I heard."
"Look, Vythia," he said. "I thought you told me Bane and I wouldn't be running into each other, but he's still in Hutta Town. . . and you seem to have known about it."
"Things did not go according to plan," she said. "Bane was supposed to carry out a short task for me, then return. He would have been gone before you arrived, but the bounty hunters damaged his ship. He is still repairing it."
Without changing his expression, Vos gave Tech a thumbs-up.
"Quinlan," said Vythia. "Do you find it strange that they merely disabled Cad Bane's ship, rather than killing him? He tells me that he not only got onto their ship and searched it, but that he knocked two of them unconscious."
"You want me to use my psychometry, is that it?"
"I am merely wondering what was behind their decision."
"I guess I could ask their leader. But if it had been me, and I wanted to stay on the Prince's good side, I wouldn't have wanted to annoy him by taking out his most expensive employee. . ."
She laughed. "I see your point. They know, then, that Bane was working for me?"
"Yeah. I told them to talk to you about whatever he was looking for."
"Excellent. Escort them here, if you would. I will speak with you all once you arrive."
"Okay. Hey, quick question – you sending me back to this town, or are we done?"
"Why?"
Quinlan sighed. "Because I hate sitting in cramped cockpits for hours, and my ship put more time in yesterday and today than I'm happy with. I would rather spend ten minutes convincing the bounty hunters to let me ride with them."
"Do you have a hyperdrive ring?"
"Nope. I mostly use my ship for local flights . . . store it on a cargo vessel for longer ones."
"Then it wouldn't be useful for our trip to Malachor. I can think of no reason why you couldn't leave it in Hutta Town."
"Gee, thanks."
There was a short pause. "I trust you realize that I am not so foolish as to give you unnecessary orders," she said. "Only when something pertains to the job I have hired you for will I even make suggestions."
Vos raised an interested eyebrow. "Well – that works for me. The bounty hunters have a pretty fast ship, so once I argue my way onboard, it shouldn't take us more than a couple hours to get to the warehouse."
"Very well. I look forward to meeting these men."
The instant the connection was cut, Vos dropped his characterization and stumbled over to a crate to sit down.
The commandos watched him.
Vos looked up after a moment. "Guys. . . I know I said we were playing a part, but do not make me argue my way onboard."
Tech's eyes gleamed mischievously. "You are already onboard."
Quinlan gave him an unimpressed look.
"What about your ship?" asked Hunter.
"Oh. . . yeah. I'll put it in the airfield hangar – blast it all. I forgot."
"You forgot what?"
"I'd better let the Council know I'm not going to be in contact for a while. There's a tracking beacon in my ship that'll let them find me – or it – if all else fails; but there's no point in having another Jedi barging around Nar Shaddaa, trying to figure out what happened to me."
Tech started tapping at his datapad.
"Would they send someone?" asked Hunter.
"Not normally, but this mission is important – Sith Lord – y'know."
He wasn't sounding particularly coherent at the moment, Hunter thought. "You can comm them from here, though?"
"Yeah. I'm just . . ." He sighed wearily, plugged in a different code, and waited.
"This is Master Fisto."
"Hi."
"Ah, Quinlan! How are you, my friend?"
"Dead."
"Indeed? You sound surprisingly alive for someone who has entered the Force."
"It's called the Living Force for a reason," Quinlan said irreverently, leaning against the wall. "'Sides, you've never been dead before."
"That might change. I am currently on my way to meet with Luminara. Nute Gunray has escaped."
Hunter frowned. Another disadvantage for the Republic.
"Do you need help?" Fisto sounded concerned.
"Yeah, thanks." Quinlan thought for a moment. "I'm a little pressed for time right now, so I can't really explain, but Yoda knows about my mission. Just let the Council know that I'll be out of contact and away from my ship for a few days at the very least. Possibly a lot longer – a couple weeks, even."
". . . I will do so. Are you working a solo mission, Quinlan?"
"Not this time. I've got clone commandos with me. I'm on their ship, actually."
"Ah! How interesting. I've never yet worked with commandos, but I hear they are exceptionally skilled."
"You'd better stop," Quinlan advised. "Their heads are big enough as it is."
