White Snow: Liberation

by Vhetin1138

The first installment of Year 2. After three months caught in the clutches of the Empire, Mandalorian bounty hunter Cin Vhetin is beginning to wonder if he will ever escape. Little does he know that his partner is on her way to rescue him. Rated T for violence and language.

4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Reunion

Imperial Medical Facility 38-B, Level 2

Vhetin waited patiently while the turbolift carried him down to the second level. He hefted his rifle, trying his best to ignore the persistent tickle of blood trickling down his back from the ruptured plug in his shoulder. He squinted, trying to see through his helmet's eye-shaped visors. A trooper's military-grade Tactical Heads-Up-Display left much to be desired, and Vhetin found himself once again wishing he had his old armor and his old TacHUD.

He watched a hologram set over the lift door that showed the car's progress as it hurtled down to the second level. After what seemed like a lifetime, the lift car ground to a halt and the doors sheathed open.

Beyond the doors, there was only blackness. The power failure encompassed the entire facility, and Level Two lacked the emergency lighting fixtures of the Level One hallways. The lower levels were supposed to be evacuated in case of emergency anyway, so backup lighting hadn't been a priority.

He clicked on his rifle light and slowly moved out into the area beyond the lift. He was acutely aware of his bootfalls on cold durasteel beneath his feet. His helmet scan showed no signs of life in the immediate vicinity, but he remained cautious all the same. He had never been in this area of the Facility, at least not outside the Testing chambers and the exercise yard he knew were stored down here. This was truly enemy territory now.

As he made his way further into the room, he found himself wondering just how large the Facility really was. He had only ever been transferred from his cell to the Testing chambers and from there to the exercise yard. What else did this research base hide?

He shook his head, holding his rifle closer to his chest. There was something about this place that sent shivers up his spine, making the needles set into his back grind painfully against his spinal column. He still didn't know why the Imperials had chosen him for their freak show, but he knew he wasn't going to let them take him back to his cell. He would rather die than go back to the torturous repetition of incarceration and Testing.

Something clattered loudly off in the distance and he spun toward the sound. His rifle snapped up to his shoulder, finger tightening on the firing stud.

Silence.

He slowly relaxed, thinking it was probably just a canister falling over or something. Then, he heard another clash, from his other side. He spun in the other direction, moving his rifle light over the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He found several toppled chairs and tables strewn with old holozines. There was a portal along one wall of the room, with a security scanner to ensure no incoming prisoners had any hidden weapons.

Yet another loud crash, this time behind him. He pivoted to face the sound, slowly moving back, further into the dark room. The holographic map on his TacHUD showed that he was standing in the middle of a large receiving area full of chairs, speaking platforms, and holoterminals. Several of the terminals were still active, but their flickering holographic displays did little to cut through the pitch darkness. The map also referenced a heavily-fortified security checkpoint further along. If he was lucky, there would be better weapons and possibly a better HUD chip he could swap out.

Another clamor of metal against metal, closer this time. It sounded like it was right behind him. He turned toward the sound, using his rifle lamp to shed light over the area. He spotted an overturned chair only a meter from his position, still rocking back and forth lightly as if whatever had knocked it over had only just moved on.

There was a quiet skittering sound behind him, but this time Vhetin didn't turn. He glanced at his motion tracker – a small circle in the lower left corner of his HUD – and saw a large collection of green dots massing behind him.

That wasn't good. Whatever was marked as a friendly to a stormtrooper was probably not so friendly to him. He stepped up the pace, making straight for the security checkpoint, ignoring the growing frequency of the skittering sounds behind him and the metallic squeaks that accompanied them.

Keep going, he thought. Get to the checkpoint and whatever it is won't be a problem.

The security checkpoints utilized heavy blast shields that could be closed in the event of a prison escape. If he could just get to the controls and cut off whatever was hiding in the dark with him...

He broke into a jog, seeing the tiny flashing icons on his HUD grow closer and closer. The green dots were spreading out now, trying to flank him. He broke into a sprint, his rifle lamp showing the door to the security post several meters ahead of him

He was less than five meters away when something hard and sharp sliced across the back of one leg, right through the stormtrooper's bodysuit, grazing the back of his heel. He let out a cry of pain and fell forward, crashing onto the ground. He scrambled over onto his back just in time for his fallen rifle to illuminate the nightmarish image of a spindly, many-legged droid leaping for him. He raised his arms in time to block the droid as it scrabbled for his face. Its compound photoreceptors flashed in the darkness and the blaster mounted beneath it swiveled to aim at his forehead.

Vhetin shoved the Spider Turret away from him, trying to rise to his feet. Two more mobile turrets clamped onto him, one on his leg, one on his arm. Vhetin tried to rip them off, but only managed to pull one away before there was a loud report and a flash of red light. He fell to his knees as pain rushed up his leg. He ripped the turret off his shin and tossed it into the dark, struggling to his feet as more and more Spider Turrets scurried out of the shadows. He staggered away; the blaster shot from the Spider Turret hadn't penetrated his white shin plate, but it still stung enough to throw him off-balance.

He scooped his rifle up from the ground as he ran, firing into the waves of Spider Turrets as they rushed for him. Several droids exploded in showers of sparks and shrapnel, swallowed up by hundreds of others as they rushed for him. Their razor-sharp mandibles gnashed together, as if they were hungry and ready to devour him.

As soon as they were in range, the closest Spider Turrets leaped into the air, splaying their legs as they soared right for him. Three more clamped against Vhetin's legs and shoulders, squalling and shrieking as they fired into his armor, trying to blast their way through the polished white plastoid.

He ripped them off and doubled his pace, seeing the security checkpoint grow closer and closer, the cacophony of a thousand mechanical legs drowning out his helmet's audio receptors. He struggled to keep up the pace, his breath coming in short gasps as he strained to draw full breath. Pain began to race through his chest as he strained his weakened lungs.

He felt the metallic legs of the Spider Turrets clacking against the back of his leg armor, but they weren't fast enough. He let out a triumphant shout as he sprinted through the doors of the security checkpoint, smashing a fist against the controls for the blast doors as he went. There was a tremendous buzz of engaging hydraulics and the blast doors slammed shut behind him. Several Spider Turrets managed to scurry through, but the majority of them were trapped on the other side, evidenced by the loud thumping of hundreds of mechanical bodies against the door.

Vhetin quickly spun and picked off the lucky ones with well-placed shots from his rifle, enjoying every explosion of fire and metal shards as the bug-like droids were gunned down. The bright flashes of light as they detonated lit up the security checkpoint in strobe-light explosions of sparks and flame. Their mechanical legs and shattered body pods bounced across the ground, still twitching as their processors shut down.

After only a few moments he was alone again. He stood in the center of the security checkpoint, panting hard. None of the shots from the Turrets had penetrated his armor and, though the shots stung, the pain was already beginning to fade.

"Who the hell are you?"

He slowly turned, rifle lowered but ready to fire at a moment's notice. A man was standing behind him, dressed in the white uniform of one of the Facility's medical technicians. He had a pistol in one hand and a comm set hooked into his ear. His blond hair was disheveled and a bruise was forming around his right eye, as if he'd just emerged from a fight. He looked pale and ghostly in the shadows, the flickering light of a nearby holoterminal the only illumination in the room. He was staring at Vhetin with a dark scowl.

Vhetin tightened his grip on his rifle, eying the blaster the man was holding. "Who are you?"

"I asked first."

Vhetin narrowed his eyes. "I'm getting out of this hellhole. Don't try and stop me."

The man shook his head and raised his pistol. Vhetin's rifle quickly followed. "I can't risk letting you report my position. You aren't the only one trying to escape."

They stood there for a few moments, weapons aimed at each other's heads. A single triple-shot burst from Vhetin's rifle would drop the man, but his stormtrooper helmet wouldn't stop the other man's pistol shot.

"So what do we do now?" the blond man said. He nodded to the blast door over Vhetin's shoulder and the sounds of razor-sharp, metallic appendages still scraping against the other side. "Stand here until those droids carve their way through the door?"

Vhetin said nothing, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He seized the opportunity when the man's comm set hissed and a woman's voice said, "Laniff, come in. Sitrep, now."

Vhetin sprinted forward, shoving his shoulder into the man's chest and knocking him aside as easily as he would a malnourished Jawa. The blond man crashed against the wall, knocking his head hard against the durasteel. He groaned and went still.

Vhetin continued down the hall, leaving him behind. He didn't even bother to take the man's pistol. He had no particular quarrel with the doctor, and the man would need all the help he could get with those Spider Turrets sneaking around. As long as the man stayed out of his way, Vhetin would do the same.

A quick examination of the security checkpoint revealed no extra weapons or HUD implants; disappointing, but not exactly surprising. The only thing he could find was a stun prod with half battery charge. He tucked the weapon into his belt, muttering, "What the hell. Could come in handy."

Then he set off down the hall, deeper into the darkness of Level Two.

---

Jay cursed and ducked as blaster bolts stitched the wall above her. She grimaced against a spray of duracrete chips and fired off three shots from her pistol. A spiderlike droid turret exploded into pieces, clattering down the stairs.

"Everyone!" she shouted as blaster fire lit up the stairway again. She ducked as scarlet laser bolts flew over her head. She cursed and squinted against bright flashes of light from further up the stairway. "Everyone, get behind me! Down the stairs!"

Shae sprinted past, taking the stairs two at a time. Rame was waiting at the bottom, keeping the hall secure. Jay grimaced against fire from the mass of droids swarming toward them from the top of the stairs. She reached forward and grabbed Ti'ica, who was still tapping furiously into her datapad, seemingly oblivious to the danger.

"Head's up, kid!" she shouted. She ejected her pistol magazine and fed in a new one, firing as quickly as she could mash her finger against the firing stud. "Get to the bottom of the stairs!"

