Hunter jolted abruptly from a dreamless sleep into complete wakefulness. He stayed still, listening carefully as he took in his surroundings in an attempt to discern what had woken him. He was lying on his back on the floor, head turned to the right. The pale, flickering light of the Trayus hallways that was so familiar by now cast its weird glow across the room. The sergeant's teammates were close by, he was sure of it, but he couldn't see them . . . and he certainly couldn't hear them. They might have wandered off –
No, he remembered suddenly. We're not in Trayus anymore. The instant he realized where he was, he was able to see the walls of the bunkroom around him, even though they were still overlaid with a pale green glow.
But his eyes were open. He was awake.
Before he could do more than recognize that, he was hit by the overwhelming impression that something deadly was approaching. He tried to look to the opposite side and couldn't. His heart rate picked up as he tried unsuccessfully to move his head, to reach for his knife, to blink – anything.
The encroaching sense of danger made everything around him darken. A sudden, heavy weight pressed against his chest, constricting his breathing. Hunter gasped, vision clearing abruptly, and looked up into the expressionless golden eyes of a four-armed statue. It was kneeling on his chest, hunched over itself with all four hands clutching at his shoulders and arms as it stared blankly into his face.
Behind the statue's head, just in Hunter's line of vision, Wrecker walked across the room and out the door. The sergeant struggled harder against the paralysis that had spread through him. Didn't Wrecker see it?!
The statue rotated its head to watch Wrecker leave, then blinked slowly, expressionless mouth twisting into a short-lived grin of satisfaction as it turned back to Hunter.
Hunter panicked, but he couldn't yell, or even breathe. After an interminable moment, the statue drew back and plunged its sharp fingers into his chest. Everything around him disappeared in an overwhelming rush of noise and darkness.
When it faded, Hunter found himself standing, clinging to the upper bunk with one hand as he doubled over, trying to regain his breath. The green light was gone, and so was the statue. . . No. This kind of thing had happened before. The statue had never even been here!
Hunter straightened with a jerk, half-tempted to punch the wall, then twisted around and leaned back against the bunk frame instead. It took him a few moments to steady his breathing. Tech, in the upper bunk across from him, had propped himself up on one elbow and was watching him with a blank, half-asleep look on his face. Wrecker was gone.
"Hunter?" Tech asked blearily.
The sergeant dragged a hand down his face and sat on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward with a huff. "What time is it?"
"Fifteen-forty," Tech flopped down again.
It had only been six hours since they returned to the Marauder? Hunter blinked and mumbled, "Feels later."
"Mmm," Tech agreed into his pillow, already drifting off.
Hunter listened for a moment. No one else was in the bunkroom, but he could hear the murmur of quiet voices from the cockpit. Quinlan said something. Hunter couldn't make out the words, but for some reason hearing them reminded him of Zenaya and how easily she had overpowered all of them.
Frowning, he stared at the wall and wished he could slip into the cockpit and set a course for Nar Shaddaa. Quinlan hadn't openly ordered that they stay in orbit around Malachor, but Hunter knew he intended to stay until Zenaya was dead. And while the Jedi hadn't bothered pulling rank so far, he would do it in an instant if he had to.
Feeling even more tired than before, Hunter shook his head and lay down. Time enough for that in the morning.
It was well past midnight when Wrecker woke up again, feeling stiff but much better than before. His head wasn't pounding, and the dizziness was gone. Good.
Across the room from him, Hunter was also up, making his bunk with military precision. For a moment, Wrecker thought that was kind of weird. It looked too normal, after everything that had been going on in Trayus.
"Whatever," he mumbled to himself. "A little normal is good." He got to his feet without hitting the upper bunk, then stretched, elbows and knees cracking loudly.
In the dim light from the open door, Hunter met his look and smirked, then cracked his knuckles.
Wrecker popped his back and was about to do the same with his own knuckles when he heard a rustle from behind him. He turned around just in time for Tech's pillow to hit him square in the face.
Wrecker snatched it away, almost yanking Tech out of the upper bunk after it, then hurled the pillow at him.
Tech sat back abruptly. Instead of returning the blow, he fumbled around to locate his goggles.
Hunter straightened and tilted his head absently to the side, cracking his neck.
Tech put his goggles on, blinked owlishly once or twice, and said, "If you continue to do that, the results –"
"Nope," Wrecker interrupted in a cheerful whisper. "Don't want to hear it."
