Fett-spawn

Chapter Summary: Tech has his loyalty tested, brutally. Echo solves a puzzle. The rest of the Batch is ready to rumble.

Chapter Notes: It's mostly Tech-centric and it's pretty verbose as a result. This wasn't planned from the start, but I think what I'm doing is a little bit of character study as I narrate from the different Batchers' perspectives (mostly Echo and Tech). So naturally, Tech's is going to be the most long-winded lol. Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas or advice to make this better. There's a lot of violence in these scenes; if you feel like it's eclipsing the plot, let a fellow nerf-herder know.

**Trigger warning to all my vode who've been tortured by bounty hunters**

Tech strongly suspects that the cell in which he's currently confined was not originally intended for use as a prison.

For one, the split durasteel and transparisteel access to the compartment may be ample for the job, but it doesn't allow for the easy exchange of small items without opening the entire device. This could be why he's not been given any water or sustenance.

Secondly, the ray shielding installed within the cell for separating prisoners is a simple, relatively inexpensive idea. But it was likely a hurried solution during the compartment's conversion as it's not optimal for the wardens because it allows the prisoners to visually communicate with each other. Of course, this observation implies that said detainees possess the capability to effectively see, so he spitefully files this finding away as 'irrelevant.' Furthermore, Tech doesn't even want to explore the magnitude of and reasons behind the woefully poor acoustics of the chamber and adjacent passageway. He sincerely doubts that his captors intended for him to be privy to their hushed hallway conversations from within the cell and to be able to hear their approach from multiple frames away.

But why waste time speculating on this theory when he can simply ask an employee?

"Ah excuse me, TG-3," he says from where he's seated on the floor, resting his back stiffly against the same bulkhead as the hatch. He despises the fact that his voice sounds hoarse and wearied at first, and he quickly compels it back into its usual crisp, confident timbre.

"What was the original intended purpose of this compartment?"

The droid stares down at him dully, calculating its answer.

"I can't give you that information," it decides, most likely to avoid giving its prisoner any sort of advantage.

The droid doesn't realize its answer gave Tech what he wanted anyway- confirmation that the room was, in fact, officially designed as something other than a prison. Regardless if it was a storage locker, a library, or, hells, even a porglet hatchery, Tech's confident there's a structural weakness to be exploited if the proper pressure is applied. He casts his gaze up to the ceiling, wincing at the discomfort it causes and cursing his inability to see anything up there but a dark, grey blob that's punctuated with what could be piping and ductwork.

Tech also curses TG-3 for its diligence in ensuring that all the tools temporarily allowed for Echo's sake were returned to the pouch when it was confiscated again. There wasn't any viable explanation for why TG-3 discovered the missing items strategically concealed in Tech's pantleg and shirtsleeve, so Tech hadn't even bothered to try.

"TG-3," Tech asks, venting his natural tendency to repel stagnation. "How did you come to be such a proficient sentinel?"

"It's one of my fundamental responsibilities," the droid readily intones. "I was designed for it."

"Clearly," Tech scoffs, unimpressed. "But what security detail experiences do you have? What other types of prisoners have you guarded before you were tasked with guarding me and my compatriot?"

"I can't give you that information," TG-3 decides again.

"As I expected," Tech tells the droid as he squints hopelessly around the cell, habitually tapping his heels on the deckplate. "What year was this vessel constructed?"

"I don't see any reason to give you that information," says the droid. "So I won't."

"Hm. I find you exceptionally boring, TG-3," he declares.

True to Tech's description, TG-3 doesn't say anything to that, just continues to excel at its sithdamned fundamental responsibilities.

…

The minutes tick by tensely and there's still no word from upstairs or any noteworthy movement of personnel or craft.

Tech's certain that the Skakoan's "inspection" of Echo is proving to be an exact paradox of what Tambor expects and desires it to be. If Tech was witness to it, and if the tests weren't also causing Echo a great deal of stress and discomfort, he'd be flagrantly delighting in the Skakoan's reactions to the yielded results.

Oh, Echo, Tech worries.