A turret leaped into the air, clamping its metallic legs onto the wall and scuttling along past Jay. She cursed and turned to destroy it, only to have two more droids catch her in the shoulders. She backpedaled down the stairs, ripping the droids off her before they could fire at her.

She triggered her comm. "Laniff! Where are you?"

No answer.

She cursed and sprinted down the stairs. She turned to open fire again and just barely had time to see a mess of spindly legs before a droid turret clamped itself over her face. She cried out and lost her balance, tumbling down the stairs and landing heavily on her back. She wedged her hands up between her face and the droid, grasping it by its cylindrical turret.

With a tremendous shout of effort, she pulled the droid away and tossed it away. It bounced off the stairway and scrabbled back after her, metallic legs flailing. It leaped for her, sailing through the air before suddenly exploding as two well-placed blaster bolts knocked it out of the air.

Shae appeared in her line of vision, unleashing a storm of fire from her own pistol. Droids exploded in waves, sending shrapnel flying in clouds of superheated metal.

"What are you waiting for, a written invitation?" the woman shouted as the droids advanced. "On your feet, girl!"

Jay scrambled to her feet and sprinted off down the hall, after the others. Shae turned and tore after her, firing blindly over her shoulder as she went. Blaster fire from the droid turrets lit up the hall as they ran, turning the cramped hallway into a firestorm of bright scarlet laser fire.

"Come on!" Rame shouted over the clamor of hundreds of metallic legs skittering toward them, waiting for them at the doors that led to Level Two. "Come on, they're right behind you!"

Jay gestured furiously. "Close it! Shut the blast doors!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Close the damn doors! We can make it!"

Rame looked uncertain, but only for a moment. Then he slammed a palm against the controls and the doors began to slowly sheath together. Jay picked up the pace, aware of Shae doing the same next to her. This would be close. A single misstep and they were both dead.

She could feel the droids' sharp durasteel legs as the arachnoid security robots tried to grab her heels. The doors continued to close ahead of her, the aperture leading into Level Two getting smaller and smaller.

"Go!" she shouted to Shae. The woman nodded and doubled her pace, sprinting ahead. She leaped forward, disappearing head-first through the swiftly-closing blast doors. Jay was right behind her, leaping through as soon as she was close enough.

She felt the closing doors tug against her uniform jacket and for a moment was sure she hadn't made it. Then she landed in a heap on the other side of the door, crashing hard against the durasteel floor. But she wasn't safe just yet; she could still hear the droids coming, and there was still a gap in the doors more than large enough to let them through. She frantically reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a metallic orb. She depressed a button on the top and shouted, "Droid popper out!"

She tossed the ball through the gap in the doors and listened to it bounce up the stairs. She caught a glimpse of countless scuttling droid turrets swarming down the stairs toward them, filling the hall with scuttling legs and glowing photoreceptors. Then the blast doors finally slammed shut, cutting off further sight of the hall. After a few seconds there was a muffled pow and a flash of light so blindingly bright it could be seen through the seams in the blast doors, followed by the sounds of hundreds of droids clattering lifelessly down the stairs. Jay waited until the last audible crash of metal faded into silence before she relaxed, going limp against the cold duracrete floor.

After a few moments she struggled to her feet, shook hair out of her face, and forced a grin. "See?" she said, breathing heavily. "I told you U'meo's ion grenades would work."

"You're lucky," Shae said, staring at the door with narrowed eyes. "If you'd been another half step behind, they'd have been all over you."

Jay shrugged and picked up her pistol from where it had fallen when she had jumped through the doors. "That'll teach me to be the heroic one. What about you, Ti'ica? You all right?"

The Twi'lek girl had finally set aside her datapad and was looking at the doors with wide blue eyes that were the same hue as her skin. She looked to Jay and nodded quickly. "Y-yeah. I guess field work isn't as safe as everyone made it sound."

"Safe?" Rame said, sweeping the hall ahead with his pistol. "Not a chance. Exciting? You'd better believe it."

"Exciting," Ti'ica echoed, rolling her eyes as she booted up her pad once more. "Yeah. That's the word I'd use."

"Okay everyone," Jay said, brushing her hands off. "Let's get to work. We're still cut off from Laniff, Les, and Trassk. Let's regroup, get Cin, and get the hell out of here."

There was a chorus of halfhearted agreement and the small group set off together down the dark hall. Ti'ica pulled up a holographic map on her datapad and used it to guide them through the shadows. Rame and Shae kept watch at the front and back of the group, respectively, wary for any more spider-like droid turrets. Jay continued trying to contact the rest of her squad.

"Trassk," she said. "Report."

"Hmm, running into a sslight droid problem," the Trandoshan hissed. "Nothing sseriouss. I will rejoin you shortly."

"Laniff? What about you?"

There was still no response. The Mandalorian had been out of contact for the past fifteen minutes. It worried her that he had stayed silent so long.

"Laniff," she said impatiently, "answer the damn comm before I track down your transponder signal and rip off your-"

"Yeah, yeah," he suddenly said with a groan. "I hear you. Shab, can you keep it down?"

She let out a sigh of relief. "It's good to hear from you again. Where the hell have you been?"

Another grunt. "Uh... I think unconscious."

"What? What happened?"

"Had a less-than-friendly run in with a local trooper. He knocked me against the wall. Hit my head pretty hard. I think I'll be fine, though."

"Okay, stay put," Jay said. "I'm sending someone to get you."

"I don't think that's necessary, boss."

Jay ignored him. "Trassk, Les, come in. Either of you close enough to link up with Laniff and help him to the rendezvous point?"

"I am," came the quiet voice of the Handmaiden. "I am making my way through the ventilation ducts once more. I shall be there in moments."

"Good. Keep an eye out, both of you. I'm not losing anyone on this mission."

She was telling the truth. She had sacrificed so much over the last three months, and was willing to sacrifice much more to rescue her partner, but she was not willing to throw away the lives of her team members. She knew how much it hurt to lose squad members and had promised to never go through that again. She would do everything physically possible to save Vhetin, but not to the detriment of the people for which she was responsible. Everyone was making it out of this operation – Vhetin included – and Jay was willing to give her life to make that happen.

She was about to contact the final member of their team when Rame appeared from around the corner further ahead and gestured to Jay. She had to squint to see him in the darkness. His maintenance worker's uniform was colored with dark grays and browns and made it hard to pick him out from the shadows around him.

"Ja'ika," he said. "You may want to take a look at this."

She frowned, but cut her comm channel and quickened her pace to see what he had found. He led her around the corner and through a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. It led into what looked like an observation room. There was a bank of holoterminals, still flickering with power, beneath a large window similar to the transparisteel barrier holding the monstrous Whiteclaw test subjects inside the ICU upstairs. Rame knelt and began pulling wires from a terminal near the right wall of the room.

"I'll try to get power back on," he said as he worked. "While I'm doing that, you might want to check out some of the video logs."

The tone of his voice made her believe he already knew what she was going to find, but she stepped up to the terminals anyway. With a few keystrokes into the holographic interface, she brought up a list of all the terminal's video logs over the past year. Most of them were uninteresting – budgetary meetings, equipment tests, personnel requests – and Jay passed them over with barely a glance. But more recently, the logs contained what were labeled as Primary Interviews.

She narrowed her eyes and activated one of the vids, dated a month earlier. A holographic display window sprang to life, revealing a darkened room and two people sitting across from each other at a durasteel table welded to the floor. One of the figures was holding a handheld datapad while the other seemed to be held to the chair by electro-shock restraints.

"Patient Interview Three-Five-Zero-Two-Two," said the man holding the datapad, "Project Whiteclaw operational date: four months and counting. Patient name, Cin Vhetin."

Time seemed to slow for Jay as the restrained man's eyes flashed in the darkness, like a feline's eyes at night. His face was obscured by the dim light of the room, a formless shadow hanging in the darkness. His respiration was ragged, as if he was having trouble drawing in a full breath.

The man set aside the datapad and stared at Vhetin in silence for a few moments. He folded his hands calmly on the tabletop. Eventually, he said, "I'd like to continue our discussion from last time. About your profession as a bounty hunter."

No response.

"We left off last time speaking about the morality of your actions, how you judged right from wrong. Would you care to elaborate for me?"

Again, no response. Just Vhetin's eyes flashing dangerously in the shadows.

The doctor sighed. "I see you aren't aren't in the mood to talk. Would you prefer we go straight to the Tests?"

"No."

Jay would recognize that voice anywhere, that quiet, restrained voice that was the only thing she truly knew of her partner. It was him, there was no question of it now. He was here, somewhere in this facility, and Jay just had to find him.

The doctor looked pleased that he had coaxed his subject into speech. He nodded and said, "Very well. Shall we begin?"

A slight incline of the head from Vhetin.

"Imperial psychological reports claim that you are at best detached from basic social roles, at worst a sociopath. These same reports diagnose you as suffering from severe chronic depression. They say you are prone to self-destructive tendencies and suicidal risks. Is that true?"

A long pause. "I decided to take on a highly-trained Imperial Agent and an entire platoon of stormtroopers alone. What does that tell you?"

"I would like to hear it from you," the doctor said. "How do you cope with these personality disorders while simultaneously dealing with some of the worst criminals the galaxy has to offer?"

"I don't believe I have any kind of disorder," Vhetin replied. "I may not be the most friendly guy, or the most merciful, but those are part of my personality. Whether I like it or not."

"So, given the choice, you would leave your profession behind?"

"I would," he said. "I don't enjoy my work. I don't enjoy the scum I interact with on a daily basis. I'm not some kind of sadistic murderer who likes carting people off to their deaths, guilty or not. But it's a job that has to be done. I have a very specific set of skills suited to deal with people like that. It's simply a matter of doing what I do best."

The doctor consulted his datapad again. "So, given the choice, you would prefer to back out of the trade? Perhaps settle down and raise a family?"