Tech almost appeared to consider that for a moment. Then he huffed, rolled his eyes, climbed out of the bunk and left the room.
Wrecker stretched his arms out to either side and glanced at the bunk above Hunter's. Despite the brief disturbance, Crosshair was still sound asleep. Good thing, too . . . he'd practically been climbing the walls earlier that night.
As Wrecker reached for his armor, he wondered why Crosshair was so stubborn about asking the Jedi for help. . . Or asking anyone for help. He wasn't the only one, though. Quinlan was stubborn about it, too.
Anyone would think I didn't want to help. Wrecker considered, then shrugged off the thought. That was why he didn't bother asking anymore.
After storming into the cargo hold, Quinlan had made it through only seven sutures before getting so lightheaded he almost passed out. It took him so long to recover that by the time he straightened up from where he'd been leaning against the crate, Wrecker was on the last one. Wrecker never dealt with stitching up injuries because his hands tended to get in the way of themselves, but there wasn't anyone else to do it, not with Quinlan stubbornly refusing Hunter's help.
Even with bacta and Force healing, or meditation or whatever, that cut was going to take at least a few days to heal. Probably a week. Vythia had really done a number on him . . . back while she was still Vythia, anyway.
After patching him up, Wrecker had gone to bed. He'd thought that everyone else had, too, but when he woke up four hours later, Crosshair was still wandering nervously around the ship. Wrecker had been forced to practically shove his younger teammate over to Quinlan. The Jedi had gazed at them in bleary confusion, not remembering – until Wrecker reminded him – that he had to remove the Force-trick he'd used to keep the sniper alert.
Wrecker fastened his greaves and bit back a yawn, once again wondering how the whole Force thing worked. It was weird. All Quinlan seemed to do was touch to Crosshair's forehead and look at nothing for a few seconds before stepping back and muttering, "All set. Sorry about that."
Wrecker hadn't been able to resist nudging Crosshair and whispering, "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
The glare he received in reply was nowhere near its usual intensity.
With another glance at the chronometer, which said oh-forty-nine, Wrecker checked that his left vambrace was tight and stood. "So – Hunter."
Hunter was studying a piece of his armor. "Yeah?'
"What're we doing?"
The sergeant looked up, confused, and Wrecker gestured vaguely, not sure what exactly he was asking about.
Hunter hesitated, then stood and left the room, speaking over his shoulder. "First thing I'm doing is fixing my cuirass."
Wrecker joined him in the hall and glanced at the long, thin cracks that traveled up into the chest plate. "Yeah – that leviathan cracked it good." As they turned into the cargo hold, he added, "You think it's actually dead now?"
"The leviathan?" Hunter opened a big crate and started digging through the pile of supplies they kept in it. "Last I saw, it was pretty much dissolved."
"Good." Wrecker started checking his helmet for damage. "I figured it was dead, but with Zenaya healing it like that the first time . . ."
Hunter shook his head. "I felt it die." He paused his movements, as though suddenly realizing how strange that sounded, than shrugged.
They worked in silence for well over an hour after that, cleaning and patching up their armor. Once Hunter's was mended, they checked over Wrecker's, then Tech's and Crosshair's. Not that either of the younger squad members had worn it since before running back into Trayus . . .
Wrecker picked up the sniper's cuirass, studying the spots where the statue's fingers had punched through.
Tech's repairs were good, like they always were, no question about that. But as Wrecker continued to check over them, he realized how lucky Tech and Crosshair were that the leviathan hadn't grabbed either of them. If it was able to crack Hunter's armor that easily, anyone not wearing armor would have been crushed to death. They hadn't taken the time to put on their armor because they rushed in after Hunter and Wrecker once they realized they were in danger. . .
Wrecker sat back on his heels, thinking back over the fight with the monster as an uncomfortable realization started to poke at the back of his mind.
"Hey, Hunter," he said, rubbing his head. "If we hadn't gone back in after Vythia, the whole fight with the leviathan wouldn't have happened."
Hunter looked up. "Yeah . . . Of course, it would probably have killed us from a distance, so it's just as well – "
"If we hadn't gotten separated, we'd have left Trayus a lot faster," Wrecker went on, not really listening. "And the whole ritual couldn't have taken place."
"We don't know that," Hunter replied slowly, setting aside Tech's helmet. "She – I mean, Zenaya – only needed Quinlan."
"Yeah," Wrecker agreed. "But he didn't leave Trayus because of us. And he and Tech and Cross followed us back in because of the leviathan. But why'd we go back into Trayus?"