He knows his brother is brave, competent, resilient, and more prepared than ever to thwart a cybernetic breach. But still, Tech despairs when he reflects on what the ARC's being subjected to up there. And, as Echo's sworn wingman, Tech absolutely loathes the fact that he's been ineffectual for the entire duration of his vod's torment thus far.

But if there's one advantage provided by his figuratively "aching heart," it's that it's a tremendous distraction from his physically aching body. Tech may not be the epitome of physical health at present, but his injuries can't hinder him in any impending exertion as long as he stays focused on Echo, their shared escape, and reuniting with the Bad Batch.

And while escape and reunion are still the ultimate objectives, Tech has mentally prepared himself to complete an array of intermediate steps. As such, he decides to make a viable estimate of how much time remains until he's consulted for his knowledge of Echo's anatomy. Drawing on one of many mindfulness skills he's learned from Hunter, Tech closes his eyes and tries to visualize the Skakoan's inspection strategies and predict the general progress of the sickening procedure.

It should be any moment now, he determines, worried that he's either grossly miscalculated, or that something entirely unexpected has unfolded.

He's about to reiterate the assessment when he hears multiple sets of heavy, deliberate footfalls. Right on schedule, approaches the trio of hellions responsible for Tech and Echo's crooked excursion back into the twisted affairs of the Techno Union. Careful of his injuries, Tech uses the bulkhead to awkwardly climb upright so that he'll be standing when the bounty hunters arrive. After appreciating one last moment of repose, he squares his shoulders and steels himself for the coming interaction... and the subsequent altercation.

"Great news, mechanic," announces Thaxx jovially as he and his two accomplices appear in the doorway, shoving themselves in front of TG-3 without preamble. "Another opportunity for you to prove useful has just presented itself."

If any of the three bounty hunters are surprised to see the prisoner on his feet, Tech can't see enough detail to notice. But he does notice that the Trandoshan, one Mr. 'Ryybor', is practically vibrating with anticipation. Apparently, the time elapsed since Tech disgraced Trandoshan culture did very little to quell Ryybor's resentment for the mechanic and the comments he made.

"Yeah," chimes the Twi'lek, as Tech feigns a mild interest in this highly-anticipated moment. "One you're not gonna want to waste."

"You see, mechanic, our client's trusted middleman is having a tough time accessing what he needs to authenticate our bounty's substantial value," Thaxx explains. "And as the droid-clone's designated technician, we figure that you can help this inspector gain access to its interface."

"We ain't gonna pretend we know a whole lot about nuts and bolts of it all," says the Twi'lek. "But we know you're capable. We know you're the key to it."

"Ko'haq here's absolutely right," adds Thaxx. "We three are men of business and soldiers of fortune. We don't care for mechanical or technical pursuits."

Not that any of you possess a fraction of the intellect required for such, Tech thinks, literally biting his tongue to avoid interrupting.

"So, we need your help," Thaxx continues. "I know your time with us has been… mmm, less than hospitable. But please understand. It can get a whole lot worse for you."

"A whole lot," the Trandoshan emphasizes with a snarl.

Yes, thank you for that redundancy, thinks Tech, unmoved.

"But, as I said, we're men of business. I suggest we all cooperate with each other to avoid any nasty consequences," says Thaxx, gesturing casually to his partners. "My two associates have very aggressive methods of getting information outta people. And they're the best at what they do. However, I argued you're likely a very intelligent man, and so we won't need to resort to their usual tactics."

"Thaxx ain't exaggeratin', clone," warns the Twi'lek. "Ryybor here's a kriffing artist."

Tech hears said "artist" hiss and trill in approval as his reptilian tongue eagerly flicks the air.

"He is," Thaxx allows. "But I don't think we'll need his unique skillset this time. I think you're so smart that you'll agree to make this easier for all of us. So how about it, mechanic? Are you gonna cooperate and tell us what the Skakoan needs to do in order to get access to what he wants?"

Perhaps due to the combination of his extremely damaged appearance and of his performance during their earlier interactions, it's clear that these bounty hunters truly have no appreciation for Tech's commando training or for his fierce loyalty to Echo. Tech plans to exploit their dire misconception.

...

From his extensive reading on the subjects of evasion and resistance to interrogation under duress, Tech's picked up a few unique skills of his own.

