Cal's restless boot steps echoed through the Vehement's bare halls. Five days since they'd left Kashyyyk, and Cal was sure that he hadn't set still for more than an hour.

Sometimes restlessly walking around the large ship, sometimes trying to work off some tension by training in the gym, Cal had even found himself nervously passing by the brig. Though he never quite mustered the nerve to venture in and speak to the rebels that had been captured from Kashyyyk, their fate was just one more thing weighing on him.

Though Cal's concern for their fate seemed small compared to that for BD's.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Cal stepped into the ship's technology repair area.

The workers there had long learned not to get in Cal's way, finding that the smallest hint that they hadn't given his precious broken droid their utmost attention was a fast way to earn the young man's ire.

This time, when Cal wove his way to the back of the shop to look at BDs damaged parts, he was at once relieved and horrified to find him being loaded piece by fragile piece into an open-top box. Set to leave the Vehement for the Fortress at any moment now, the idea of moving BD, how ever well he might be packaged, sent a worried shiver down Cal's spine.

"Careful with him," Cal stopped just short of yelling at the man moving BD's mangled chest piece into the box.

Seeing the worker wince didn't send a pang of sympathy through Cal, so much as it did a twitch of unease that stressing the workers might goad them into a mistake.

Biting his tongue, and trying not to stare at BD's twisted components, Cal had to force himself to leave the workers alone.

And that meant forcing himself to leave the room.

Left to wander the halls once more, Cal anxiously made his way to the medical bay.

Left unscathed by their offensive on Kashyyyk, Cal had been left with a simmering guilt over Jorge's injuries. Cal tried to tell himself that casualties were a simple fact of war as he took a familiar route through the Vehement, that he shouldn't be so hung up on a single injured man when dozens had died in the battle.

But, Jorge was one of Cal's people. Not just an anonymous body to be shot to pieces or brutally cut down, but a whole person.

And I protect my people. Cal thought to himself as he passed the intake counter to the med bay.

Much like the mechanics, the medical staff had learned not to stand in Cal's way. Not subject to the same life or death glares that Cal seemed so fond of, they had gotten plenty of hushed warnings from the sergeant in room 203 not to upset the Inquisitor.

Not thinking anything was amiss from the lack of a greeting, Cal hurried back to Jorge's temporary room.

Halfway through his last round of treatments, Jorge was restlessly sitting on his bed when Cal came to the door.

"You were gone for a whole hour that time, I was about to send a search party." Jorge quipped.

"Too bad you haven't lost your sense of humor," Used to the sarcasm by now, Cal didn't have to think long on a reply as he inspect the nearly gone wound on Jorge's leg.

Covered only with a thick bacta paste, the charred wound from a plasma bolt was mostly healed. Slow going from the burns that the searing shot had left on the side of the wound, Jorge had been left with surface bacta treatments and orders for bed rest. At first, he'd lamented the fact that only officers or the critically wounded merited a dunk in a bacta tank, but after a day with no responsibilities he'd been happy to take the slow route back to health.

"One of us has to have one."

Having heard that before, Cal was still amused in spite of himself.

Jorge thought he saw something that might pass for a half-grin from Cal. He almost commented on it, but quickly lost the opportunity as a familiar look of dismay pushed the grin away.

It's been a while since I've even tried to make a joke, hasn't it? Guess I just don't have the heart for it anymore.

Thinking about his future as much as his past, Cal couldn't help but wonder, "So, what happens now?"

"I'm thinking about taking some leave," the stormtrooper heard the double meaning in Cal's question, but couldn't place it exactly, "No offense, Cal, but I need a break before I get dragged into another rancor pit."

"Yeah…" Cal's agreement was obviously half-hearted, "But, ah… I guess I'm getting out of here too."

He hadn't been told directly, but complaints among the crew had told Jorge all that he needed to know about where they were going, "Back to that Fortress?"

Cal answered with a troubled shrug.

"A shrug's a bad answer." Jorge tried to be more friendly and critical, "I can pretend it means anything I want."

Hearing an echo of an old conversation, Cal wasn't in the mood for trying to be cheered up, "Not sure you could come up with anything worse than what I'm thinking."

"Maybe not," Jorge acknowledged before moving on, "I'll be back, too, you know. I don't have that much leave saved up. And if you're ever on the Vehement again, you'll know where to find me."

Cal couldn't even begin to guess if he would ever be on this particular ship again. He didn't even know if he was going to make it out alive from whatever Trilla had planned for him back at the Fortress. But, clinging to the hope that he might have made a friend to call on did something to save his sanity.