"I don't know." Hunter hunched his shoulders a little, looking uncomfortable. "I thought I knew at the time, but when I think back . . . We should have left Vythia."
"Yeah. I don't remember why I went in."
"You said we had to get Vythia out," Hunter said. "And I thought we had to find out what she was up to. It just made sense . . ."
Wrecker frowned. "Do you think that Zenaya was making us think it was a good idea?"
Tech entered the room and sat down between them, studying something on his datapad.
"Maybe." Hunter hardly seemed to notice. "In the Core, when the wind kept us from reaching the altar . . . Wrecker, I think Zenaya was there all along. The storm when we first left Trayus – that was her trying to keep us inside."
Wrecker felt cold. "So maybe all the storms all along were her. . . following us?"
"I do not believe that was the case," Tech said, looking up. "At least, I do not believe all of the storms were caused by her. For example, the ash storm that began as we were leaving Adas Academy occurred because of a massive thunderstorm and was not centered on our position. However, analysis of sensor data indicates that the storm as we left Trayus was centered immediately on our ship."
"But the one outside Adas ended so fast," Wrecker said, remembering the strange, almost cut-off end to the violent wind.
"Yes." Tech hesitated. "All of the storms on Malachor appear to be unnatural, to some extent or another. Quinlan said it was because everything has been twisted."
"Well, that's for sure," Wrecker grumbled. "And now we've gotta go back down there and hunt down Vyth – I mean, Zenaya."
"Is that the plan?" Tech asked.
Hunter's expression became one of disapproval. "You heard the plan last night."
Tech smirked. "We heard Quinlan's plan, yes; but I assumed we were not going along with it."
"Same here," Wrecker said. "We've done some really dumb stuff, but nowhere near that dumb."
"Yeah." Hunter raised an eyebrow in consideration. "I can't tell which plan would get us killed fastest."
"Probably . . ." Wrecker thought about it. "Yeah. Plan Thirteen."
Tech opened his mouth, closed it, then reconsidered and said, "Actually, I believe it would be Plan Seven."
"Plan Seven's great," Wrecker argued. "You guys never want to use it."
"For good reason." Tech tilted his head.
"Well – it still wouldn't kill us the fastest."
"That's not the kind of plan I meant," Hunter said disapprovingly, getting up from the floor. He put both hands on the crate behind him and hopped up to sit on it. "And even if it were, the one that would definitely get us killed fastest is Plan Thirty-Six."
Wrecker considered the last time they'd practiced Thirty-Six. "Yeah, maybe. But which plans were you talking about?"
"The half-plan I had and the one Quinlan had." Hunter glanced at the door. "Where is he, anyway?"
"In the cockpit, asleep," Tech answered. "If I understood you correctly last night, you thought our only option was to hunt down Zenaya directly. Or, rather, you thought it was impossible but at the same time you preferred it to Quinlan's plan."
"Yeah."
"Despite how easily she could overcome us?"
Hunter pulled his knife from his vambrace and tilted it back and forth, watching the light on the blade. "Yeah. An ambush might be even more dangerous. She'd have more time to prepare. There's no way she wouldn't know we were coming, either way."
"There might be," Tech said unexpectedly. "We do not know how well her ritual worked. Vythia might still be – ah – present, for lack of a better term."
Hunter looked up briefly. "You mean she might end up killing Zenaya herself?"
Wrecker shifted, remembering how the Nautolan woman had turned the knife towards her own heart when she realized what was happening.
"No," Tech admitted. "I doubt Zenaya will allow that to happen. Even when she was first taking control it seemed easy for her to stop Vythia. But perhaps her Force-abilities will weaken as time passes."
"I dunno," Hunter answered. "Quinlan was going on about her getting more powerful, not less."
Tech's eyebrows creased in a frown. "Hm."
Wrecker was surprised when he didn't say anything else. He must really not have any ideas. "Well, we'd better come up with something. Unless we want Quinlan to keep going with his plan."
"Or unless we leave and call in the Jedi Council," Hunter said.
The other two commandos looked blankly at him.
Hunter shrugged once. "It's an option."
Tech fidgeted with his datapad. "It . . . is an option. Technically, at any rate. But I would not have expected that suggestion from you."
"I know." Hunter looked a little uneasy. "Except, if we all get killed, Zenaya will be loose on the galaxy anyway. Unless we booby trap the Marauder or something like that."