Vhetin chuckled, a dry, unhealthy sound that broke down into weak coughs. "I don't know what you're getting at, Doc, but I'm not exactly your typical family man."

"But there are reports of your romantic involvement with a young woman named Brianna Bell-"

In an instant, Vhetin was out of his chair, pulling against his restraints. The shackles triggered, sending sparking tendrils of electricity crackling up his arms. They flashed and popped, sending sparks skittering across the floor, but had no other visible effect. Vhetin just pulled against his chair and snarled, "If you go anywhere near her, I swear to haran I'll gut you like a shablaori'gi, laanduraruetiichakaar!"

The electro-shock restraints seemed to finally take effect, because he collapsed back against the chair, breathing hard and glaring at the doctor, hands balled into fists. The doctor stared at Vhetin with a raised eyebrow for a few moments before slowly saying, "I was merely posing a question. Calm yourself."

"Usen'ye, shabuir," Vhetin muttered, gasping for breath. "You can go on all you like about how I'm some horrible psychopath with no social abilities, but if you threaten the people I love, I swear on teMand'alor himself that I will hunt you down and kill you in the slowest, most painful way I know how. Stay away from my family, Imperial."

The doctor sighed and set aside his datapad once more. "This interview is over. Terminate video feed."

The video window shut down and Jay instantly triggered another. The same darkened interview room popped up, with the same doctor holding the same datapad.

"Patient Interview Three-Five-Six-Five-One," said the doctor, "Project Whiteclaw operational date: four months and counting. Patient name, Cin Vhetin."

Vhetin was now slumped forward against his restraints, wheezing with each breath. His electro-shock restraints crackled as he put pressure against them, but they again seemed to have no effect on him. He looked half-dead, his messy brown hair falling out in clumps, his skin pale and covered with sores and bruises. His face was once again obscured.

"The Primary had a... difficult time during the Tests today," the doctor said. "His body had a violent reaction to the new additives in the DNA preservatives. The cause of this is currently unknown."

A slight pause. "As per Doctor Uthalian's request, the Primary has been denied medical treatment in order to biologically study the side-effects of reaction. While I find this order... questionable, I have no choice but to comply."

The doctor leaned forward. "Vhetin? Can you hear me?"

Vhetin mumbled something unintelligible. Jay thought she could see blood dripping from his lips onto the tabletop. The doctor reached across the table and touched his shoulder lightly, trying to keep him awake.

"Vhetin, you mustn't fall asleep. I am trying to help you."

"C-... can... s-see..."

The doctor frowned and set aside his datapad. "What?"

"I... can see..." Vhetin mumbled. He tried to sit straight, but fell forward again. He didn't move for a long time. When he did, he licked his bloody lips and his eyelids fluttered. "I can... see them. All of them..."

"Who can you see?"

"Th-... faces. The faces of... everyone I left behind..."

"Left behind? How so?"

Vhetin raised his head, face thrown into partial light from the illumination of the man's datapad. Jay saw in her partner's eyes something that scared her more than the rage she had witnessed moments before: despair. The look she saw in his intense blue gaze now was one of utter hopelessness, as if he'd given up on the world. Something had died in him, and it showed visibly. It broke her heart to see it.

I'm sorry, Stripes, she thought. I came as quick as I could.

He was staring at a point over the doctor's shoulder, staring intently as if he had to summon up every ounce of strength in his body just to hold his head up. "Where... I see them."

"Who?"

"Rame... and Mia. I s-see... Bri is standing with them. So is Jay and... They're... smiling at me. They're... saying something... b-but it's... I don't know what."

He fell limp, back into his previous position. "T-they're waiting for me..."

The doctor stared at Vhetin as the bounty hunter fell into silence. Then he gestured and two medical technicians seemed to melt out of the darkness.

"The preservatives are inducing hallucinations, just like the other subjects," he said. "Give him a treatment of hydrochloronol to counteract the effects."

"But Doctor Uthalian ordered-"

"I don't give a fierfek what Doctor Uthalian ordered!" the man shouted, standing quickly from his chair. He pointed to Vhetin's limp form. "That man is dying! I am not going to let him rot away in here just so the Empire can find a more efficient way to kill people! Hydrochloronol now!"

"Yes, Doctor Torch," one of the med-techs mumbled, scrambling forward to unbuckle Vhetin from his restraints.

As they lifted him gently from the interrogation chair, Vhetin suddenly looked up at the doctor, obviously struggling to keep his eyes open. He coughed, once, twice, then hoarsely said, "Doctor... please don't... don't let me die in here. I don't... I don't want to die."

The doctor stared at Vhetin seriously. "Listen to me very carefully, Vhetin. I am not going to let you die in this Force-forsaken place. I swear to you."

Vhetin nodded and went limp again as the doctors hauled him out of the room. The doctor stared after them, then sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes. He eventually scooped up his datapad and disappeared into the shadows as well with the last words of, "Terminate video feed."

The hologram flickered out, leaving Jay to stare at the terminals and wonder just what they were doing to her friend. She had never seen him in such a horrible state. It looked as if his body had already died and his mind had yet to comprehend it.

"Hm," said a voice at her shoulder. She turned quickly to find Shae standing at her shoulder, arms crossed, staring at the holoterminals with an eyebrow raised. "It looks like your partner has at least one person on his side."

"Looks like it," Jay murmured, shaking her head and shutting down the terminal. "But friend or foe, that man still let them run whatever Tests they were talking about. He's still responsible for what happened."

She brushed past Shae and stuck her head out the door, where Ti'ica was still working on slicing back into the security system. She jerked her head and motioned the Twi'lek girl closer.

"I want you to copy anything and everything you can find on these drives onto my personal datapad," Jay ordered, gesturing to the terminals. "I don't care if it's personnel requests, maintenance logs, or kriffing Hutt pornography. I want everything."

She gestured to Shae to follow. "Come on. We're going to check out whatever's on the other side of this window."

The two women stepped back out into the hall. There was a door a little further on, marked as PRIMARY TESTING ROOM. AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED FOR ENTRY.

It took Ti'ica longer than expected to slice open the door, but after a few tense minutes of waiting the heavy durasteel entryway sheathed open. Jay took point, raising her pistol, wary for any other droid turrets. Scans showed they were crawling all over Level Two and she wasn't about to let her guard down.

"Still with me, Rame?" she asked into her comm.

"Working," came the response. "We should have lights on in sixty."

Jay nodded, pulling a handheld light from her pocket and clicking it on. Moving the light over the room, she found that she had stepped into the scene she had just shut down on the holoterminal: a plain, unadorned room with two chairs set up on either side of a durasteel table welded into the floor. There were old, dried bloodstains on one side of the table. Jay traced her fingers over the surface, remembering how blood had dripped from her partner's lips.

Three months, she thought. He's been stuck here for three months.

She felt guilty that it had taken her so long to find him. Was there something she could have done better? Seeing the after-effects of the Empire's testing on her closest friend had thrown a seed of doubt into her mind. She would have gladly done anything to ease even a few moments of his pain.

Shae seemed to be able to read her mind. She put a comforting hand on her shoulder and murmured, "There was nothing you could have done. You've been working your ass off these past few months. You couldn't have gotten here any sooner.

Jay had to admit that the woman was right. The important thing was that she was here now and Vhetin wouldn't have to suffer one second more in this hell than he had to. She would get him out if it was the last thing she did.

She jumped as Rame suddenly called out, "Got it!" and the lights inside the darkened room flickered on. She grimaced, shielding her eyes against the sudden flood of illumination. The room seemed to be made of polished permasteel and the bright lights seemed to make the air itself blaze vividly.

When her eyes had finally adjusted, she saw that the room was much bigger than she had originally believed. There were podiums on either side of the room, obviously for medical technicians to stand by with treatment. There were also medical cabinets stocked with unknown materials: vials of oddly-colored medications, sharp-looking medical utensils, and – most prominently – large canisters of viscous-looking black fluid.

Jay slowly walked over to the cabinet and pulled out one of these canisters. She noticed Ti'ica appearing at her shoulder, looking inside with a curious gaze.

"What's that?" the girl asked, reaching out to touch the black fluid inside. Jay quickly caught her wrist.

"Easy, kid," she said. "How about we don't go sticking our hands into a vat of slop that's been made by an Imperial bio-warfare project, huh?"

"Good idea," Ti'ica reluctantly agreed. "That stuff looks nasty anyway."

"Jay? Come take a look at this."

Jay turned and saw that there was even more of the room she hadn't discovered. She had thought by looking at the vids that the room was simply an interrogation room, designed so the scientists in charge of Project Whiteclaw could pry their test subjects with questions regarding the side-effects of their experiments. But what she hadn't seen in the dim light of the vids was the setup behind the table, against the wall.

There was a track for Vhetin's chair to slide back into a nightmarish configuration of tubes and syringes and opaque vats of fluid. Shae was investigating a control panel on the side of the contraption. She pressed a blue button and Vhetin's chair slid smoothly back into a niche in the machine. The chair suddenly straightened to push the test subject into a forced standing position. Restraints clapped together over the areas where the subject's arms, legs, and neck would be and large needles slid down out of multi-jointed mechanical appendages, slowly gliding forward, ready for injections.

"Creepy," Shae observed. "The tech who designed this had a serious mad scientist complex."

Jay stepped closer to the machine, eying the long needles, tubes of black slop, and vats of dark red fluid that could only be blood. She traced a hand over the armrest of the chair and thought, Oh Cin... what did they do to you?

---

With a fluid, nimble motion, the Handmaiden flipped down out of a grate along the ceiling and landed silently on the ground below. She quickly straightened, sheathed quarterstaff at the ready. The dark hallway stretched away into the shadows, sheltering who-knew-what in its darkness. For the moment, however, she could see no one in sight. So she slowly relaxed and hooked her weapon to her belt, ready to retrieve it at a moment's notice. Once she was sure she was not being tracked by the spider-like turrets that Jayshiea and her squad had run across, she set off silently into the darkness.