According to several verified accounts, the aggressors are more likely to fail at getting desired results when they have construed expectations regarding the character and demeanor of their captive. Their unexpected reception and unanticipated difficulties, coupled with an enduring lack of success, ultimately drive them to extreme anger. In turn, this causes them to act irrationally and therefore decreases their chances of extracting viable information from their target.

For Tech, the immediate objective has shifted from deception into something that is going to come much more naturally to him. There's no indication that the captors discovered Echo's broadcast, the Skakoan is at a standstill with the inspection, and the bounty hunters cannot harm Echo further so long as they're down here conducting an interrogation. As such, Tech's present goal is to confuse, deflect, and provoke. To prolong Echo's hard-earned respite from the hell he's been enduring for hours now. To give the Batch more of the time required to find their signal and track them to this moon.

...

What Tech needs to do now is stall, and that's something he can achieve if he simply does that which his brothers all attest that he does best above all else...

"I will talk," he tells Thaxx, confidently. "Verily, I have been described as several adjectives and insults synonymous with 'loquacious' by many of my peers and administrators."

Tech knows that at least Ryybor believes him. The Trandoshan expels a jaded whine that's comparable to the same ones Wrecker's inclined to make whenever the Batch is assigned "stealth" missions.

"Smart choice," approves Thaxx, ignoring Ryybor's paltry lament, and clapping both of his comrades on their shoulders. "See fellas? I told you. He's too clever to try to keep quiet."

"Well then," grunts the Twi'lek, sounding like he's still unconvinced. "Spill it, clone. How does the Skakoan get to the algorithm?"

"Algorithm?" Tech says, half-blinking owlishly at his captors. He almost reaches up to adjust his goggles out of habit, but he stops himself knowing the practiced motion would be fruitless and painful. "Can you please be more specific?"

"You know," Thaxx encourages. "Your droid upstairs has some sort of algorithm or intelligence asset in its head. How does the Skakoan get to it?"

"Algorithm, algorithm…" Tech repeats, pensively tapping his index finger to his bottom lip. "Algorithm. Hm. I apologize, but I do not know of any algorithm. Nor have I ever personally owned any type of droid. Technically, droids comprise the majority of the enemy force I seek to neutralize."

"Ok, you look kinda out of it, so I'll let that one slide. Now, listen closely. What are the code and procedures needed to get into the droid-clone's cerebral interface?" Thaxx asks, his tone morphing from cordial to suspicious. "Make this simple for everyone here. Tell us how to access that fancy new part that you installed on it, and there'll be no reason for us to pummel it out of you."

"I designed and provided my comrade with numerous innovative, unprecedented features," Tech explains, confidently brandishing an index finger at his jailers. "Though, I cannot attest to any of them having exceptionally decorative qualities. You will need to be more descriptive, please."

"I'd hate to be wrong about you, mechanic," says Thaxx irritably. "I'd hate for us to have to come in there and spill more of your already dwindling blood supply. You know what it is we want, so, go on. Tell us how to access the droid-clones interface."

Tech doesn't conceal the thin smirk that forms on his face.

"What the kriffing hell is so funny, clone?" demands the Twi'lek.

Tech leisurely swallows his grin.

"Oh! I find your ignorance amusing," he blandly informs them. "But truthfully, I am indecisive about whether I wish to ridicule you for it, or pity you for it."

The Trandoshan snarls and takes a step closer to the prison cell's hatch.

"Slow it down, Ryybor," says Thaxx, reaching out to restrain the Trandoshan. "We're still just having a friendly conversation."

Thaxx calmly reaches over and palms the controls for the door. The hatch slides into the bulkhead leaving nothing but air between Tech and his captors. The dense wall of angry bounty hunters fills the void created by the open doorway, making escape inconceivable at the moment.

The three bounty hunters stride into the cell, and Thaxx takes a step into Tech's personal space.

"Just a friendly conversation," Thaxx repeats. "Isn't that right, mechanic?"

The other two bounty hunters close in, fan out around Tech, and Thaxx signals for TG-3 to reseal the chamber.

"Well, in the spirit of friendliness, I suggest you save your efforts in trying to converse with me," Tech says, glancing around the ring of villains. "It is obvious that your intellect is, ahem, how shall I put this… substandard. I'm deeply concerned that you will overexert yourselves."