"Careful," Cal tried to muster some kind of cheer, "I'll take you up on that."

.***.***.***.***.

The landing and descent below the blue waters of Nur passed in a blur.

Feeling his skin crawl as the surface light was filtered by the waves, it took Cal's eyes a moment to adjust to the artificial light of the dim underwater base.

Trilla walked beside him as they stepped out of a turbolift, holding her helmet beneath one arm rather than wearing it, she breathed deep the sterile air of the fortress. Grim as it was, the place was the closest thing she or the other Inquisitors had to a home.

It made her long for another mission.

But, for now, she was left to escort Cal to the research wing, "Follow me." She told him without explanation.

A deal was a deal, and Cal carried with him a box holding BD's fragile pieces. Holding it close to his chest and being careful not to jostle the contents, he went on edge as he fell a pace behind Trilla.

Passing the occasional stormtrooper in the hall, Cal couldn't help but wonder if this had been one of the many corridors he'd run through during his desperate attack on the fortress. They all seemed the same, in this twisting labyrinth beneath the waves. Even looking out of the long transparasteel windows only left him bewildered as he saw more base walkways crossing over themselves.

I bet you could map this out, Cal glanced down at BD, fluorescent lights gleaming off the little droid's powered-down visual receptors as they walked through the hall.

Trilla seemed to sense the confusion as well as the little bit of longing that came from Cal, "You get used to the layout. Eventually."

Grimacing at her back, Cal was tempted to make a harsh comment against the very idea of ever feeling at home in a place like this. But, his disdain was quickly overtaken by a pragmatic need to know where he was going. Holding his tongue, Cal refocused himself on his surroundings, trying to commit to memory the meandering route that Trilla took him down.

The effort quickly proved fruitless, with the same scenes appearing at different angles through the long windows as they walked. As they turned down a solid-walled hall, one seemingly deep in the impossible sprawling structure, Cal began to suspect that Trilla was taking a convoluted route on purpose.

He didn't get the chance to call her on his suspicions before she abruptly stopped at a wide set of doors.

Waving a hand at the control panel left the thick durasteel plated to slowly grind to the side, revealing a cavernous room that only had a handful of workers

"After you," Trilla waited in the doorway.

Giving her a distrustful look, Cal stepped into the new room.

The room felt busy, and though only a few people worked here, they eagerly flittered between stations. A far wall was lined with blinking servers. To the left was a workshop, machines more varied and obscure than Cal could even begin to name lining row upon row of a long worktop. Drills, plasma cutters, specialty machining engines, vacuum sealers, and radiation chambers, he was sure they could repair or even build any intricate component demanded by the inquisitors.

To the right of the room were stacks of computer screens. Diagnostic readouts of the fortress' systems, as well as scrolling holoprojections of the dozens of projects the overworked shop had been assigned.

"You there," Trilla called as she strode into the room behind Cal. A woman in a grey tunic quickly approached, Trilla gestured to BD's box "Repair this droid. Recover and reupload its memory files."

"Yes, ma'am," the scientist didn't pause to ask questions or wonder what the Second Sister's end goal might be as she approached Cal to take the box holding BD.

Cal hesitated for a moment, looking down at his crumpled companion before begrudgingly handing the box over. "Take care of him," he told the scientist.

"Yes, sir," she answered with the same dispassionate voice she had offered to Trilla.

"For the record," Trilla spoke from behind Cal, "It's customary to visit the Grand Inquisitor and inform him of your past missions should he be in the fortress when you arrive."

Rankling at the fact that lingering around the repair area wouldn't do anything to fix BD faster or more completely, Cal still didn't want to leave, "Go talk to him yourself. We both know that you're going to tell him everything anyway."

"Let me rephrase that in a way you'll understand," Trilla started again, "go speak to the Grand Inquisitor, or spend an evening back on the table."

Shoulders stiffening, Cal looked Trilla in the eye.

When she didn't flinch, he was left to fold instead, "Fine. But, Trilla."

She looked over at him as he stepped toward the door.

"If you do anything to hurt BD, even by accident, I'll drag this base to the ocean floor, with you inside it. And I won't really care what it takes to make that happen."

Nodding with something between acknowledgment and dismissal, Trilla said nothing in reply. Though she did wonder if she had been a little too effective at goading Cal toward violence.

Having made his point to Trilla, Cal looked at the scientist. "Take care of that droid"

"Yes, sir." The head scientist was suddenly more cautious in replying as she watched Cal turn and leave the room.