About four standard hours later, the Havoc Marauder approaches the same system from which it had hastily fled meer hours earlier. Hunter and Wrecker triple-check all their gear while Crosshair remains in the cockpit, scanning for Echo's and Tech's signals. Suddenly, Hunter's commlink activates.
"Hunter, there's an issue," says Crosshair from the pilothouse. "I'm not getting a trace on either of them."
"On my way," says Hunter, securing his pack for the trip. He can feel Wrecker staring at him from across the hold. He motions for the big clone to follow him.
Once they step into the pilothouse, Hunter can sense Crosshair's building anxiety.
"I've got nothing," Crosshair reports dolefully from the scope he's been using to search adamantly for a ping from either of his wayward brothers. "Not one blip."
"Alright, nobody panic," Hunter says calmly. "Let's check in with the Resolute."
He walks over to the C5I console and keys the mic to the encrypted network.
"Marauder to Resolute, come in please," he says over one of their fancy new scrambled, long-range channels.
A few seconds later, they get a mushy hiss and a reply.
"Loud and clear, Maurader. Sergeant Easy, at your service," says the reg on the Resolute. "Who do I have and how do you read me, over?"
"You've got Hunter and we read you the same," responds Hunter, unbelievably grateful for the Resolute and staunch support of Skywalker and the 501st. "We can't get a lock on either of the signals we're looking for. Can you check your scope and try to get a real-time posit for us?"
"Roger. Leave your scope as is so we can relay and amplify," says Easy. "Stand by.
After a minute or two of waiting, Easy comes back over the encrypted channel.
"Yeah, we're not seeing anything on our scopes, Hunter," reports the reg, Easy, regretfully. "Those signals are either inactive or off-world."
Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker each utter their own brand of expletives, and Hunter has to take a few deep breaths before he composes himself and replies to the reg on Resolute.
"That's not what we wanted to hear, Easy," grumbles Hunter. "Any chance you can tap into footage from the base down there and see what coulda happened to our targets?"
"You bet," replies Easy. "Move into posit 189.73-89.32-62.37 and we'll get a good look at their security network records."
Before Hunter can even ask Crosshair if he copied the position they need to assume, he feels the sniper guiding the Marauder into the exact spot the Resolute needs her to be in for the relay.
"Ease up on that throttle, Marauder," says Easy over the net. "Aaaaaand perfect. Hold your position. Analyzing all recent records now, we'll need a few minutes. Standby."
...
"This is creepy," says Wrecker in the hushed compartment. "Are they doing this kinda stuff all the time?"
"Yes, Wrecker," says Crosshair sardonically. "The regs on the Resolute are watching every single thing you do at every moment of every rotation."
Wrecker, gasping in distress, looks immediately to Hunter in a panic. The petrified look on his face would break Hunter's heart if it wasn't so ironic to see such a pitiful expression on a man as large and powerful as their resident explosive expert.
"Crosshair..." Hunter admonishes, sharply.
The sniper shrugs, rolls his eyes, and shifts his focus back to the system occupying most of the viewport.
"He's kidding, Wrecker, don't worry," Hunter assures the giant. "They're not watching us all the time. This is special, for the mission."
"But how do we know?" whispers Wrecker, glancing nervously around the cockpit, looking like he's afraid he'll be disintegrated if he moves a muscle.
"Well," begins Hunter, not entirely sure how he's going to convince Wrecker otherwise. "Well, because-
"Because Tech wouldn't have it," says Crosshair, shrewdly. "You think he wants them knowing how many rules we bend on a daily?"
"That's right," agrees Hunter. "If anything, the regs should be worried about Tech watching in on them."
"Oh, yeah!" says Wrecker happily. "Man, Tech takes care of us! Phew!"
There's actually, probably a good deal of truth to that, Hunter reflects until his thoughts are interrupted by their reg companion on the Resolute.
"Good news and bad news, Hunter," says Easy.
Hunter takes a deep breath. "Go."
"The targets are not on the system, that's confirmed," says Easy. "We do have footage of your guys though and we can start piecing together what happened."
"What happened to them?" Hunter all but demands, reminding himself it's not Easy's fault that Tech and Echo aren't where they left them. "We gotta find them, Easy."
"I know, Hunter, I know. Bear with me, vod," says Easy. "Your guys were taken off-world by a group of bounty hunters in cahoots with the CIS. Looks like they were both stunned at close range. But they weren't separated and there's been no other arrivals or departures since."
"Ok, so we can get an ion trail?" asks Hunter hopefully.
"Well," begins Easy, tentatively. "We can, but the trails gone pretty cold to be able to pick it up electronically, especially by relay. It's gonna be like finding a marble on a moisture farm and it's gonna take time. Just remain in orbit. My guys and I are working on it and we'll let you know as soon as we get a hit."
"How much time?" asks Hunter, afraid to hear the answer.
"Twenty standard hours," says Easy. "Tops. Standby."
Hunter makes sure their mic isn't keyed, then roughly kicks the back of the empty seat in front of him.
"Dammit!" growls the sergeant. "That's too long!"
"Whatever happened to roger out?" mocks Crosshair, unhelpfully.
"Stow it, sniper," Hunter warns him, menacingly.
"Ugghh, twenty hours!" bellows Wrecker.
"Yes, Wrecker," patronizes Crosshair. "We were listening."
"Well, what're we gonna do in the meantime?" asks Wrecker. "Do either of youse have any ideas? 'Cause, well... I don't."
"No," says Hunter feeling the beginnings of stress-induced migraine.
"Oh," Wrecker replies dejectedly.