According to the information she had been given, Laniff Dreysel was in this area, near the western security checkpoint. They were all nearing the end of their time here and she needed to hurry. A shiver ran down her back as she set off quietly down the hall, and it wasn't from the chill of the subterranean air.

This place frightened her. Its endless halls, its hidden enemies, its evil purpose... it disturbed her like nothing she had ever come across. It felt as if her skin was crawling with each step she took and her every instinct told her that terrible things were happening here, that she should get out before the darkness consumed her as it had consumed Jayshiea's partner.

The life of an Echani is not one of retreat, she reminded herself as she continued. I am a warrior, and I shall face any enemy that dares to cross blades with me.

Still, it worried her that she was risking so much for a Mandalorian. They were savages and brutes, ready to kill at a moment's notice; she knew that from experience. She had interacted with Rame and Laniff and Shae and found them to be honorable beings, warriors worthy of respect. But that didn't mean she would ever trust them. As far as she was concerned, each of them would shoot her in the back if someone offered them the right amount of credits.

She shook her head, forcibly pushing away such dark thoughts. If that occurs, they will discover just how dangerous it is to provoke me. Besides, I am not doing this for the Mandalorians. I am doing it for Jayshiea. She has devoted her life to rescuing a man she deeply cares for. I can understand that.

Lost in her reflections, she did not notice a large niche in the wall as she snuck past. She was already gone by the time large compound photoreceptors – each the size of her balled fist – lit up inside the recess and began to pulse red. She did not see the huge, spindly legs that unfolded from the darkness, did not hear the quiet clash of metal against metal as the droid scuttled out from the darkness and crawled after her.

She shook her head and rounded a corner, her soft-soled boots barely making a sound on the durasteel floor as she progressed. She flexed a gloved hand in anxiety.

Jayshiea... confused her. She was obviously a woman of honor, someone deserving of the Handmaiden's respect. But why she would devote herself so utterly to a bloodthirsty mercenary such as a Mandalorian was far beyond the Handmaiden's understanding. The woman had proved herself in the Handmaiden's eyes, but this Cin Vhetin... who knew what he was like? Was he honorable and respectable like Jayshiea claimed? Or was he ruthless and apathetic, like his bounty hunter compatriot Boba Fett and all the other Mandalorians the Handmaiden had met on the battlefield?

She had heard of Cin Vhetin, of course. The underworld channels were full of reports about his actions, if one looked in the right places. To say that he was a mysterious and cryptic man was an understatement of massive proportions. No one but the closest of his allies had ever seen his face, no one knew about his past, and many speculated that Cin Vhetin was not even his true name. According to Mandalorian tradition, converts to the culture could take on a new name to solidify their new mercenary persona, and she assumed this is the action he had taken.

These same reports claimed the bounty hunter possessed uncanny physical abilities. She herself had seen video logs of the black-armored Mandalorian in battle. His combat motions were fast, faster than many beings she had seen, faster than even many Echani could boast. And though his body accepted the crude, violent motions of the Teräs Käsi martial arts, he used the combat form to great effect. He was known as one of many great Mandalorian warriors, though in her opinion that did not count for much.

A smile tugged at her lips. If this man was as barbaric as other Mandalorians she had encountered, she would take great pleasure in meeting him. She looked forward to the day when she would be able to cross blades with him and pit her extensive combat training against his own. In fact –

Something grabbed her ankle. She let out a shout as it tugged, ripping her off her feet and into the air. She was hoisted up off the ground, dangling by her foot as yet another spider droid came into sight. This one, however, was different. It was huge, large enough to fill the hallway behind her. Its compound photoreceptors glowed red in the darkness and it gnashed sharp-edged, metallic appendages where a normal creature's mouth would be. It grasped her firmly by the ankle with a hand-like manipulator on the end of one long metal leg. Seven others were splayed out around it, supporting and distributing its massive weight.

It let out a metallic rumble and hoisted her up, slamming her hard into the ceiling. She cried out in pain as she dropped again, her leg still caught in a vise-like grip.

She reached to her belt for her quarterstaff and found it missing from its usual hook. Frantically searching, she spotted it lying on the floor some distance away; it had fallen when she had been pulled off her feet.

She cursed, then twisted up and grasped the spider droid's manipulator in her hands. With a tremendous wrench, she pulled her foot free and swung down, away from the droid. She landed gracefully on her feet and sprinted toward her quarterstaff, but a large metal leg slammed down in front of her and blocked her approach.

Barely thinking, she threw herself back as the droid rushed forward, trying to pry at her with its razor-sharp mandibles. It scuttled past right over her head as she completed her reverse somersault and came to her feet again.

The droid spun around in a storm of legs, feet, and claws and let out a grating, warbling screech. She grimaced slightly, but did not allow it to affect her. She simply balled her hands into fists and bent her knees, preparing for another charge.

The droid did not disappoint. It scuttled forward again, the pounding of its manipulators against the ground as loud as thunder in her ears. She ducked again beneath the droid's mandibles, one hand flashing up to grasp an orb-like photoreceptor. She used it as a handhold to swing herself up on top of its main housing. The photoreceptor came loose in her hand as she landed, ripping away from the droid's face with a shower of sparks. The droid let out a screech of simulated pain and rage and slammed itself into the wall in a vain attempt to dislodge her.

She leaped up, grabbing hold of a grating in the ceiling. With deft, fluent motions she pulled herself around and swung off the ceiling, using her momentum to soar past the huge droid, straight for her quarterstaff. She pivoted in mid-air as she fell to avoid one flailing mechanical leg as it flashed by her shoulder. She landed heavily, rolling across the grated floor, and came to her feet with weapon in hand, only slightly off-balance.

But slightly off-balance still put her at a disadvantage as the droid rushed her yet again. It slammed into her before she had a chance to move. Two manipulators struck out at her with lightning speed, grasping her by the arm and throat and pinning her against the wall. She cried out in pain, struggling to free herself from the droid's iron grip.

As she watched, the machine's razor-sharp mandibles retracted and a large blaster cannon folded out of its housing, swiveling to aim directly at her chest. She struggled harder, but could not break free. She could see the cannon begin to glow as the weapon gathered charge.

A storm of blaster fire suddenly slammed into the droid's side, making it screech and flail. She took advantage of the distraction to yank one hand free and bring her elbow down hard on a spindly joint on the manipulator holding her throat. It snapped like a toothpick and she fell to the ground, free at last.

Not willing to waste a moment, she rolled to her feet and brought her quarterstaff up, plunging the weapon forward into the center of the droid's optical cluster. There was a shower of sparks and a ear-piercing screech from the machine as all eight photoreceptors flickered and dimmed. The creature fell, its heavy central pod scraping against the grated floor, eight legs flailing in synthetic panic. One almost caught her in the face but she ducked in time for it to slash harmlessly past her head. The droid eventually pulled itself away, flailing. The Handmaiden advanced, thinking it defeated.

She should not have underestimated the machine; she had been taught since she was a small girl that any enemy, even a wounded one, was still dangerous. Sure enough, the droid did have one more trick. It raised three of its seven remaining manipulators and spread its mechanical "fingers" wide. A miniature laser cannon folded out of each appendage, charged and ready to fire. The machine let out a warbling cry, then opened fire with every weapon it had.

She jumped into action moments before the hallway erupted into a firestorm. She somersaulted and ducked and spun as fast as she could, feeling the heat of high-heat blaster bolts as they passed dangerously close to her face and body. Sparks erupted across the hall as blaster bolts exploded against the walls, ceiling, and floor. She grimaced against the flashes of red-hot light, squinting to make out the dark form of the attacking droid. It was a giant in the shadows, all flailing limbs and flashing cannons. She ducked as it tried to swipe at her with a metallic limb and brought her staff up to block another attack. She threw herself back in a graceful back flip as the droid stitched the ground at her feet with blaster fire.

She knew she would not be able to stay safe in such an open position for long, so she squared her shoulders and sprinted straight for the panicking droid. She fell to her knees, sliding forward under the machine's field of fire, and brought her quarterstaff up as she passed under its central housing pod. The reinforced durasteel beam on the upward-facing side of the staff sprang up and plunged deep into the droid's head, sending bright sparks raining down around her. She grimaced against the blinding shower as she yanked her weapon out and stabbed again, this time into a cluster of servomotors controlling two of the droid's rear legs. With a precise jerk, she severed the relay wires controlling the legs and the metallic limbs buckled.

She threw herself out from under the droid, rolling free just as it collapsed, its two rear legs twitching feebly. It began letting out a deep, mournful wail, sparks dancing out across the floor from its ruined central pod. It tried once to pull itself upright, failed, and crashed back down to the floor. The Handmaiden clambered to her feet, breathing hard, then leaped nimbly up on top of the central pod and raised her staff.

A quick stab into the droid's control center silenced its synthetic wail. The droid's legs went limp, continuing to twitch sporadically while the Handmaiden hopped calmly back to the floor. She watched the burnt-out husk for a few moments more, ensuring that it was dead. With one last twitch of a leg, the droid fell still and didn't move again.

Satisfied, she bowed her head slightly, acknowledging the droid as a worthy opponent. Then she turned away, sheathed her quarterstaff, and clipped the hilt back to her belt, approaching the figure waiting for her further down the hall. It was a man dressed in white, with messy blond hair caked with blood on the right side.

"Laniff," she said, inclining her head to the man, who was holding a smoking blaster pistol. "You have my thanks. That droid would have surely killed me had you not intervened."

"No problem," the Mandalorian replied, lowering his weapon. "Those were some nice moves. I've never seen someone try to go up against an armored spider droid with just their fists."

"We of the Echani are trained to use our bodies as our primary weapon," she replied, brushing off her white and black combat suit with quick, precise strokes. "That way, we can never be truly disarmed."