Hunter's gaze slid to Wrecker, then moved abruptly over his shoulder.
Wrecker turned to see Crosshair lounging in the doorway. He was a lot less pale than he had been, and the weird, distant look was gone from his eyes.
The silence dragged for a few seconds before Crosshair looked at Hunter and asked calmly, "So, you want me to hit Quinlan over the head so we can get back to the Mid Rim without breaking orders?"
Hunter snorted and shook his head. As Crosshair seated himself on the crate next to him, the sergeant turned back to Wrecker as though waiting for an opinion.
"Going after Zenaya's not any more dangerous than the other stuff we do," Wrecker said.
Tech opened his mouth to argue, and Wrecker covered it with one hand before continuing. "I mean – I guess I just mean that there's always a chance we'll die in any mission."
Tech shoved Wrecker's hand away. "Yes. But this time we are not going to be up against droids or opponents of equal skill. Zenaya is incredibly powerful, and it is likely that she is incredibly intelligent as well. We managed to survive the leviathan, which was less powerful and less intelligent, only because Quinlan utilized the power of the dark side."
"Hm." Crosshair put a toothpick in his mouth and bit down on it. "Anyone stop to wonder what'll happen if he decides to use it like that on her?"
Wrecker didn't answer. From what he'd seen, all it took was Quinlan getting scared and mad enough, and suddenly he'd been able to lift and throw a creature – one that Wrecker would never have been able to lift – as though it weighed next to nothing. It would have been useful if he'd been able to do that earlier. . .
"I don't know that he can," Hunter said. "Even with that. If Zenaya could keep us from talking . . . I don't know."
At oh-five-thirty, Hunter decided to check in with the Jedi. Even though Zenaya's consciousness wasn't hovering over them anymore, as far as he knew, and even though they weren't on the surface of Malachor . . . well, the last thing they needed was to find out too late that Quinlan had been trapped completely in some sort of weird Force-vision.
But when he stepped into the cockpit, Quinlan looked calm. He was sitting upright in the co-pilot's chair, hands folded in his lap as he meditated with his eyes lightly closed. On the console in front of him was the green kyber crystal from Hunter's lightsaber. It was flickering, ever so slightly.
Hunter rested his forearms on the back of the pilot's seat and leaned forward, staring out at the planet surface below. The dusty greys and dull reds of the entire planet were spotted here and there by what looked like smudges. Ash storms, most likely. In the southern hemisphere was a massive thunderstorm, rotating visibly even from orbit. The scattered ash was drifting into the atmosphere like smoke from a raging fire.
He glanced at the Malachor system's star, half-hidden by the curve of the planet, then let his gaze wander over the silver and grey glints of the orbital graveyard that floated kilometers overhead.
Several minutes passed before the flickering green of the kyber crystal grew brighter, catching his attention. He watched it until it went dull, then looked at Quinlan, who was now leaning back in the co-pilot's chair and watching him.
The sergeant raised an eyebrow.
"I'm going to steal your lightsaber," Quinlan announced noncommittally.
Because Hunter was confused, he didn't bother with a reply. Instead, he spun the pilot's seat around so he could sit down.
"I could take the padawans' sabers with me," the Jedi continued. "But they won't hold up as well. Even the crystals won't."
"What about the yellow crystal?" Hunter asked.
"It destroyed the emitter on my lightsaber. I wouldn't even try it in yours."
He set to work reassembling the black sentinel hilt while Hunter fiddled with the engine readouts.
"The others around?" Quinlan asked eventually, in an absent voice.
"No, they jumped out the airlock." Hunter let out a huff and twisted to face him. "Yes, they're around. They're preparing for the next part of the mission."
Quinlan locked the kyber crystal in place and looked up, waiting for an explanation.
"Tech located the Phoenix. Zenaya landed halfway up a mountain, near some sort of building. He thinks she went inside."
"She did." Quinlan stood up, clipping the hilt to his belt. He'd changed into another of his black outfits, but this time he was also wearing the shoulder-piece that held the symbol of the Jedi Order.
Hunter followed him into the cargo hold, where Crosshair was helping Wrecker check detonator tape. Tech was alternating between studying a map and scribbling notes on top of the nearest plasteel crate.
Quinlan paused, surveying the activity before turning to the sergeant with a questioning look.
"We can't have Zenaya leaving the planet," Hunter said. "As you pointed out. So, before we go in after her, we're destroying the Phoenix. Just in case."