There was silence for a long moment as the leader thoroughly weighs Tech's remark.

Though he can only barely see out of one eye, Tech can feel the tension smoldering in his opponents. These men aren't just looking to get paid; they're not accustomed to being mocked and they feel passionately compelled to humble their agitator.

Yet Tech doesn't lack for his own confidence in this situation, and he's far from ready to back down from his quest to usurp Echo's role as their main focus.

Tech's poor eyesight obscures the bounty hunter's expression, but the scoff is obvious enough when he speaks.

"You're very, very cocky for being just a scrawny wonk," Thaxx complains, his composure finally cracking at its foundation.

"And I suspect that you overestimate your interrogation capabilities," Tech counters.

"That so?" Thaxx replies, signaling something to his partners. "Then, I guess you'll have to learn the hard way."

From the distinct push-pull of the leader's breathing, Tech is able to anticipate and duck under Thaxx's sudden, wicked swing. In a typical spar, Tech would then capitalize on Thaxx's imbalance, but it's three against one, and they're moving with a deadly, practiced cohesion. As soon as he recovers from the successful dodge, Tech's forced to bring his forearms up to protect his face from Ko'haq's crushing blow.

He's able to prevent further trauma to his face and head but leaves his trunk open to Ryybor's incoming assault. When the Trandoshan's meaty fist connects with his abdomen, Tech's breath is forced out of him in a painful wheeze, and he reflexively doubles over.

He barely has time to wince before he realizes that one of his attackers is already hovering closer. So instead of pausing and trying to breathe, he springs upward with a fierce uppercut. His fist lands on Ko'haq's chin and forces the Twi'lek's mouth to slam shut with a satisfying clack. Then, Tech resumes a fighting stance.

While Tech is hardly the largest or strongest member of the Bad Batch, he's speedy, nimble, very limber, and has developed his own formidable flavor of hand-to-hand combat. But it's a style that relies heavily on his quick, incessant movements and his ability to always be one or more steps ahead of his adversaries. Now, with his waning energy and in this confined space, he's at a substantial disadvantage.

Nevertheless, when the Twi'lek stumbles backward, clutching his face, and Thaxx moves in again to strike, Tech greets the leader's solar plexus with a potent front kick. Though it connects beautifully, the effort puts a great deal of strain on Tech's wounded side, causing him to stumble sideways as a result.

Aiming to take advantage of the prisoner's visible injury, Ryybor rushes to secure the clone's arms from behind. As Tech fights adamantly to free himself from the Trandoshan's hold, the now-recovered Twi'lek slams Tech in his vulnerable blaster wound.

Tech feels the horrible crack of bone followed by the warm, seeping of blood as the clotted wound is ripped open again. The pain is excruciating.

A moment too late, Tech realizes that the pause in his struggle permits the Trandoshan to effectively pin his arms behind him. With a frustrated grunt, he throws his head back and slams the bounty hunter right in his broad, flat nose.

It's not a particularly strategic maneuver on Tech's part. It not only aggravates his already-throbbing head, but it does little to the Trandoshan other than enrage him further.

Before Tech can clear his muddled thoughts and try to calculate his next move, the Twi'lek has moved to join Ryybor and stomps a massive, durasteel-toed boot into the back of Tech's locked elbow.

Tech can't suppress his anguished shout when he feels the bone of his left arm fracture under the force of the kick.

By now, Tech's fatigue, pain, and decreasing oxygen saturation all conspire to have him swaying on his feet. The bounty hunters notice this.

"There now," says Thaxx, panting and wiping sweat from his brow. "I think you're starting to understand you've really only got one option. So let's hear it, mechanic. Tell us how the Skakoan can access what he needs from your mechanical friend upstairs."

"I- I would," Tech informs him, between pained gasps. "I would tell you. But it all seems to- have inexplicably s-slipped my mind- at the moment."

The vicious backhand Tech receives for that answer is not unexpected, but isn't any less painful had it been a complete surprise. He also feels that grip around his broken arm tighten ruthlessly. The pain receptors there fire madly, screaming at him in alarm.

