…
"Which is why I referred to you as "it," if you heard that," Tech rambles, informing Echo about the recent developments that he's missed. "For that, I am deeply sorry," he says, as he makes adjustments with his pliers. He's holding Echo in his lap, and the ARC is stretched out sideways with his organic arm tightly wrapped around his younger brother's waist.
"I didn't. And it's fine," Echo says, trying to keep still as Tech works. "Sounds like you're working them pretty good."
"Yes, well," says Tech, returning his pliers to his kit and rummaging for a different tool. "They are not very perceptive beings. They seem to be severely lacking in emotional intelligence. This is going to hurt, by the way."
"What's going to – uggh!" Echo's question is lost when a sharp, blinding pain in his damaged headpiece momentarily takes his breath away. He's sure his body would have jumped a few inches off the ground if he hadn't clutched tightly onto Tech to anchor himself. Panting, breathing through the pain and the static he temporarily sees, Echo finds his voice again.
"Yeah, uh-huh, emotional intelligence," Echo grumbles. Admittedly, once the pain ebbs, he is starting to feel much better. Whatever Tech's doing back there's definitely working.
"Yes," Tech replies, cocking his head. "I just said that."
Echo reminds himself that Tech is likely weighing the ARC's responses carefully as he works on repairing the delicate circuits in his skull that were ripped loose. It's probably not the best time to use sarcasm, and any ironic remarks Echo makes will likely be overanalyzed and make Tech overly worried.
"I know you did, Tech," Echo assures him. "How's it looking? Are you almost done?"
"Almost," says Tech. "But a new strategy just occurred to me."
"Shoot," says Echo, trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable clicking and whirring he can hear and feel in his cybernetics.
"Though our traditional communication devices have been confiscated, they did not consider the advanced capabilities of your cybernetic headpiece," Tech explains. "With your permission, I should be able to manipulate your endogenous circuitry to activate a homing signal that would be uniquely detectable by Republic search platforms."
"Oh. Well, yeah!" says Echo encouraged by this news. "Yeah, absolutely, if you think it'll help them find us. So, you're saying, with a few tweaks to my internal network, Marauder will be able to track us?"
"Not exactly," says Tech. "Doing so using the Marauder's assets would be extremely complicated. But, if the others ask for help from a larger GAR vessel with more robust platforms, it would be possible."
"So, this idea hinges on the Bad Batch asking "regs" for help," Echo realizes.
"It would seem," Tech confirms.
"And meanwhile, the two Batchers most likely to swallow their pride and ask for help from the "regs" are the two voices that won't be there to persuade them," adds Echo.
"Most likely," Tech agrees candidly. A silence ensues in the prison cells until Tech cuts through the lull. "So, may I have your permission to make the temporary modifications, Echo?"
"Kriff it," Echo sighs. "Seems like it's our best bet. Do it."
"Superb," clips Tech, and Echo knows it's literal and meant to be praise for the ARC's willingness to trust him with the risky measure. "I will need you to roll onto your back and look up at me, please."
Echo promptly rolls over so that he's now laying perpendicular to and with his head in Tech's lap. He then reaches his left arm up and around Tech's waist again for both physical stability and mental comfort. Tech's sitting with his legs extended out in front of him and his back resting against one of the bulkheads, but Echo's able to squeeze his own arm between the mechanic's lower back and the wall to be able to hook a strong arm around his brother's midsection.
Tech winces when Echo accidentally nudges against the untreated blaster wound in his side and he almost cries out when the ARC's intense grip settles agonizingly near the injury. Wordlessly, he reaches down and adjusts Echo's grip, carefully moving it to a location that causes him less discomfort and therefore less distraction.
Echo feels Tech's body tense underneath of him and is a little surprised when Tech adjusts his hold without asking or telling Echo what he's doing and why.
"You OK, Tech?" Echo asks him, suspiciously, knowing that the engineer doesn't like to deviate from any of their tried and proven methods. "This grip's a little bit different than usual."
"Fine," assures Tech, rummaging a hand through his tool pouch again. "This is a more effective posture at present. I do not wish to make any mistakes."