Tech looked up. "Yes, but first we will enter it and retrieve all of Vythia's codes."
"What for?" Quinlan asked. "Nar Shaddaa?"
"We no longer have Vythia as our way in to the Prince's stronghold." Tech underlined something on the crate, frowned at it, and crossed it out. "Taking her codes seems like a wise precaution. At the least, it will save us some trouble."
"Good idea. Hunter said you tracked her down."
"It was not hard, with only one ship on the entire planet."
"I'll bet. How long has it been since the Phoenix landed?"
"I cannot tell for certain. However, thermal imaging shows that the ship has completely cooled off, indicating that it has been at least several hours."
Crosshair handed the last coil of det tape to Wrecker. "What difference does it make?" he asked, sounding both curious and suspicious.
"Uhhh." Quinlan rubbed at the bandage on his forearm. "None, I guess. Except if she's been there for a while, she must be after something. She returned to her old palace."
Wrecker sealed his pack. "I didn't know she had a palace."
"Neither did I, before she told me. . ." He twitched slightly. "Good thing is, I don't think she meant for me to know a lot of what I learned."
Tech hopped up to perch cross-legged on the crate. "How did she tell you without being aware of it? More specifically, do you mean that she intended for you to learn anything, or that she accidentally imparted knowledge?"
There was a short pause before Quinlan answered. "I don't know."
Tech's eyes, looking slightly taken aback, flitted to Hunter, who said, "Quinlan, is there anything you know about this – palace?"
"Not that would be helpful. Except . . . I thought I recognized something. When we broke into Vythia's ship, there was a drawing of a room, with a shadow of a statue or a person falling across an altar, or a crypt or – something like that."
Hunter shook his head once. "And you saw that room? When Zenaya . . ." He paused uncertainly, remembering how the dark apparition had put her arms around the Jedi. He settled for a vague gesture. "When she talked to you?"
"I saw it, yeah – that, and other things. But when I saw it again last night, I didn't see what cast the shadow." He frowned in realization. "And I should have. I saw the whole room the second time."
"Was the shadow itself there the second time?" Tech asked cautiously.
"No. But it should have been." Sounding irritated and confused, the Jedi gave his head a hard shake. "Never mind. Ignore it. It was just a vision. It might have meant nothing at all. Let's just get down to the surface and get this over with before we all go insane."
Hunter almost asked if Quinlan was sure he wanted to try, but the sharp look in his eyes made him hesitate.
"Beginning descent." Tech left the room.
"Crosshair," Hunter ordered. "When we get to the surface, you're on watch. Tech, Wrecker and I will handle the Phoenix."
"Got it," Crosshair said. He checked that he had the extra datapad, then gestured toward the gunner station. "I presume there's a reason we're not blasting the palace into rubble from a kilometer away."
"Yeah," Hunter answered, smirking. "A lot of the building is inside the mountain itself. We've got no guarantee she'll be killed unless we go in there and do it ourselves."
". . . We?" Quinlan asked into the short silence.
Crosshair glanced at him, rolled his eyes, and headed out into the hall.
Wrecker followed him, grumbling. "I was looking at the scans, and those Sith knew how to build, I'll give 'em that. The whole place is a – a honeycomb. The hallways and rooms are staggered beneath each other. All you'd do is collapse the top of the mountain on the first couple levels and never touch the rest."
As Tech started to answer, Quinlan looked uncertainly at Hunter. "I thought –"
"I thought we had this argument last night." Hunter folded his arms and rested his weight on one foot. "Or don't you remember?"
"I remember Wrecker saying my plan was stupid." His expression lightened into a brief, self-deprecating smirk. "Which – okay, yeah. It was. I don't know what I was thinking."
From the hallway, Crosshair's voice floated in. "You weren't."
Hunter glanced up, but the sniper was already vanishing into the cockpit. He sighed and said, "We didn't – don't – really have a plan. The easiest thing to do would be to destroy her ship and leave her stranded. Of course, we have no guarantee that there's no other ship on the surface."
Quinlan was staring at the floor, an expression of real worry on his face. It looked like he wanted to say something and couldn't figure out how to say it.
Hunter didn't really want to hear it, either. "Not much time left to discuss it," he said, starting for the door. "We'll be landing in a couple of minutes."
Quinlan did not answer, somewhat to Hunter's relief. He didn't join the others in the cockpit, either. The three commandos kept a sharp lookout, while Tech guided the Marauder down in a careful loop.