"I'm losing patience with you, clone," warns Thaxx. "I'm going to ask you once more before I consider letting Ryybor start calling the shots. Give me the code needed by the Skakoans to access the algorithm so that my crew and I can get paid."

"Did y-you know," Tech says, shuddering with the effort to annunciate clearly, "the rumors that- Skakoans explode without pressure suits- is technically accurate?"

Thaxx's stupefied exasperation gives Tech an opportunity to land another blow. He swings a knee up into Thaxx's codpiece, and despite its sturdy plastoid construction, the bounty hunter still feels it where it hurts.

As their leader stumbles backward in a rage, Ryybor and Ko'haq work together to further assault Tech from behind. Again, one of them slams into his fractured arm.

Tech yells in pain, falls forward, and his vision momentarily whites out. He spends more time than he realizes in this state because the next thing he knows, Thaxx is up in his face once more.

With one of his hands fisted in the collar of Tech's blacks, Thaxx winds up to swing with the other.

Tech doesn't see the fist coming at him until it's inches away from his face, and by then, it's far too late.

Thaxx's fist strikes Tech near the bridge of his nose. The impact snaps the centerpiece of his coveted goggles, and the bloodied eyewear falls away from his face entirely. Tech would be troubled by this, but his mind's reeling from the blow and he can barely make sense of the event. Blood is now freely flowing from his nose, over his mouth, and dripping off of his chin to spatter on the deck.

After that, he loses count of all the hits that come in rapid succession.

Eventually, Tech's treacherous legs give out, and he slumps forward, only able to conjure enough energy to stay conscious. He hangs limply in his captors' grasp, gasping shallowly, his world reduced to an absolute blurry mess. As he's trying to silence the ringing in his ears, he hears Thaxx telling TG-3 to hand over a pair of binders.

"On his feet," orders Thaxx to the others.

Tech feels himself being lifted from the deck and a single cuff from a pair of binders is slapped onto one of his wrists.

"String him up."

Still dazed from all the blows, and disoriented from losing his last remaining semblance of working eyesight, Tech begins to piece together that he's about to be hoisted up and shackled somehow to the ceiling.

He almost thinks he's ready for it.

Hunter rises stiffly out of the pilot's seat on the Marauder, rolls his shoulders, and cracks his knuckles. According to the nav computer, they're almost ready to drop out of hyperspace. It's time to round up the lads.

…

Wrecker bursts on the bridge with a bang and wanders over to the nearest empty seat, yawning loudly and stretching. The ever-stealthy Crosshair slips in silently behind the giant. The sniper pushes past Wrecker, traipses to the front, and drapes himself at the helm. His keen eyes scrutinize the dials and readouts on every relevant piece of equipment.

"In a few minutes, we're gonna drop out and make a call to Easy. We should be in a nice position to locate Echo and Tech," Hunter says. "Either of you two manage to snag any rest?"

"He did," reports Crosshair, nudging his narrow chin in Wrecker's direction.

"Aw yeah! I sure did!" agrees Wrecker happily. "Got food, got rest, and I'm ready to crush come bounty hunter skulls, Sarge!"

"Sounds good," says Hunter. "None for you, Cross?"

"Naw, he's been too worried," Wrecker takes the liberty of answering for the sharpshooter. "Sheesh, he's makin' me all tense just looking at him."

Crosshair scowls and averts his gaze from the both of them; evidence to Hunter that Wrecker isn't wrong.

"I think we're all worried, but Resolute's gonna come through for us," says Hunter. "They'll have all the intel we need to make this quick. Echo and Tech are as good as rescued, so long as we keep our heads together."

"And you?" Crosshair asks.

"What about me?" Hunter says to the sniper.

"Get any rest?"

"Just a few minutes here and there," Hunter admits. "But I'm solid."

"That's a no," Crosshair knows, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I'm gonna blast into wherever our Tech and Echo are so that we can get 'em back," says Wrecker. "And we're geared up with all our usual stuff, so it won't even be hard."

"And we can tweak a few supplies based on what the specs are," says Hunter grabbing a seat. "Let's buckle up for arrival."