Wrecker snorted.
"They are with you currently?"
"Yep. We've worked together for a bit, annoyed a few important people –"
"And they haven't thrown you off the ship yet?" Fisto said in surprise. "Commandos, I congratulate you on your forbearance!"
Hunter stepped closer to the comlink, smirking at the offended look on Quinlan's face. "Thanks."
"You are welcome. Quinlan, is there anything further?"
"Just tell the Council not to even try contacting me. I don't want to risk anyone back-tracing the signal. And with this mission, I figure that if we succeed, we succeed. If not, well, there's no point in mounting a rescue mission."
". . .Very well. Good luck on your mission, all of you. May the Force be with you."
"Oh, it is," Vos said dryly. When Fisto cleared his throat, Vos straightened. "Oh, right. I mean, you too, Master Fisto."
Fisto laughed and cut the connection.
Quinlan Vos slipped the comlink back into his glove and rested his elbows on his knees. "Okay. I'm done taking calls."
"I take it that was a Jedi . . .?" said Crosshair, looking slightly unsure.
"Yeah, Kit Fisto – he's a Nautolan and a really good duelist. One of my crechemates, actually." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I guess that would be kind of like you guys and your batchmates."
Tech flipped open his vambrace and typed out something. Probably a note about future research on Jedi.
Hunter glanced at his chronometer. "We'd better get started."
"Right." Quinlan Vos got jerkily to his feet. "Just give me a few minutes to register my ship in the airfield hangar."
"I've already done it," said Tech. "I will pilot your fighter there and return."
He hopped up, glancing at Hunter for permission. Hunter nodded, and Tech ran from the ship.
"Thanks," said Vos belatedly.
"One question," asked Hunter. "One of us could have flown your fighter to the Prince's territory. Why do you want it here?"
"It's not so much that I want it here. But if we spend two or three hours on the same ship, Vythia won't be suspicious when we show up acting like we know each other. It's better to cover for the truth than act a lie. . ." His voice trailed away and he stared at the floor for a long moment.
Crosshair hopped down from the crate. "I'll start the engines." He left the room, and Wrecker followed.
Hunter thought back to the spirit urn. "Vos, did you leave the artifact outside?"
"It . . . destroyed itself," the Jedi explained vaguely. "You break something like that, it turns to ash. It blew away before I went inside."
That sounded strange, but then again – so far, everything having to do with the Sith was strange. "We'll leave as soon as Tech gets back."
"Yeah." Quinlan stared at him as though waiting for Hunter to continue his thought.
Hunter did. "You don't have to stay awake. You need to be alert when we talk to Vythia. I don't think sitting on a crate is going to help with that."
"Uh. . . Good point." Vos looked around, then slid to the ground, back braced against the crate as he shut his eyes. "Mind yelling for me when we get near the warehouse?"
"We've got barracks," Hunter pointed out. "With spare blankets. And you can even use one of the bunks if you want."
"Sounds good," he slurred, eyes still closed as he made a half-hearted attempt to move.
It was making Hunter even more tired than he already was. He reached down, grabbed Vos by the elbows, and hoisted him to his feet.
Vos stumbled toward the barracks on autopilot and grabbed a blanket from the shelf. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he flopped down on the ground near the wall.
Hunter shrugged and left. That artifact must have really done a number on the Jedi. . . Again, he felt a strange sense of foreboding. What if Vythia really has him find an artifact, or he destroys one? We won't be able to hide the fact that he's a Jedi then. . .
That was a worry for the future, though. He glanced in to see that Wrecker had taken the pilot's position while Crosshair was in the co-pilot's seat. Tech was just coming in, carrying a full supply pack.
"Tech?" he asked. "Everything all set?"
"Yes. I locked down and secured the ship, and it's stored in the hangar – which looks as though no one's entered in months." Tech pushed at the center of his goggles to reposition them on his nose. "I also got Vos' pack while I was there, since he seemed to have forgotten about it."
"Good. We're leaving, and it looks like Wrecker's piloting, so strap in."
With a smile at Tech's squawk of disbelief – "You said I couldn't pilot, but you're letting Wrecker?!" – Hunter headed to the cockpit.