"Yes," Crosshair, decides. "One."
"Oh!" Wrecker repeats, in the complete opposite tone. His eyes snap up to gawk optimistically at the sharpshooter. "What is it, then?"
"Darken ship," says Crosshair with sudden conviction.
"Huh?" Wrecker says, dumbfounded.
"Darken. Ship." Crosshair annunciates once more, his keen eyes making contact with Hunter's and searching for a spark recognition. He grins deviously when he finds it there.
Hunter nods to Crosshair, and the sharpshooter gives him a final look of determination before turning his full attention back to the viewport again.
"What's he mean Sarge?" asks Wrecker. "We turn out all the lights?"
"Exactly," says Hunter, standing from his seat. "We turn out all the lights."
...
Ten minutes, go by. Then twenty.
The Havoc Marauder is near pitch-black on the inside, all sources of light deactivated and dimmed, and all viewports blocked except for the one that Crosshair is using. The regs on the Resolute give their first thirty-minute check-in with the Batch. Their only update is that they don't have one yet but that they stand by their 20-hour time cap and estimate that it may even be closer to 19.
Hunter sits quietly in the extreme dark, trying to meditate, but it's proving difficult because Wrecker's getting pretty antsy in the seat next to him. Crosshair hasn't moved at all from the viewport since they've gone to 'Darken Ship' except to stand up out of his seat and move steadily across the length of the transparisteel pane, gazing intently into the stars.
"What the heck is he doin'?" grouses Wrecker, growing ever antsier. "He's been at it for ages!"
"He's searching, Wrecker," assures Hunter. "And it's only been about 40 minutes. Be patient, and be quiet. Do your lower extremity exercises. Quietly."
"Aww, but Hunter..."
"Wrecker, shh," orders Hunter and grudgingly, the large clone falls silent again.
About five more minutes go by, when Crosshair slowly turns from the viewport, facing aft for the first time since he began. In the low light, the tapetum lucidum of his mutated retinas cast his eyes in an eerie, nexu-like glow to enhance his visual sensitivity. His shining, reflective gaze lingers momentarily on at Hunter and Wrecker before he wordlessly moves to exit the cockpit.
"Ugh," Wrecker shudders after their brother strides past them. "That still creeps me out every time- ow!
Wrecker's interrupted by a sharp flick on the back of his shaved head. He and Hunter can hear a dark chuckle of satisfaction as Crosshair leaves the cockpit.
"Where's he goin' now?" whines Wrecker, rubbing the back of his smarting pate.
"To the gunner's mount," replies Hunter. "He wants a different view."
About five more minutes pass, until Hunter's commlink chirps.
"Found something," reports Crosshair. "Cue to the mic to the regs, I have coordinates for them."
...
When Crosshair passes the coordinates and the potential first points of a ship's hyperdrive trajectory to Easy, the reg and his team come back within moments.
"That's it," says Easy with confidence. "I don't know how the kriff you found it but, by the Force, that's it."
"Easy, can your boys extrapolate more of the trajectory?" asks Hunter, daring to hope.
"We'll do you one better," replies Easy. "We can map their full trajectory and give you coordinates of that ship's position within a ten-klick radius. How's that sound?
"Damn good," says Hunter.
"Roger that. Sending the data to your nav system now."
"You're a legend, Easy," declares Hunter. "We definitely owe you guys a couple o' rounds."
"Bring your boys home safe, and we'll take you up on that," says Easy, brightly. "You can check in with us for some intel when you get there, Marauder. We'll have our ears open."
...
Crosshair's already engaging the hyperdrive by the time Hunter pauses his chat with the regs on Resolute. As soon as the stars begin to rush by and transform into a solid tunnel of blue, Hunter stands up to stretch. Wrecker's already hurried out of the cockpit to get some much-needed exercise and food, but Crosshair still sits in the pilot's seat. He's slumped forward and his eyes are closed, but Hunter can sense that he's not asleep and that he actually seems to be in mild pain.
"I didn't know you could do that, Cross," says Hunter, massaging his brother's tense shoulders.
"Neither did I," the sniper admits.
"That was really something. I mean- that's gotta be a first, for a human at least."
"Well let's hope something good comes from it," Crosshair mutters.
"It will," says Hunter. "How're you feeling?"
"Just peachy," Crosshair grumbles, rubbing his eyes and grimacing. "Honestly, not terrible. Just... sore. That skill's gonna need practice."
"I get that," sympathizes Hunter. "Well, we have about 3 standard hours until arrival. Why don't you grab something to eat and close your eyes for bit."
Crosshair nods gratefully and stands to make his way back to the cabin. Before he leaves the cockpit, he turns to Hunter.
"You'll be OK up here?"
"I got this, vod. Just go grab some peace and quiet while you can. I'll make sure Wrecker doesn't pester you," Hunter promises, then he remembers something. "Hey, Cross, question."
"Go for it," drawls the sniper, indulging in a yawn.
"What... what did it look like?" Hunter asks. "Seeing visual traces of that ion trail?"
Crosshair finishes his yawn and blinks languidly, unsure how to describe it. "There aren't words for it in Basic," he realizes.
"Huh," says Hunter, intrigued. "Well, not yet anyway."
"Not yet," agrees Crosshair with a half-smirk. He then turns and relinquishes the lonesome watch to Hunter. "Call me if were about to die."
Hunter watches his brother leave then swivels to face the big blue tunnel ahead of them. He allows himself to sink into a light mediation, to prepare his mind and body for the pending mayhem.
Hang in there, vode. We're on our way.