"Right," Laniff said. He looked over her shoulder at the unmoving mass of droid and narrowed his eyes. "You sure it's dead?"

"As sure as I can be," she said, patting down her pale white hair and pulling her cowl back up over her head. "It would be wise to rejoin the others in case it powers up again."

He nodded. "Can't argue with your logic there."

They together moved down the hall, picking their way around the ruins of the spider droid, wary of any more surprises. Laniff kept his pistol at the ready while the Handmaiden just scanned the area with her pale blue eyes. For the next tense, silent five minutes, they came across nothing but dark halls and empty rooms.

"Did you complete your task downloading information from this building's servers?" she finally inquired.

"I did," he said, rubbing the bloody side of his head. "Before that damn trooper knocked me upside the skull. What about you? Did you find Vhetin?"

She shook her head. "The cell blocks are a battleground. Finding one man in that chaos would be a miracle."

"It would be a shame to come all this way just for him to be killed in a riot."

"Jayshiea has faith," Handmaiden said quietly.

"Jay is an idealist at best," Laniff said, "and a fanatic at worst. She's been obsessed with finding Vhetin ever since he went missing. She's out-obsessed even Brianna and trust me, that takes some doing."

"Jayshiea believes that she can save someone she cares about. Can you truly blame her for being devoted to that cause?"

"Devotion has no effect on the outcome of such a situation," Laniff said. "My dad was killed when I was just a kid and I've spent years of my life trying to track down the fierfek who murdered him. I'm just as devoted as she is, and it's gotten me nowhere."

He gestured to her. "I heard you used to be in the Echani military. You were devoted to them, but they still kicked you out."

She reached under her white hood and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. "The... the situation was slightly more complicated than that."

"Whatever you say. But devotion doesn't guarantee victory. Jay can be as devoted as she wants and it won't get her anywhere."

"Her devotion has brought us here," the Handmaiden pointed out forcefully. "To this battlefield. If we are to emerge victorious, we must trust in her leadership."

"Oh I trust her leadership," Laniff said. "It's her goals I don't quite agree with."

The Handmaiden frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the big picture," he said as they passed by another security checkpoint. The Handmaiden noticed that there seemed to be more of them as they moved further into the facility. Thankfully, they all appeared to be unstaffed and powered down. Where the Facility's staff had gone, she could only guess.

Laniff, meanwhile, said, "The Empire probably spent millions trying to bring Vhetin in. They sent a highly-trained Imperial agent to hunt him down and provided this agent with all manner of weapons and personnel. Even if we manage to spring him and take him back to Mandalore, what's to stop them from doing it all over again?"

"Perhaps they will see that it is not worth the effort to capture him," she pointed out.

"That's not the way the Empire operates. When they want something they take it, no matter how many credits they spend or how much collateral damage they cause. So even if this is a shining success and we grab Jay's partner right out from under the Emperor's wrinkled nose, it'll just be starting the cycle over again."

The Handmaiden had to admit that this eventuality had occurred to her. It was entirely possible that the Empire would simply take Jayshiea's partner back, in a great political tug-of-war over the man's life.

Again, she found herself wondering what could be so special about a single brutish bounty hunter. Hunters were nothing special – they ranged from simple guns-for-hire to fanatical servants of justice such as Boba Fett – and the fact that the Empire had allocated so much time, money, and personnel to the study of a single man was confusing.

But, sinister intentions aside, they had yet to see what the Empire would do in response to this intrusion. They might send another agent after the Mandalorian, they might simply leave him alone. Only time would tell.

And, as the ancient Echani proverb went, never judge an opponent's battle prowess until they make the first strike.

---

Vhetin crept through the halls, rifle at the ready, aware of the heavy thud of his armored boots against the metal floor. He was beginning to get the hang of his stormtrooper HUD and he was currently using it to scan the area ahead for contacts. Some time ago, after a second run-in with a swarm of Spider Turrets, he had sliced back into the Facility's computer systems and downloaded transmitter beacons of every mechanized turret on Level Two. His map now showed roaming clouds of green dots sweeping through the twisting halls. He had avoided all the droids he had come across, including the much larger Armored Spider Turrets that accompanied their smaller companions.

Vhetin's concern had now moved on to another of the Facility's automated defense systems: the armored riot-control droids that were a product of the top-secret Project Darktrooper. Darktroopers were feared across the criminal underworld as unthinking, unfeeling killing machines, programmed to maintain order at any cost and outfitted with the appropriate firepower to obtain that objective. Vhetin knew the Facility was currently staffed with several of the the newest Mark-III models, as well as the smaller, faster, more agile Mark-IIs that stalked that cell blocks at night.

Vhetin flexed his grip on his rifle, narrowing his eyes as he passed by two large water condensation vats. If memory served, he should be near the training yard. He had to keep his guard up now; if any prisoners or base personnel had made it to Level Two, they would probably flock toward somewhere familiar. He didn't think they'd head for the Testing chambers – not many fond memories made there – so the training yard was the next logical choice.

As he proceeded, he found himself hoping that Doctor Torch and Nurse Monro were all right. He had no particular quarrel with the two, and they had provided him with a means of escape. He hoped they were safe, maybe cut off inside the locked-down barracks, safe from the chaos that Vhetin had unleashed.

If there had been any other way to escape the Facility, Vhetin would have taken it. He had seen enough death and violence during his incarceration to last a lifetime, and he didn't wish to wreak any more havoc. His superhuman abilities had led to the creation of Project Whiteclaw, which had destroyed hundreds of innocent people's lives as they were forced to so slowly watch themselves degenerate into horrid, twisted mutations of their former selves.

If I could take it all away, he found himself thinking, and somehow make myself like any other human, I would do it in a moment.

It was a thought that had haunted him since he had been trapped here. His superior Kiffar genetics had led to all this pain and horror. All his abilities had ever brought him was pain. He was selected for the ICF task force because of his superior combat skills, which had led to his failed relationship with the woman he loved. He had been torn away from his home on Mandalore because of his genetics, which had led to his incarceration here away from Rame, Mia, and Jay. If he could somehow destroy that part of himself and make himself as human as he looked, he would do it gladly.

He shook his head, forcing such trivial desires from his mind. Like it or not, this is part of who I am. I can't exactly dull down my own genetic code. So I just have to deal with it.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when his HUD let out a quiet beep: unknown contacts ahead.

He tensed, falling into a combat-ready position as he snuck forward, his motion tracker showing over ten hostile contacts ahead. As he drew closer to the training yard, he could hear rough, raucous voices drifting toward him from the pit where the prisoners had been held for exercise hour.

He approached the door and cautiously tapped the opening stud. The door slid up with a buzz and Vhetin stepped out onto the catwalk surrounding the yard, slowly approaching the railing that overlooked the area where he'd had his fight with the prison inmates earlier that day.

As he'd suspected, there were over twenty inmates milling about inside the training yard, muttering to each other, fighting, or nursing wounds that looked like they had been inflicted by Spider Turrets. A large group of inmates were shouting and jeering, clustered around a single point near the center of the exercise yard. They were punching and kicking at something between them. Vhetin could hear yelps and cries of pain from within the huddled crowd.

Vhetin was considering just sneaking past them – he was still weak from the Tests and his wounds – and even with a rifle he was woefully outnumbered. He doubted he would be able to take them all on.

But when several of the prisoners parted, revealing two of the station's doctors, crying and bleeding, huddled between the gang, he knew he couldn't sit still. The everyday doctors were just grunts, doing their jobs because they had been ordered to. Vhetin despised their work here, but harbored no ill will toward them personally. And he couldn't stand by and let them be slowly and painfully beaten to death by the vicious prisoners. They deserved a better end.

So he aimed his rifle and fired two shots, cutting down two orange-clothed prisoners. The loud report of blaster fire made the others look around. Vhetin didn't give them the chance to prepare for him. He stepped forward, planted a boot on the rail overlooking the exercise yard, and launched himself down into the crowd.

He landed awkwardly, driven to his hands and knees by the fall. He grimaced behind his helmet faceplate as he put felt stitches pop over his stab wound, but didn't let any pain outwardly show. He rose to his feet and shouldered his rifle, slowly turning so no one prisoner was behind him for long. He made his way through the crowd, limping only slightly, and gestured with the rifle barrel toward the group surrounding the doctors. "You there. Step away."

When the inmates made no motion to do so, he fired twice at their feet. They leaped back with shouts or curses as small chips of duracrete exploded up from the ground.

Vhetin stepped toward the two doctors, every step carefully measured, every motion carefully controlled. He was horribly outnumbered, with barely more than three clips of ammo left for his rifle. If he didn't do this right, he would quickly share the doctor's fate.

He gestured to the two, keeping one eye on the prisoners that fanned out away from him as he approached. "Are you all right?"

One of the doctors, a human male, spat out a mouthful of blood onto the rough-hewn duracrete beneath him. His face was a mass of bruises and cuts, one eye blackened and swollen shut. "I'll be fine, but Venicia needs to get out of here."

The other doctor, a human female, was lying on the ground, bleeding heavily from a cut on her forehead and clutching at her stomach. There was a dark red stain spreading across the white of her uniform jumpsuit and when Vhetin pulled her hands away to study the wound, she let out a gasp and began to cry.

"It's okay," he reassured her. "I'm going to patch you up. You'll be fine."

He narrowed his eyes as he pulled a small med kit from his belt. As much as I hate them, he thought as he pulled out a capsule of powdered bacta, I seem to stick my neck out for Imperials on a regular basis.

He glanced over as the other doctor struggled to his feet. "You know how to use a rifle?"

"N-no," the man stammered.

"Know how to pull a trigger?"

"I guess."

"Then take this," Vhetin said, holding out his rifle. He hated to give away his only firearm, but he couldn't care for the wounded doctor and hold the prisoners back at the same time. "Keep these bastards at arm's length."