"If you say so," says Echo unconvinced, but stowing his concerns away until after Tech gets their lifeline broadcasting to Republic ears. "Do you know what I should expect to feel? I mean, I'm not gonna reflex kick you or bite you or anything like that am I?"
"There should not be any discomfort for you," says Tech placing two tiny tools on the deck that he'll need. "It's just an extremely delicate procedure, more so than some of the others. I need to access your circuitry from the front of the housing over your left ear, and make a succession of highly precise adjustments at rigidly specific increments of time."
"Alright," says Echo, as always, putting absolute faith in his younger brother. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Just try to remain completely still," advises Tech. "And please communicate verbally with me throughout, so I know I'm not causing you any harm with the unorthodox manipulations we are about to make."
"I can do that," says Echo, breathing deeply in and out, and settling into Tech's lap and on the deck of the prison as if it's a soft, plush, sleep couch. "Ready when you are."
"Good. I will begin," reports Tech.
…
A few minutes pass by and although it's by no means an enjoyable experience, Echo doesn't feel any new pain. He's able to remain perfectly still with relative ease and allows his eyes to wander on the ceiling. Really his only concern at this point is Tech's unusual posture and the unfamiliar way he's applying force to Echo's inner workings. The ARC's eyes rove up to study his brother's face.
What Echo notices almost makes him fail in his efforts to remain still, and he suppresses a gasp of alarm. Up until now, Echo was feeling pretty scrambled either from the damage to his hardware or as a residual symptom of that brutal cyberattack he'd suffered at the base. Or both. Now that he's seeing more of his surroundings than static and can think clearly, he's able to digest just how taxing this mission has been for his younger brother too.
Tech is deeply, unnaturally hunched over Echo so that his face is mere inches from components that he's scrupulously manipulating. The gash in his forehead is no longer bleeding, but Echo can tell that it's deep, angry, and has likely caused more harm than just broken skin. Also, Echo, thinking that he was at fault for the tremors, realizes that it's Tech who is quivering slightly from the strain of the pose he's trying to maintain to conduct this procedure. On top of that, Echo takes a good look at his brother's goggles and realizes that the vital eyewear's much more heavily damaged than he thought. In addition to the sympathy he feels for Tech, who is likely struggling valiantly to be able to focus on what he's doing, a troubling revelation dawns on Echo.
"Tech?" he inquires, deciding he should take the opportunity to make good on his promise of talking during the procedure.
"Hmm?" Tech replies welcomely but doesn't look away from his work.
"I mean this in the nicest way possible," says Echo, warily observing his brother's obstructed right eye and the laborious squinting and straining of the left. "But how well can you actually see what you're doing right now, bud?"
"Oh, my vision is severely compromised," Tech reports blandly. "I have about 15% of my corrected, operational acuity."
"Uh-huh," replies Echo, trying to pretend his brother isn't currently tinkering with hardware directly integrated into his entire central nervous system. "And how much acuity would you say you need to be doing what you're doing?"
"That level should be sufficient," says Tech, lacking any shred of false optimism.
"Right," says Echo, deciding it's better to ignore words like "should be" and "sufficient" in their current predicament.
"In any case, I am almost finished," says Tech. "I'm arranging a signature that will leave no doubt as to who we are, for anyone looking for us."
"What's it gonna say?" asks Echo intrigued.
"Well, let's see it works," says Tech, carefully pushing the last piece together and securely closing the housing to Echo's headpiece. "You tell me."
Echo feels the last segment click into place and then the start of a low, steady, faint humming noise. It's not loud or uncomfortable, it's just different and not something he would prefer to deal with constantly. It's still their best idea so far, with Tech's help, he sits up, closes his eyes, and lets his cybernetic mind become accustomed to the new sensation.
Once he's used to the feeling, he taps into the broadcast with his cerebral interface so that he can read it in his field of vision. The message trickles into focus and he sniggers. It's just one four-letter word repeating over and over again.
"Heh, perfect," he says smirking, and then blinks the non-virtual world into focus. Tech's still at an awkwardly close distance, squinting at him, making sure the ARC's on the mend. Echo is highly concerned with the number of injuries his brother's been ignoring and omitting to tell him about. "Now, let's talk about you, Tech. Lemme take a look at—
Echo stops when he sees that Tech has urgently brought his hand up to signal "quiet." And then he hears it too.
