Orders were orders. But why Hunter was the one to speak to Senator Amidala was beyond Crosshair's comprehension. Not that he was any diplomat – quite the opposite. But sneaking into the Senate Building sure beat a shopping trip.

He and Wrecker waited until Hunter left and, checking their credit packs, started off.

They left Tech to bask in his electronics and took the lift to street level.

Crosshair stalked alongside Wrecker, his forehead aching from the constant furrowing of his eyebrows.

"What's up with you?"

If there was anything about Wrecker, it was his excellent sense of timing. Not. But he wasn't wrong. And it was pointless to deny what Wrecker so astutely perceived.

Crosshair took a breath. "Nothing." Then, "It's Hunter," he sighed. "He's making me jittery about this whole thing. I don't trust his judgment."

"Uh, seems fine to me," said Wrecker. He stumped into the street as soon as the crosswalk light flashed red. Crosshair yanked him back and sent a horrific frown after the screeching cab driver before he remembered his helmet's lack of transparent properties.

"He's not said anything to relieve apprehensions," Crosshair snarled.

Green light. They started across and made it to the shops without mishap. Well, life couldn't always be a whir of excitement.

"Maybe he just needs some time to sort it out," said Wrecker. "Hey, this place looks good!"

Crosshair stared at the bleak, paint-spattered door sign which read 'Kamer's Clothes For All Cultures' and growled. The designer was lowsy. "Figure what out?" he snapped. "He's basically letting us run this investigation without any input from his end other than a grunt and 'an okay don't die'!"

Wrecker stepped forward and felt the door. It didn't slide open. "Wooow..." he breathed. "This is one of those really old kinds. The owner's gonna be fun!"

Crosshair felt his eyebrows bounce at the doorknob Wrecker turned. "What is that?"

"A handle!" said Wrecker.

"Yes, but on a shop door? Tech would faint at the security blasphemy here!"

"Aw, this is great!" Wrecker boomed, and with a jolly bound, he was inside the store and rushing towards the back where a shriveled Gran stood behind a long counter.

At first Crosshair thought the Gran might be a former friend of Wrecker's, but then he saw the EMP launcher leveled his way and decided not to shoplift.

"Good morning?" chirped the gran, presumably Kamer, as Wrecker charged with admirable enthusiasm towards the counter.

"Is that for sale?" Wrecker asked. His obvious eagerness at the weapon was enough to make saner people cringe.

"No," Kamer snapped. "This is a clothes shop. The gun is for me."

"Oh. Okay..." Wrecker stumped to a rack of coats and started brushing through as if they were flimsi pages in a cheap catalogue.

"How much is this stuff?" Wrecker's muffled tone made Crosshair turn. He was irked at how quickly Wrecker had made his selection. He still didn't understand what he was looking at. Wrecker draped his clothes over one arm and started hauling more coats out of the clothes' rack.

"Less than half original price if you boys wanna help me out," said Kamer.

Wrecker prepared to dive into a smiling reply, but Crosshair disentangled himself from a shirt rack long enough to hiss, "Excuse me, we help us."

"Course I could charge you double," the shop owner said.

Crosshair growled and waded through a heap of backpacks. Wrecker was watching him, amusement swamping his features, and Crosshair glowered at the Gran. His horribly honest personality forbade him to deny any sentient in need - especially when said sentient was going to demand an arm and a leg for clothing designed for people with the average four limbs.

He placed his elbows on the counter and cracked a toothy grin. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"I'm being bugged by a pack of hoodlums," the gran complained. "They keep coming in here demanding to see my register of customers, but I don't keep one!"

"Why'd they wanna see that?" Wrecker scratched his head, raising the entire pile of coats with his arm to do so.

"I assume they want to find someone who shopped here," said Crosshair.

"You got it, buster!" Kamer squeaked. "Every day they come in here and make a racket, trying to get me to talk. And every day I give 'em the same answer: I don't keep a register! And every day they snag an item from a rack and leave! I'm losing money, boys! For what? Information I don't have! I'd give it if I could!"

"What do you want us to do about it?" said Crosshair. "And why ask us instead of one of your other customers?"

"Business is never roaring down here, you know," said the Gran. "I supply cheap studios with outfits for holodramas and stage productions, and sell other suits to chumps like you, looking for disguises. I'm on a pension. This is a hobby!"

Crosshair's jaw twitched, and he wished desperately for a toothpick. "If it's a hobby, why are you squawking about money loss?" he sneered. "And I missed the part where you explained why you ask us instead of the other crustaceans who obviously occupy this joint on an infrequent, but definite basis?

"They're all in the business of creating a sensation!" Kamer smacked his hands down on the countertop, his eyes bobbling in indignation. "They were thrilled to learn that I've got spoiled creeps breathing down my neck and offered to buy my 'real-life experience' memoirs for some stage malarky they're trying to cook up. They even offered to let me place the title!"