The doctor gingerly took the weapon, holding it with trembling, uncertain hands, as if he believed it would explode at the slightest provocation. Vhetin waited until the man turned the weapon on the crowd of inmates still gathered around them before shifting his attention back to the wounded woman before him.

"What happened?" he asked as he snapped the bacta capsule in half. He poured the powdered bacta into a hypospray and mixed it with some saline. If he was lucky, the bacta would ease the woman's pain enough that she could limp her way out of the exercise yard. Once he'd escorted the doctors to safety, he could continue his progress toward Level Three.

The doctor blinked quickly, as if he was having trouble seeing through the sweat that soaked his forehead. He kept his rifle pointed at the crowd of inmates who were milling about around them, refusing to disperse. "W-we hid here in the exercise yard when the riot broke out. This... this gang burst in on us and attacked us. They started beating us and one of them stabbed Venicia with some kind of metal rod."

Vhetin examined the wound, nodding to himself. The shape and depth of the wound seemed like the kind created by the hand-made shivs favored by the inmates. He held the hypospray against the side of the wound and depressed the trigger. There was a loud hiss and the woman let out a whimper. Once done, Vhetin set aside the hypospray and pulled a medical patch from the kit. He pressed it over the woman's wound, ignoring her moan of pain.

"This should help until you can get her to a qualified med station," he said to the other doctor as he worked. He looked to the woman and touched her shoulder to draw her attention. "Venicia? Can you hear me?"

The woman blinked frightened, tearful eyes. Vhetin nodded reassuringly and said, "You're going to be fine. Can you stand?"

"I-I can t-try."

He slung the woman's arm around his shoulders and helped her to her unsteady feet. "Let's move, doctor."

The man nodded and raised the rifle, pointing it ahead as he stepped toward the heavy blast door on the other side of the yard. The crowd of orange-suited prisoners slowly parted with glares or muttered threats. They closed in behind them again, herding them toward the door.

"Do you know how to get out of here?" he asked the doctor.

The man nodded. "Once we get out of here, we should be fine. I'll just-"

BAM.

Vhetin – and everyone else in the room – froze mid-step, staring at the blast door. There was utter silence throughout the exercise yard. Someone coughed, the sound seeming as loud as thunder in the shocked, fearful quiet.

"What the hell was that?" the doctor gasped, shrinking back toward Vhetin.

BAM.

The door shook in its housing, the metal bending slightly inward. There was something on the other side of that door, something big, trying to hammer its way through. The crowd of prisoners began to stir in agitation, murmuring to each other nervously and glancing around for a potential escape route. Vhetin's eyes never left the door as he helped the wounded doctor back, further into the exercise yard.

"Doc," he called to the rifle-wielding medic. "Get back here."

But the crowd was closing in to quickly, jostling them about as they began to break up and search for an exit. Vhetin was having to crane his neck to see over the heads of prisoners to see the doctor. The man was panicking, turning and aiming his rifle at anyone who came near, letting out little gasps of fear each time a prisoner accidentally brushed by him.

BAM.

Don't panic, Vhetin silently willed the man. Don't panic. Whatever you do, don't pull that trigger.

But it was already too late. As another tremendous BAM rang through the exercise yard, one prisoner was pushed by several other panicking inmates. He staggered into the doctor, who spun, terrified, and opened fire at the crowd.

In moments the exercise yard broke into chaos. At the sound of blaster fire, the crowd broke into a shouting, panicking mob. Orange-suited prisoners ran everywhere, bumping and jostling Vhetin and his wounded companion around. The doctor near the door continued to spray the crowd with blaster fire, screaming the entire time. Prisoners fell left and right, and Vhetin had to duck to avoid several bolts that whizzed past his head.

"Keep your head down!" he shouted over the noise to the wounded doctor he was supporting.

Eventually the doctor's rifle clicked empty, but he just stood, rooted to the spot, screaming. The prisoners, also shouting, sprinted everywhere, like caged nuna on their way to the chopping block. They bounced off walls, exercise equipment, and each other, vainly trying to clamber up the catwalk support struts and onto the walkway above them.

Vhetin grunted and doubled over as someone elbowed his ruptured stab wound. He held a hand to the affected area, eyes watering, trying to maintain his footing as prisoners shoved him and the other doctor out of their way. He saw people shoved to the ground and trampled as the stampede continued.

The pounding against the door was coming harder and faster now, and there was a visible bulge in the durasteel. The door's hinges began sparking and shaking as the pounding continued, a rapid BAM, BAM, BAM. Then, with a colossal crash, the doors were blown clean off their hinges. They slammed against the ground at the panicking doctor's feet, kicking up clouds of dust that choked the air around the door.

Once again, everyone present froze, the prisoners stopping their mad rush to safety to look toward the source of the noise, the terrified doctor cringing and whimpering.

Through the blasted-open door, beyond the dim light of the exercise room, Vhetin could see only darkness. But there was something – several somethings, in fact – moving within that darkness. There was a loud clanking noise that almost sounded like footsteps.

Two orbs suddenly flared red in the shadows outside and the hated voice of Doctor Uthalian filled the exercise yard. The voice was crackly and full of static, as if it were coming over a comm set.

"Riot in progress," the man said calmly. "As per contingency order T-X-Fifteen, I am hereby authorizing lethal force on all test subjects found outside of their assigned cells."

Then, with a series of clanking footsteps, two tall, thin droids stepped through the doorway. They hefted heavy shields in one mechanical hand and deadly, razor-tipped force pikes in the other. They sported steel-gray heavy body armor and had mechanized heads that were shaped like stormtrooper helmets.

Mark-II Darktroopers. The most deadly creations manufactured by the Empire's Synthetic Research Division. They moved smoothly, with none of the stiff, shuffling gate of their protocol droid cousins. They strode through the door, surveying the room ahead with glowing red photoreceptors, and their mechanized gazes quickly fell on the cowering doctor in front of them.

They paused, no doubt scanning the man. Eventually, one of the droids spoke in a heavily synthesized, monotone voice.

"Subject: Doctor Gregi Loreno," it said. "Status: Imperial personnel. Armed. Assessment: Tangible threat. Damage to Project progress due to loss of personnel: Negligible."

Then the droid stepped forward and rammed the sharp edge of the force pike through the man's chest. Vhetin stepped forward and shouted, "No!" while the doctor screamed, clutching at the weapon that protruded from his body. Blood slowly bubbled up around the shaft of the pike, staining the doctor's white jumpsuit and dripping onto the floor.

The droid roughly yanked its weapon free and the doctor crumpled and didn't move again. The Darktrooper then turned its gaze to the shocked crowd of prisoners and droned, "Multiple subjects. Status: Rioting test subjects. Assessment: Serious threat."

There was another heavy clanking sound and another Darktrooper, this one twice as tall as the others, lumbered through the door. This droid hefted pacification blasters on each arm and had a heavy blaster cannon protruding from its right shoulder.

The first Darktrooper raised its bloodied force pike and said, "Riot pacification protocols initiated. Combat subroutines online."

Then the two smaller droids sprinted forward with a buzz of mechanized servomotors and threw themselves at the crowd, slicing and hacking at anyone unfortunate enough to be standing near them. The larger Mark-III Darktrooper simply raised its large arms and opened fire into the crowd, mowing down prisoners as they tried to flee for the doors on the other end of the exercise yard. Vhetin knew the prisoners only faced death in that direction; the doors they were trying to reach led to a maintenance hall that came to a sudden dead-end.

Vhetin was shoved off his feet by a charging prisoner a whole head larger than he was. He crashed to the ground, losing his grip on the wounded doctor. The woman disappeared into the crowd with a scream and Vhetin struggled back to his feet, shouting, "Damn it, no!"

But she was gone, lost in the crushing stampede of prisoners as they fled in all directions, frantic to escape their coming demise. Within a matter of moments, the exercise yard had been transformed into a war zone. Blaster fire slashed through the air above his head and prisoners sprawled, bleeding, on every side of him. He struggled through the crowd, fighting to get as far from the Darktroopers as possible like everyone else.

When shoving and punching didn't part the crowd fast enough, he pulled the telescoping stun prod from his belt. The weapon extended with a crackle of electricity, transforming into a half-meter staff. Vhetin slammed it against a prisoner who was trying to shove him out of the way and the man crumpled, screaming and twitching.

He had to get out of the exercise yard. It was a slaughterhouse, and the Darktroopers would finish their bloody work in a matter of minutes. He could see the droids carving their way through the crowd behind him, could hear the screams of prisoners they were felled.

His military TacHUD blared a contact warning and he spun in time to see one of the skinny Darktroopers leap for him, force pike raised for a killing blow. Vhetin brought his stun prod up and blocked the attack, knocked off his feet by the force of the strike. The droid advanced and stabbed down with its razor edged weapon. Vhetin rolled out of the way in time and the pike embedded itself two inches deep in the duracrete beneath him.

Vhetin rolled to his feet and grabbed the droid's weapon, using it as leverage to throw himself forward and stab with his stun prod. The prod bounced against the Darktrooper's shoulder and sent tendrils of lightning dancing up and down one mechanical arm. The mech's fingers twitched in response to the sudden influx of energy, weakening its grip on its force pike.

Seizing his opportunity, Vhetin yanked on the staff of the pike, ripping it from the Darktrooper's grip. Instinct took over and he deactivated his stun prod. He grasped the force pike with two hands and swung the heavy weapon horizontally, shearing the droid's head from its shoulders. Its body stood for a few moments more, twitching and sparking, then collapsed limply to the ground.

Vhetin stood, pushed around by the retreating prisoners, feeling a sharp spike of pain in his chest as he strained his fluid-filled lungs. He looked around, wheezing, and thought, This place is a kill zone and Darktroopers are herding the inmates into a dead-end maintenance hall. It's going to be a massacre. And the only real exit...