…

Crosshair eases the Marauder out of hyperspace on the absolute, exact position that was recommended to them by their vode in the 501st.

Hunter cues the mic to their direct, encrypted channel with the boys on Resolute.

"Marauder to Resolute, come in please, over."

The connection is more staticky and faint, but Resolute answers up swiftly.

"This is Resolute, roger, over," says a voice that Hunter doesn't recognize.

"That's not Easy's voice," says Hunter, hesitantly. "Who'm I talking to?"

"Good ear, Sarge," says the unfamiliar reg. "Slowpoke here, over."

Hunter, feeling like he'd made a lot of progress and had gotten very comfortable with working with Easy, doesn't like the idea that there's been a watch rotation.

"Oh ahh, roger," he says a bit awkwardly. "Listen, no offense, but where's Easy?"

"Not to worry, Sarge," Slowpoke assures him. "He needed a breather. He's on his way. Standby, over."

"Ehh, was that rude?" Hunter leans back and asks Wrecker and Crosshair.

"Rude?" says Wrecker. "How? You didn't say anything bad!"

"Yes," confirms Crosshair. "But watch. Easy won't mind."

"Uhh whoops," says Hunter, shrugging.

Before he can actually start to feel guilty, Easy's voice comes in over the network.

"Easy to Marauder," says the reg, sounding amused. "Come on in, fellas. I'm here. It's safe now."

"Ha. Ha. Resolute," Hunter deadpans affably. "We had a good thing going last time, I want a repeat."

"Gotcha. Don't sweat it, Marauder. Let's do it," says Easy. "We're syncing up to your nav and all your scopes now. It's gonna take a little longer than last time because we're currently in hyperspace. Any trouble on the way?"

"None," reports Hunter. "Just been itching to get our hands dirty, Easy."

"I hear that," says Easy, sounding oddly nostalgic for a reg at a post that never involves actually putting boots on the battlefield. "We're all synced up. Just sit tight, and keep all your scanners going. We're doing a thorough sweep of both worlds in your vicinity. Stand by."

...

"Ugh, what's taking so long," demands Wrecker. "I thought they were gonna find them right away!"

"I'm not sure," Hunter tells him as he's also starting to worry. "I'll check."

As Hunter's reaching for the mic, Easy comes in over the net.

"Easy to Marauder," he says. "Nothing for you yet, but we know there are lifeforms in all hemispheres. We're going to run it again and search the moons too, this time. Stand by."

"Copy," Hunter sighs.

That's not the exciting news they were hoping for, but it's no reason to lose faith.

Hunter notices that Crosshair is staring out of the viewport with his arms crossed. He vaguely wonders if the sharpshooter is trying to gaze all the way down to the surface of the nearest world. After that insane ion trial discovery, Hunter might not even be all that surprised if his lanky vod actually pulls it off.

...

"Hunter, come in," Easy's voice breaks the tense silence again.

"Still here. Still eager," says Hunter.

"We finally got a hit," Easy reports. "An unusual one. It's Republic-specific, heavily encrypted, and it's just one word on a continuous loop. But maybe it's something."

"What's it saying?" says Hunter, trying not to squeeze the mic into scrap metal. He can feel Crosshair and Wrecker behind him, both of them holding their breath with anticipation.

"Well, I'm not trying to be funny here, Marauder," the reg hedges. "But does the name Lula mean anything to you boys? And that's Lula as in: Lylek – Uniform – Lylek – Αlpha. Over."

"That's them," Hunter declares, his heart soaring in his chest.

"You sure? I'm patching it over to you right now so you can take a look at it."

One of the many readouts in the Bad Batch's pilothouse blinks to life and flashes the translated message across the screen for all to see.

...10101 01100 00001 /... 01100 10101 01100A /... L10101L A / ...LULA...LULA...LULA...LULA...

Hunter doesn't even bother to look at the readout, but he senses his brothers' elation when they both do.

"We're sure," he tells the reg again. "What's the posit for that signal? And that's real-time?"

"Real-time," Easy confirms. "It's actually coming from one of the moons. Sending coordinates and intel to you now."

"Roger that," says Hunter nodding to Crosshair so that the sharpshooter will start compiling all of it.

"You said you boys stocked up prior to departing Resolute, right?" asks Easy.