"Hm, a title," Crosshair mused. "A one in a million chance. I'd take it."

"As for the money side of things," the gran went on. "I wouldn't care so much if those chowder-heads went just after my merchandise! But they started threatening my health and they're after one of my customers! I don't want the poor guy they're after to get caught if they're planning on violence. You're bounty hunters, aren't you?"

Wrecker grinned. "Today we are!" He scanned the rack nearest him. It was chock full of shirts. His eyes widened and he snagged one from the forest of flopping sleeves and collars. "Hey, cool color!" His face fell. "It wouldn't fit me though..."

The storeowner leaned over the counter. "Ah, yes. That shade is 'hunter green'. It's all the rage these days."

Crosshair smirked. "You're kidding..."

"Take whatever you want from the store." Kamer gestured to his impressive supply of six clothing racks and four piles. "Free. What's a few more items gone if it means safety to my unknown customer?"

Crosshair rolled his eyes. "Your noble aspirations are killing me."

Kamer rifled around behind the counter for a moment and pulled up a scrap of flimsi. He scribbled furiously while Wrecker stumped about the shop, snagging articles of clothing from the shaking racks. "Here's my comm code. Let me know if you need anything else!"

Crosshair pinched the flimsi between his thumb and forefinger and crammed it into his belt pouch. "We'll keep in touch."

The gran nodded and hurried back to his post. He started flicking through screens on his datapad, no doubt browsing for more anomalous items to add to his diminished collection.

Wrecker finished his capering a few moments later and the two of them left the shop and headed back across the street. They crammed themselves and their spoils into the lift and rose towards hearth and home.

In was easier than out, and they landed sprawled across the threshold of their room, the articles flung out like welcoming streamers and Crosshair under Wrecker's boot.

"Stop stepping on me!" he squawked.

Wrecker obligingly waded off of him with only two more boot prints added to the sniper's vambrace.

"Sorry 'bout that," said Wrecker. He scooped up the pile of clothes and marched up to Tech who had not looked up once at their arrival. Or if he had, he had labeled the proceedings ordinary and gone back to his work.

Wrecker hoisted and dropped the entire pile of coats and other paraphernalia on top of Tech's head. "We're baaaack!"

Tech surfaced like a garbage eel. "I am aware," he said.

Crosshair extricated himself from the carpet which was now more compressed than the floor, along with his face, and wandered over to the mound of clothing items and Tech. "You'd better not have got me anything dumb, Wrecker."

"I just grabbed whatever," said Wrecker. "I had to get mine specific 'cause of size, but I think the rest of ya should be fine!"

Crosshair plucked the dark green shirt from the pile, shuddered at all the buttons, and settled for a longsleeved turtleneck in black.

Tech stopped typing long enough to snag the second one, and Crosshair slapped his hand away in order to secure the slim black trousers peaking out from under a large brown coat, leaving Tech to frown in scrutiny at a baggier pair of machinist's trousers.

Crosshair gave them a once over. Sturdy, comfortable, and "They're black, Tech. Why complain?"

"These are not ideal for manipulating machinery should I be required -"

""We're not going to be spelunking into ship cores, Tech," Crosshair interrupted.

He scanned the coat pile and started to reach for a rust-colored vest.

Tech snatched it first, and Crosshair scowled, clinging on to the zipper with all his determination. But hours of typing had strengthened Tech's fingers, and he pried Crosshair's off the garment before waving the vest out of reach.

"First choice falls to me this time," said Tech. "Seeing as we both share essentially the same kind of shirt, and you picked first before, we are technically even. I would leave it as is."

Crosshair retreated into the pile again and shoved Tech off the bed so he could excavate a coat for himself. It was rather long and impractical, but would blend in where he was headed.

Wrecker had already donned his new outfit. Tan work pants, a smoky gray top, and a heavy, dark blue jacket with a hood.

Tech removed his armor plates and slipped on his outfit leaving Crosshair holding his, and the one remaining mismatched suit on the bed.

Wrecker tilted his head towards the door. "Any idea when Hunter's comin' back?"

"I assume he is still in conversation with Senator Amidala and Commander Fox," said Tech. "He was exhibiting unmistakably clear...apprehension when he left here."

"Yeah," sighed Crosshair. "We noticed."

Wrecker shrugged. "I didn't!"

"He is most definitely uncertain about something," said Tech, adjusting his goggles with pinkie raised. "I feel we should address him on the subject."

"We could just let him work it out," said Wrecker helpfully.

"Or we could demand he start acting like the sergeant of this squad and come to terms with whatever's bothering him," Crosshair snapped.

Wrecker shook his head. "I was gonna tell you in the shop, Crosshair. But, you need to work on your people skills."