He slowly turned his gaze to the towering figure of the bulky Mark-III Darktrooper blocking the blasted doors. He then looked down and flexed his grip on his stolen force pike. It was a comforting weight, reminding him of his old lightsaber pike. This was a weapon he knew how to use with lethal skill, making him more than a match for any droid pitted against him. He narrowed his eyes as a plan began to form.

That Darktrooper is blocking the only viable exit route, he thought. So it's my only way out.

It was possible to take down the Mark-III. He'd done it before, while hunting on Tatooine with Jay. Granted, he'd had his full compliment of weapons and wasn't infected with a powerful pneumonia virus, but he didn't have any other options. So he squared his shoulders and pushed through the crowd toward the open area of the exercise yard. He broke through stampede, heading resolutely for the doors.

The area ahead was littered with bodies, the floor stained with dark pools of blood, the Mark-III Darktrooper towering over it all with guns still blazing. Vhetin ducked his head and sidestepped to avoid incoming fire, but slowly made his way forward. The mechanical colossus saw him and swiveled to fire.

Vhetin broke into a run, sprinting for the Darktrooper and raising his force pike to shoulder level. With a shout of effort he hurled the pike forward, like an ancient Mandalorian javelin thrower, and watched the weapon slice through the air toward the droid.

The sharp edge of the pike plunged deep into the Darktrooper's chest, carving through metal and wires and circuitry. A shower of sparks exploded from the wound and the trooper's glowing red photoreceptors flickered. It let out a mechanized roar and boomed, "System damage. Re-routing emergency power to compensate."

It straightened again, ready to fire, but Vhetin had closed the gap between them. He leaped up and, with a tremendous wrench, pulled the pike from the Darktrooper's chassis. It came free with a burst of sparks and a shower of shrapnel. Vhetin backpedaled and stabbed again, sinking the pike deep into the trooper's mechanized leg. If it had any effect, he couldn't see one.

The Darktrooper brought its huge arm up and caught Vhetin under the chin, sending him sprawling back. Vhetin quickly rolled back to his feet, unwilling to allow the trooper to stomp forward and press its advantage. As the trooper raised an arm for another tremendous blow, Vhetin slashed down as hard as he could.

The force pike's blade caught the trooper in the shoulder, shearing through metal and servomotors. Vhetin grimaced against a spray of lubricating oil that splashed his faceplate, backing out of the droid's reach while he was momentarily blinded. Moments later, the trooper's severed arm hit the ground with a loud thud.

The droid screeched and flailed, lashing out at him with its one remaining arm. Vhetin jumped back, out of reach, but a tremendous weight slammed into his back. Hard, mechanical arms wrapped around his neck, catching him in a vise-like stranglehold.

Vhetin stabbed over his shoulder at the remaining Mark-II Darktrooper. The skinny droid dodged the blow and tightened its grip, trying to throttle Vhetin into unconsciousness. His vision began to water and darken around the edges as he gasped for breath that his fluid-filled lungs could not handle. He could feel his heart racing, his lungs seizing up, his body reacting similarly to the side-effects of the Tests.

He fell to his knees, clutching at the arms around his throat. His fingers began to twitch uncontrollably, struggling to draw in even a miniscule breath. His force pike toppled from his weak grip, rolling away across the bloodstained floor. He began to gag, numbness creeping up his arms and legs.

Then, a distant-sounding voice suddenly shouted, "Droid popper out!"

There was a flash of blinding light and a concussive shockwave slammed him down onto his back. His HUD sputtered and popped in quick flashes before dying, throwing him into darkness within his stolen stormtrooper helmet. The mechanized arms around his neck instantly released their tight hold and he sprawled forward onto his hands and knees. Through blurry vision, he saw the large Mark-III Darktrooper jump and flail, then crash down onto its back and not rise again.

He fought to rise to his hands and knees, frantically trying to suck in even half a breath. He found that his lungs would not respond to even the slightest intake of air. His lungs constricted in his chest, tighter and tighter, making him choke and gag.

Knowing what was coming next, he ripped off his helmet, arched his back, and vomited. A mix of black preservative fluid and bile erupted from his mouth, splattering across the floor. His lungs continued to rhythmically constrict and release, pushing more and more of the slop out of his body. By the time he could once again draw full breath, he barely had enough time to pull his helmet back over his head before he collapsed from exhaustion.

He could hear voices all around him, could see the blurry shapes of people surrounding him. He thought for a moment they were other stormtroopers, maybe even the other prisoners coming to finish their earlier job and beat him to death.

But then his vision faded and he no longer cared if he lived or died.

---

It seemed like the blink of an eye before he was yanked back to consciousness. He felt someone nudge him in the ribs, just above his stab wound. The pain brought Vhetin back to near-consciousness, and he could suddenly feel every bruised and battered inch of his body. He blinked and squinted to see through the eye-shaped visors of the stormtrooper helmet; the HUD was still offline.

"Think he's dead?" someone asked. Vhetin was instantly reminded of when he'd woken in the prison yard, surrounded by inmates. Who were these people? What did they want from him?

"Look," a female voice said. "He's waking up."

Vhetin groaned and rolled over onto his back. Instantly, he heard the sounds of numerous blasters cycling up. He froze, blinking as his vision cleared. He could see three people standing over him: a blond-haired man, an angry-looking woman with long brown hair, and a blue-skinned Twi'lek girl. The man and woman were aiming blaster pistols at him. The young Twi'lek was hanging behind them, looking at him with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Easy there, mate," the blond man said, narrowing his eyes. "Don't rush yourself on our account."

Vhetin slowly struggled to rise to a sitting position. He glared up at the blond man, who was wearing a familiar doctor's uniform, and muttered, "You again."

The man flashed a small grin. "Yeah. Didn't think you'd run across me again, huh? By my count, I owe you a knock upside the head."

The man then stepped forward and kicked Vhetin hard in the faceplate. Vhetin let out a shout of pain and fell back onto his back, gasping for breath. His lungs ached and his stomach felt tight and knotted from his vomiting. His throat stung every time he tried to draw breath and his stab wound sent ripples of pain up his side every time he moved. His wounds were beginning to catch up on him, affecting his abilities. He couldn't even summon the strength to sit up again.

"Now," the blond man said, apparently satisfied, "care to tell me who you are and what you're doing down here?"

"You first," Vhetin gasped, staring up at the ceiling.

"No, that isn't how this works. See, we're the ones with the guns. So start talking."

"Go kriff yourself."

A scowl cross the man's face and he moved forward to lash out with another kick. Vhetin was waiting for him. As soon as the man was close enough, he gathered all the strength he had left. Barely thinking, he reached up, grabbed the man around the ankle, and pulled. As the man toppled with a surprised shout, Vhetin threw himself forward into a somersault, grabbed the man's falling blaster, and came to his feet with the weapon aimed at the human woman and the Twi'lek. The woman had taken a step forward, until her blaster was almost pressed against his helmet forehead. His own weapon was aimed at her chest.

"Drop the gun," he growled, struggling to hide how hard it was to stand. He couldn't afford to show any weakness, not now. "I don't want any trouble, but if you don't get out of my way, I'll have to kill all of you."

The Twi'lek girl let out a fearful whimper and shrank back, but the brown-haired woman just narrowed her eyes and said, "I'm not moving."

Vhetin's grip on the pistol tightened and he prepared to depress the firing stud. He was about to fire when a new voice spoke.

"Everyone!" the voice called. "Put your weapons down. No one needs to die here."

Vhetin's blood froze at the voice. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. There was no way – no way – that was who he thought it was. It just couldn't be possible.

He slowly turned and found himself staring at a being he had spent the last three months trying to forget. She was dressed in an Imperial navy uniform, gray to signify an officer. The ranking bars on the chest of the uniform marked her as a lieutenant commander. All was unfamiliar to him, but he would recognize her wavy, dark brown hair and brown eyes anywhere. Like the others, she was also aiming a blaster at him.

He lowered his pistol, staring at her with utter disbelief. Part of his mind rejoiced to see her again, while a greater part screamed that it was all a trick. It couldn't be real. It just couldn't.

He shook his head and raised the pistol again, aiming it at her. "No," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "This isn't... you can't be here."

She narrowed her eyes and said, "Don't make me kill you, trooper."

His resolve strengthened. So, she didn't recognize him. That made him feel better. She must be some imposter, trying to trick him into falling into a Whiteclaw trap. He took a step back and shook his head again. "No. You're a fake. This... this is all Doctor Torch. I told him all about you, and he's using that against me."

She frowned and her pistol lowered slightly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He turned away from her. "Three months and now all of a sudden you show up here? It's not possible."

"Three months..." she echoed quietly. He looked over his shoulder and saw her lower her blaster completely. She was staring at him in disbelief, arms hanging limply at her sides.

She took a step closer. "Cin?"

She seemed to reach the same conclusion he had, because she suddenly raised her pistol. "No. You're not him. Why are you wearing stormtrooper armor?"

He aimed his weapon at her. "Why are you dressed as an Imperial? Why are you here at all?"

"I'm here to rescue my partner," she said. "I've been looking for him for the past three months."

"No!" Vhetin shouted, taking a step forward. His blaster was only inches from her chest now. "No! Jay left. She moved on with her life and stayed as far away from me as possible!"

"Why would I do that?" she shouted back. "Why would I abandon my best friend to a life of torture?"

He cursed and shook his head. She seemed lost as well; neither believed the other was sincere, though they both desperately wanted it. They had both spent too long believing their own stubborn outlooks on the other. Vhetin had believed his partner had moved on, while she had apparently spent the last three months trying to find him.

Eventually, she took a step closer, lowering her blaster again. She took a deep breath and murmured, "The last words you said to me."

"What?"

"What were they? The last words you said to me."