"The bounty hunters," he whispers to Tech, listening to the approaching footsteps. "Two, maybe three, of them."
"Follow my lead," Tech whispers back to him, squeezing his shoulder before moving a good five meters away from him, and taking a seat against the opposite bulkhead.
"Tech!" Echo rasps at him. "Come back over here! You're not gonna be able to see—"
Tech holds up the signal for "quiet" once more, silently begging Echo to trust him. Echo doesn't get the chance to object again anyway because before he can say another word, a spiteful voice calls into their cell.
"Times up, mechanic," declares Thaxx, stepping into view of the prisoners. "Did you pull your weight, or what?"
Painfully, Tech stands and straightens to his full height. Then submissively casts his eyes downward to the deck plates.
"Y-yes, sir," he says in a small, timid voice that Echo would never have recognized if he hadn't witnessed it actually coming from Tech's mouth. "I was able to make repairs to the unit's cerebral interface. It should now be operational within expected deviations, but it is still not functioning at optimal levels."
Echo bristles instinctively at the speech. Normally he'd be devastated and openly curse and rant, but he remembers that he and Tech are, for all intents and purposes, pulling bantha wool over their captive's eyes here.
"Well, it looks a little better, so you obviously did something right," says Thaxx, glaring down at Echo. Then, he grimaces in distaste. "Does it always look so pissed off? What's that about."
Tech attempts to squint over to see Echo's expression but gives up when he realizes it's pointless for him to try to see that far.
"Yes," Tech informs the bounty hunter. "That is his -ahem- it's factory setting. I can attempt to reprogram the setting to something more pleasant if you'd prefer—
"No need," says Thaxx holding up a hand in silence. "I don't think Tambor and his colleagues give a shit whether it's smiling or frowning. Just that they can get into its database."
Echo's stomach churns at the mention of the monstrous being responsible for the torture he endured for months on end. Glancing over at Tech, the engineer is trying to maintain a façade of indifference, but Echo notices the nervous bob of his Adam's apple and the agitated bouncing of his heels.
"Speaking of," interjects the blue Twi'lek bounty hunter. "Uh, we got that Skakoan liaison on the net. He says he's ready to board as soon as we touch down on the moon."
"Perfect timing," says Thaxx, opening the hatch and turning his weapon on Echo. "Up with you then, droid. Come on, quickly, quietly. That's it, move."
Slowly Echo rises from the deck and walks mechanically, unnaturally droid-like over to the hatch. If they're going to treat him like a droid, he's going to be sure not to give them any indication of who they're actually dealing with and what an ARC Trooper is capable of doing to them. He tramps methodically out of the cell and stands blankly at Thaxx's side.
Thaxx reactivates the prison cell door, then brings his hand to the commlink in his ear.
"TG-2 we're bringing the droid to the ready room for the survey. Tambor sent a liaison to assess the bounty and make sure we're not trying to pull a fast one," he explains to his guard. "Ryybor's gonna stay down and guard the mechanic while we do business. Too many credits are at stake…
The conversation that Tech was eavesdropping on trails off as the bounty hunters Thaxx and Ko'haq lead his best friend and brother to be cruelly inspected by an aide to one of the most despicable beings in the entire galaxy. He stands rooted on the spot, teetering between the anxiety and distress he feels for his brother and the fatigue and pains from his injuries.
Focus, he tells himself. Be useful. Think.
He painstakingly lowers himself into a sitting position and rests his chin in his palms. He's interrupted from his brainstorming when a large, yellowy blob appears in the doorway, almost eclipsing the entire opening.
"Been sent to watch you," hisses the Trandoshan bounty hunter, his tongue flicking at the recycled air. "You not cause trouble. And," he adds menacingly cracking his knuckles and flexing his claws. "You better hope I don't get too bored."
Brilliant, thinks Tech. Just what I needed; the tedious ravings of the feebleminded to avert my focus.
"N-no, sir," Tech says, in his best rendition of "timidly." "I-I will endeavor to keep you entertained."
...Di'kut.