"Affirmative. We're locked and loaded," says Hunter. "Weapons hot."

"Good," Easy insists. "I'm sure this isn't a surprise to you, Marauder. But your boys are not alone down there."

"Don't worry about us, Easy," Hunter assures him. "We're ready to socialize."

Echo winces as the pompous, purple, pressurized bag of methane in his peripheral rips another cord from one of the cybernetic ports implanted in his head. Another cord, another port, another unsuccessful connection. Tech truly is a genius.

When the Skakoan pulls back from where his subject is still lying prone on the workbench, Echo takes the opportunity to flex his fingers, his wrist, and his ankles. He might not be ready to run an obstacle course, but the feeling and dexterity in his body are definitely returning. Better yet, Voltaro seems too occupied with his failures in accessing Echo's interface to notice that the effects of the paralytic current are prematurely wearing off.

Just when Echo's doggedly trying to coax one of his knees to bend, he feels a flicker in his cybernetic neural system.

Horrified, Echo's first concern is that the broadcast Tech rigged has somehow interrupted or is now being jammed. He immediately freezes, afraid that maybe the waning of the paralytic or his tenuous exercising has somehow glitched the signal.

He closes his eyes, directing all of his focus into the cybernetic realm of his mind. He's not even daring to breathe as he analyzes the broadcast and the mechanism responsible for it.

Echo exhales a sigh of relief. The signal is still working and he's still broadcasting it, but something in it has nanoscopically changed. He delves into it, concentrating strenuously, letting his organic mind truly open up to the virtual world at his mental command. He's not sure how he knows, why he knows, or where he even learned to be able to know. He just knows what to do.

It feels eerie at first, but not in a terrible way, just in a way strange enough to have caught his attention. The more he pores over the new anomaly, the more the pieces start to make sense and fall into place. It's like solving a convoluted riddle, it takes time and effort, and he certainly runs into some dead ends. But what he finally feels is something that he can only describe as… sort of a digital keldabe.

At last, the answer is clear to him. Their signal's been received. And there's vode on a Republic vessel somewhere, reaching out to let him know.

Tech isn't as ready for his abrupt, vertical excursion toward the ceiling as he thought it was.

When his broken arm is pulled overhead to be shackled with the other over an exposed pipe, the pain is horrendous. Gasping, Tech still struggles to break free and lashes out with feeble kicks at whoever and whatever is in range. The discomfort of this cruel position spikes to an entirely new level when the bounty hunters release him, step away from him, and let the moon's gravity claim his weight

Tech yelps in distress when he's released, but forces himself to cease swinging so that he can get better control over his growing dizziness.

The agonizing swaying has almost diminished into a dead hang when Tech feels a hand clutching his throat. He kicks out weakly, but his leg is easily caught and punished for his continued insubordination.

"I think it's time you let me work," hisses Ryybor from somewhere nearby. "I've been gentle on him so far, boss."

"Not yet," yells Thaxx. "Just keep your claws to yourself for now. Look at him- he's about to crack!"

Good, thinks Tech wearily, allowing himself a brief moment of satisfaction. They truly think they are getting somewhere with this folly.

He notes the fact that they've not yet graduated to using any weapons on him. This is very favorable for his time-killing endeavors, and he estimates he'll be able to keep these di'kuts occupied for significantly longer than he's managed to so far.

"You hear that, mechanic?" says Thaxx. "My associate wants to rip you to shreds, but I think you're about to come to your senses and give us what we need."

"You need," Tech rasps. "S-substantially more martial training. There is- an instructor on Kamino. I could- put in a good word-"

Tech's comment morphs into a pained shout when he receives another blow to the head for his insolence. Then another to his ribs, for good measure.

"My my, you're in a bad way, mechanic," says Thaxx, tsking and shaking his head. "Nasty wounds, broken bones, lots of blood, thirsty, tired, and sightless. But! It can all end right now if you just give us the key to accessing the algorithm inside that droid's head."

"There is no algorithm," Tech says crisply as he works his aching jaw. "And," he adds, squinting fiercely at his captor, "evidently, your eyesight is- far worse than mine if you still believe- my brother upstairs to be a droid."