Vhetin wracked his mind, thinking back to those painful moments before they parted for what he had believed would be the last time. He closed his eyes, remembering every detail he had spent the last three months reliving in his dreams.

He could remember it all clearly, as if it had happened only moments ago: the bustling crowds of the Mon Calamari spaceport, the heavy blast door separating him from the Tracker, the pounding of his heart as he summoned up the courage to stand and face his demise. She had hugged him tightly, knowing she was going to lose her partner and closest friend, and promised him that she would take their other present allies and leave him despite her desire to stay and fight by his side. She had eventually stepped away and moved to disappear into the crowd. But he had called after her and said-

"Ret'urcye mhi," he murmured. He slowly opened his eyes. "I said, ret'urcye mhi, ner vod. Maybe we'll meet again."

She stared at him for a few moments, then she laughed and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, still only half-believing it was real. After so long, it was really her!

"Cin! I can't believe it's you!" she laughed. She let out a long breath, sounding exhausted. "I've spent such a long time looking for you."

He winced as she hugged him tighter and placed pressure on one of the ruptured plugs set into his shoulders. He let out a quiet gasp of pain and shrank away from her.

"What?" she said, concern flashing through her eyes. "What's wrong?"

He shook her away, rubbing his shoulder. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

She noticed the blood staining the black undersuit of his stormtrooper uniform and put a hand on his armored shoulder. "No you're not."

She looked over her shoulder and called, "Rame! Grab your kit and get in here."

"Rame is here too?"

She nodded, smiling again. "He said wild kath hounds couldn't drag him away."

Vhetin glanced over as the blond-haired man cautiously rose to his feet again, as if not completely sure they were all friends yet. The other woman had moved to the blasted-open blast doors, picked her way around the deactivated Darktrooper droids, and had taken up watch over the exit. The Twi'lek girl was looking between Vhetin and Jay with wide blue eyes, clutching a handheld datapad.

Vhetin turned his attention back to his partner. "And Brianna?"

Jay's face fell and she shook her head. "She... um, she couldn't come."

His heart fell. Jay must have noticed his disappointment, because she took a hesitant step closer and said, "She really wanted to. She did. But... well, she had other important things to take care of."

He shook his head and pushed those thoughts away. Brianna wouldn't have skipped out on his rescue for something trivial, and he trusted her judgment. Still, it hurt to hear that she had found something more important to her than he was.

Rame appeared from the door above, on the catwalk overlooking the bloody exercise yard. He was dressed in the dark colors of a Facility maintenance worker. Jay's team had obviously done their homework when planning their infiltration. The man took one look at Vhetin and his gaunt face broke out in a wide grin. He hefted a rucksack and swung himself over the railing, working his way carefully down a support strut until he could hop nimbly to the ground. He strode up to Vhetin and grasped his arm in a traditional Mando handshake.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you again, vod," he said with a laugh.

Vhetin couldn't hold back a grin of his own. "It's been a long time, Rame. It's good to see you too."

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked Jay. "I would have thought you two would still be hugging at this point."

Jay folded her arms and gestured to Vhetin. "Let's see."

"Okay, mate," the older man said with a reassuring grin, patting Vhetin's shoulder pad. "Let's get this armor off you and see just what these Imp bastards did to you."

Vhetin sat on a nearby bench while Rame gingerly pried off armor plating. Jay and the others respectfully turned their backs while Vhetin removed his helmet, at least until Rame provided a black face mask from his rucksack.

"Thought you'd want something like this," was all the man would say. Vhetin gratefully accepted the garment and pulled it over his face.

He grimaced as he helped Rame pull off his bulky stormtrooper chestplate. The heavy plastoid rubbed against the plugs in his chest, making his wounds begin to throb all over again. Rame used a deactivated vibroblade to slit open Vhetin's blood-soaked undersuit top and carefully pried the skin-tight leathery material away from his chest.

A collective gasp of revulsion made its rounds around the group as they got their first look at what the Imperials had done to him. Vhetin didn't blame them; below the neck, his skin was a mottled, yellowish color, dried and cracking in places, covered in bruises and sores. The skin around the plugs set into his shoulders, arms, and chest was a disgusting purplish tinge, caked with blood and pus. His stab wound, coupled with the bruise caused by the impact of the shiv, had colored the skin above his right hip a dark purple-black. Blood covered virtually every inch of his chest, a result of the burst stitches on his stab wound and two plugs ripped from his shoulders and ribs.

"Holy osik," the brown-haired woman whispered. The blond man shook his head and grimaced. Jay covered her mouth with one hand, eyes wide.

"What the hell did they do to you?" Rame growled, looking horrified. He pulled away one of the dislodged plugs, his eyes widening as a quarter-foot needle came with it. Vhetin grimaced as the needle came free, blood bubbling up out of the open wound it left behind.

"Biological tests," he murmured. "These plugs injected their drugs to reaction points in my body."

"How many are there?" Jay asked, her voice very quiet.

"Nineteen. One in each shoulder, bicep, forearm, lung, thigh, and calf, plus two on each side of the ribcage and three along the spine."

"Shab," Rame murmured, gingerly removing the dislodged needle-plug from his ribs. As blood began to flow from that wound as well, he pulled a spray canister from his pack and shook it in one hand.

"Synthflesh," he explained. "It'll sting like a bitch, but it should staunch the blood flow until we can get you to a medcenter."

"Do it."

Vhetin clenched his teeth as Rame proceeded to spray the two new wounds with the stinging bio-foam, quickly hitting the stab wound while he was at it. He shook his head as he worked and muttered, "The ones in your chest need to stay there. I'm not going to willingly unplug holes in your lungs until we're facing more stable medical conditions."

"I've had it stuck in my chest for the last three months," Vhetin muttered. "I can wait a little longer."

Rame put a hand on his shoulder when he tried to stand and said, "Wait a sec, vod. We aren't done yet."

He spent the next few minutes tightly bandaging Vhetin's wounds. Jay passed the time introducing the team she'd assembled to free him.

"This is Shae Verd," she said, gesturing to the brown-haired woman. "Head of Clan Verd and a bounty hunter like us. I went to her a month or so after you disappeared and the trail went cold."

The woman folded her arms and nodded in greeting. "You've brought us on quite the merry chase, vod. I hope it's worth it."

She turned to the blond man. "I think you already know Laniff Dreysel, our resident explosives expert. He was recommended after Kadira Sal had to back out of the hunt. He's been an invaluable member of the team ever since."

"She sends her regards," the man said with a nod. "She'd be here too, but she's in the middle of an important job."

Vhetin nodded back and gestured to his head. "Sorry for the, uh..."

Laniff shrugged. "Don't mention it. We all have bad days."

"And the youngest member of our team," Jay said, putting an arm around the Twi'lek girl's shoulders, "is our slicer, Ti'ica. We picked her up on Nar Shadda about a week after Mon Calamari. Jaing could only be on-hand some of the time and I needed a slicer. She's been pulling our asses out of tough situations ever since."

"Hi," the girl said in a tiny voice. She nodded quickly, then shrank away behind the Shae Verd again.

Vhetin bowed his head. "Hi."

He looked to Jay and shook his head. "All this for me? I'm surprised, Jay."

She smiled a little. "I told you I wouldn't stop looking for you."

He winced as Rame tugged on his bandages, glared at the medic, then turned his attention back to his partner. "I'm still confused. You'd need more people than this to get into this place."

"We've got three other teammates scattered throughout the facility," Jay explained. "Trassk, another slicer, his holed up somewhere trying to get into the security system after something locked us out. Your handiwork, I presume?"

He grimaced. "Sorry. I had no idea you were here."

"I don't blame you. Either way, he's going to meet up with us at the rendezvous point a little further on. Our infiltration specialist, Lesianne, is somewhere in the ventilation ducts again, scouting out any potential threats between us and our rally point."

"I swear," Vhetin heard Laniff mutter, "that woman actually likes being in those dusty old ventilation shafts. I wonder what she gets from it?"

"And our big gun," Jay continued, "D, is waiting for us on the ship, ready to cover us during our exfil."

Vhetin let out a dry chuckle. "You've set up quite the operation, Jay. I hope I'm worth the trouble."

Laniff nodded. "We hope so too."

He ignored the jibe and met his partner's gaze. He stared at her for a few moments, then shook his head and said, "I never thought I'd see you again."

"That makes two of us."

He nodded seriously to her and said, "Thank you. I... I owe you a debt that can never be repaid."

She blushed slightly. "Come on, Cin. You rescued me from prison when we first met. Consider us even now."

"Besides," Rame said as he worked, "we aren't out of this yet. You may prefer your cell before all this is over."

The man eventually clapped him on the shoulder – the part of his shoulder not taken up by bandages or plugs – and said, "There you go, vod. Good for now, if not good as new. Now come on, up you get."

He helped Vhetin to his feet. Vhetin grimaced and let out a quiet curse as he struggled to stand on his own once more. His wounds were hurting worse than ever now, and the fight with the Darktroopers had sapped what little strength he had left. His cough was beginning to return, persistent as ever, and his muscles ached from overuse. He'd been cooped up in a cell for the past three months and the Whiteclaw neo-pneumonia had been reducing his abilities with every day he was in their care. Now the brief surge of strength and adrenaline that had carried him this far was gone and he was having trouble even standing.

"You think you can make it on your own?" Rame asked, sounding concerned.

He nodded. "I have to. You're not going to carry me the whole way, are you?"

"If I have to." He didn't sound like he was joking.

"I can make it," Vhetin said, gingerly picked up his fallen force pike again. "Just lead the way."

Jay nodded and pulled her pistol, gesturing for everyone to keep close. "Rendezvous point is close. Let's link up with the rest of the squad, then we can focus on getting out of here. Follow me."

Author's Note: Shae Verd and Laniff Dreysel appear courtesy of MandoGirl22 and Kadirika7211, respectively.