As they approached the coordinates, Hunter caught sight of a gleam of silver – the Phoenix, glinting in the morning sunlight. He glanced at the chronometer. "At least we aren't doing this in the middle of the night."
"Yes," Tech agreed. "Though of course, if the palace were on the other side of Malachor, we could simply wait until nighttime, at which point it would be broad daylight there."
Wrecker sighed loudly and flicked him. "Yeah, yeah, we all know that, Tech."
"Oh. Good." Tech paused to shoot him a prim look. "I thought you may have forgotten."
Crosshair leaned forward and poked Tech in the ribs, then withdrew hastily to avoid an elbow to the face.
"All right, that's enough," Hunter ordered, looking down at the scanner. "Focus, Bad Batch. I'm not picking up anything near the Phoenix. You see any signs of life?"
"None," Crosshair replied, but leaned forward to get a better look anyway.
"I'm not seeing anything either," Wrecker agreed. "Guess she's inside after all."
"We can hope, anyway," Hunter mumbled, recalibrating the sensors for heat signatures. When he still saw nothing, he said, "Tech? Take us down."
Tech obeyed, nudging the shuttle into a steeper descent, and Hunter straightened and turned, intending to get his knife.
Quinlan was standing in the doorway, a hand on either edge, effectively blocking Hunter from leaving.
"Guys, listen," he said, before Crosshair could do more than raise an eyebrow. "I should go in after Zenaya by myself because if I fail, someone needs to warn the Jedi about her."
Crosshair looked up lazily. "You're not a very convincing liar when you're nervous."
"I'm not lying."
"You're not telling the truth."
"Crosshair, of all the –!" Quinlan gritted his teeth together. "Someone does need to warn the rest of the galaxy."
"Okay," Wrecker said. "That leaves three of us to go with you. Tech can take the Marauder back up and stay in orbit until we call him back down."
Tech had stopped the Marauder, which was now hovering a hundred meters above the ground, and now turned to give Wrecker a harsh look. "Thank you for volunteering me for that task," he said sarcastically.
"Well – he's right –"
"Except for the minor fact that I have already jettisoned our escape pod with an active emergency beacon, the signal of which will take three point five days to reach the closest Republic Fleet, warning it nearly as quickly as I could do by flying there in person, and except for the fact that the Marauder cannot be piloted by Zenaya because she –"
Wrecker towered over him. "Yeah, well, he's still right –"
Hunter stepped between them, putting a hand out to either side. "That's enough, both of you. Quinlan, Tech already took a lot of precautions to ensure that the Republic and the Jedi will be warned either way. We've programmed the Marauder to self-destruct if anyone apart from ourselves tries to start it over the next forty-eight hours."
Quinlan opened his mouth and closed it again.
"Hidden retinal scans," Tech said. "I did not get a chance to obtain yours, Quinlan. I would not recommend you attempt to start the Marauder."
"That works," Crosshair interjected calmly, as though he hadn't already known about it. "And if we all die except for you, Quinlan, just drag one of us over and falsify the scan."
Hunter winced.
Quinlan slammed both hands flat against the walls on either side and snapped, "You know perfectly well that this is a suicide mission!"
"Yeah . . .?" Wrecker said, looking completely unbothered.
"Those are, after all, what we specialize in," Tech added.
Crosshair watched with a dry smirk, probably satisfied that he'd gotten through to what was really making Quinlan hesitate.
Hunter sighed. "Listen. No matter what, five of us against Zenaya will be better than one." He gestured for Tech to continue the landing. "And besides, if we returned to Coruscant and left a Jedi general behind . . . I don't imagine Command would approve."
There was a long pause in the conversation while Tech landed. The Marauder settled onto the ashy surface of the mountain with a faint thump.
When the sound of the engines died away, Hunter stepped towards the hallway; then he paused, raising an expectant eyebrow as he realized that Quinlan was still in the doorway. "What?" he asked.
The Jedi shook his head, his eyes settling briefly on each of them. "You specialize in suicide missions," he said expressionlessly. "And you don't seem to care."
Wrecker laughed. "You're still on about that? Come on, let's get started!"
Quinlan turned, heading for the door, but before he pressed the release he glanced back at them, a reluctant smirk on his face. "Just so you know . . . there is something seriously wrong with you guys."
"We have been accused of insanity in the past," Tech agreed, checking his dual pistols.
"Yeah, well." Hunter grabbed his knife. "I guess it looks like we got the right Jedi then, doesn't it?"