"OK," the bounty hunter acknowledges with a tone of acceptance, shoving Tech away from him and taking a step back. "OK then. Well, you did this to yourself. Ryybor?"

"Yes, boss," says the Trandoshan, promptly.

"He's all yours. Make him talk," orders Thaxx. "And Ko'haq?"

"Yeah, Thaxx," acknowledges the Twi'lek.

"This time, reel him in before he kills the clone, would you?"

"You got it," says the Twi'lek. "Where are you headed, boss? Don't you wanna watch the master work?"

"I do, believe me," says Thaxx wistfully. "But I think our Skakoan guest may want to speak to the mechanic. I'm gonna go up there and then comm you. I'll see if Voltaro has anything to say to him that might speed this up."

"Gotcha," says the Twi'lek as Thaxx takes his leave of the prison cell.

Tech's nostrils flare angrily at this unexpected development and he growls at the prospect of Thaxx harming Echo in order to influence the interrogation. However, Tech remembers that the bounty hunters will show restraint where their prize money is concerned. Therefore, Thaxx is unlikely to go do anything that will diminish Echo's value in the eyes of the client- especially right in front of an official inspector.

He clenches his jaw against a fresh wave of pain and silently renews his vow to refuse any information that could endanger Echo further or benefit Tambor.

Then, with a jolt, Tech realizes that the yellow-skinned Trandoshan is now standing inches away from him. Unlike Thaxx, this sadistic bounty hunter is at least half a foot taller than Tech. So because he's been rigged a few inches off the deck, the two are now essentially eye-to-eye.

Ryybor leans in further, absently crunching the remnants of Tech's ruined goggles beneath his bare heel and staring into Tech's bruised, bloodied face.

"You don't look much like the other Fett-spawns I've seen," says the Trandoshan thoughtfully. "Your face, your hair, your build... something got kronged-up in your test tube, didn't it?"

"My congratulations... to you for making such an astute observation," Tech huffs. "You must be... very proud."

The growl derived from the comment is enough proof that Tech's still going to be able to use the brute's dim wits and pride against him.

"The codes, clone. Give 'em up," Ryybor hisses darkly, skimming a sharpened claw down the center of the prisoner's broken nose, and enjoying the way Tech shudders and winces at the contact. "You're tired and you need a medic. But me? I'm enjoying this. I could keep this up 'til the eopies come home."

"He ain't lying," warns Ko'haq, unhelpfully. "I wouldn't wanna tangle with those claws of his, clone. Best to give us those codes."

Tech squints over to the blurry, blueish figure standing a short distance away. He painfully furrows his eyebrows just to give his best angry glare at the Twi'lek.

Ryybor reaches up and grabs Tech by the jaw, forcing the clone to meet those horrible, orange, reptilian eyes.

"What'll it be?" he hisses, so close that Tech feels the hot breath wafting from his forked tongue.

With his jaw clutched tightly in the bounty hunter's grip, Tech refrains from answering verbally. Instead, he shakes his head slowly, deliberately against the scaly fingers, in a show of his decisive defiance.

Without another word, the Trandoshan takes his first, heavy swat at the captive. Tech feels the three identical knives as they slice into his midsection, carving through his blacks and the tender flesh beneath them with almost no resistance.

As Tech, shouting at the sudden, stinging agony, is trying to swing himself away from the Trandoshan, he doesn't realize that his tormentor has circled around behind him.

Quick as a bolt of Kamino lightning, Ryybor makes two vicious, rapid swipes across Tech's back and shoulders, instantly shredding the garment and the tissue underneath. Tech screams an embarrassing roar of pain as he tries to somehow arch himself away from the enemy and the pain of the fresh lacerations.

"Give me the codes," demands the Trandoshan, inches away from Tech's ear, now skimming the bare skin of the clone's throat with a razor-sharp index claw.

Blinking away the tears in his eyes and trying to find the strength to breathe, Tech finds himself, for the first time in his life, struggling to come up with something to say.

He's spared the trouble of answering when Ko'haq's commlink breaks through the tension with the beep of an incoming call.

Up next: The bounty hunters may have a bit of mutiny on their hands. The Batch comes in hot.