Deep thanks to Xomniac for the idea of the weaponsmith character.

~O~

CENTAX 3 – SENTINEL CORPS' EMERGENCY RELOCATION COLONY, POINT SERENITY

Two weeks.

Two painfully long, painfully dull weeks.

That was how long Natalia had been forced by Elyse to act as "conductor" for the assembly teams down on Point Serenity, as their new ramshackle colony had come to be called by the crews. And it had been the most boring assignment she ever got.

Now, far be it from her to complain about a job that didn't involve constantly dodging bullets, bombs and Titans so as to stay alive a second longer, but at least in those she was in her element! She could whip out an LMG and hose down bullets 'til all the "problems" went away, and then get some praise for it!

But not here, noooooo. Instead, her guns were stored in a locker in a far-corner of the compound, she had been given a P2019 as an emergency weapon, and she couldn't even use it to shoot the paperwork. So in summation, things sucked.

But at the very least, she wasn't suffering alone anymore.

"This is such shit," grumbled Gardner as he tossed yet another shipping manifest onto his table, where a sizeable pile already laid. "Why the hell are we still here?! We've already worked enough for that fight we caused!"

"Because you thought it was a good idea to ask how long we had left," complained Natalia back, making sure to give her partner in punishment a stink-eyed look before returning to her remaining paperwork. "Pretty sure if you had kept quiet, we wouldn't be here."

"I am allowed to ask when this ends!"

"And I'm allowed to beat your ass bloody if you do something that stupid again, cabrón."

"I see you two are working hard as always."

Were they not inside a room inside a military compound as secure as a fortress, Natalia and Gardner would have been reaching for their sidearms out of sheer habit. But instead, they merely gave a side-glance and watched as Wolfe walked in carrying a large tray with some MREs stacked atop, which he carefully set down in one of the few clear corners of the table. "So, how long 'til you finish this?" asked the pilot as he passed them the plates with meatballs and mashed potatoes and tableware.

"We got three more shipping manifests to finish," Gardner replied in a dreary monotone as he took hold of the plate and pulled the knife and fork from within their plastic wrapping. "Then I'm gonna check if the Colosseum's already up to work and die all my hatred for paperwork out of my mind."

"Then I guess this news is gonna put some spice in your work: Elyse rang me up, told me to pass the news that you two are cleared to leave once you finish." And indeed, at hearing Wolfe's words, his squadmates cheered in excitement, even high fiving one another before digging into their meals with gusto. "That said, she also asked to make it clear that if you two try that again, you'll swab the Avalanche's hull from the outside from one tip to the other."

"No me importa, finalmente se acabó, gracias a Cristo," muttered Natalia, before she quickly began shoveling food into her mouth, an act that Gardner matched with equal enthusiasm. Minutes later, with their lunch devoured and properly energized, they took to the last bits of paperwork like their lives and freedom depended on it, until finally Gardner looked up from the data-pad in his grasp and back to Wolfe.

"Speaking of her, where's the chief at?"

"Diplomatic duty."

-O-

CORUSCANT – ABOARD GOBLIN DROPSHIP, EN ROUTE TO THE JEDI TEMPLE

When Elyse first received the invitation from the Jedi Council for a small tour of the temple, as a sign of good faith for aiding their Grand Master, she was ready to make it a quick and easy affair. Nothing more than formalities to be performed and curiosity from both sides to be sated before they swiftly returned their attention to each party's respective concerns, that being the war and a budding refugee camp and mercenary corporation.

Unfortunately, captain Durandal saw fit to throw a ticking time bomb onto her lap, figuratively speaking. And in the end, rather than flying by herself to the temple, Elyse now shared the Goblin with two individuals that she had no wish of bringing to this place.

One was man on his early 30s, with his hair done as a stylish ponytail, a 5 o'clock shadow, and clear brown eyes that had the telltale signs of being cybernetic prosthetics. Rather than anything reassembling Pilot garbs, he wore a metallic suit with armor plating, but the most striking feature of all was certainly that alongside a holstered and large silver hand cannon, the man carried an honest-to-goodness sword upon his hip, and whose sheath hinted at its true shape: a long, and very likely dangerous, katana.

And in all the years Elyse had known Samuel Scirocco, that had been all he needed to tear an unholy warpath through IMC lines.

The other passenger, however, was someone she was far, far more preoccupied with. Because even in as casual a garb as she was, that being pieces of clothing meant to emulate a blue hoodie and pants, and with a mouse carefully balanced at the tip of her sword, Elyse still knew that the simulacrum sitting across from her had been someone that Militia High Command, or at the moment, the Council of Captains, would have ordered to be executed on sight for her long, long list of crimes. But instead, here she was, Vinson Dynamics ex-field commander, ex-Apex Predator and one of the most elite Pilots in the Milky Way: Ash.

And as Blisk had once told her, just before taking his leave from the Frontier War to go create his new business, "don't kill the gun who you could point towards a common enemy". Hence, her current predicament.

"Let me be perfectly clear with you," began Elyse as she straightened her posture and pinned the mechanical passenger with a chilling glare. "You are here as a show of good faith, and to prove to the other captains that you will not be a liability to both our safety, and any future relationships with the Republic or the Jedi. If it was up to them, you'd be shot and melted down for scraps, but right now I need every advantage I can take… So I expect you to toe the line, got it?"

"Your worry is unnecessary, Elyse," coldly replied the ex-Apex, her metallic eyes focused solely on the mouse as, with a flick of the blade, the animal flew into the air and landed upon Ash's forearm, before quickly scurrying to within her hood. "They will follow your orders no matter what, thus the danger is non-existent to either of us."

"That doesn't change anything, Ash. I'm making it clear to you: one wrong step, and I'll toss you back onto Azrael's ship until I have a planet to lock you up on, got it?"

"Of course."

"Good. As for you, Samuel—"

"Don't worry, I know the rules," said the man dismissively with a grin and a wave of his hand. "Keep an eye on her and stay on my best behavior. Besides, it'll be practice for when I have to wrangle the other folks up in orbit."

Truly, if there was ever a time Elyse was thankful for the implants inside her brain that reeled in her emotions, it was this exact moment, as they quickly made to smother her desire to strangle Samuel for his blasé attitude and brought that familiar sense of calm that she had grown accustomed to throughout the years, making the remainder of her travel time far more bearable.

Not that she had that much to do before their arrival, really. Bar the clothes on her back, and the obligatory holdout gun, Elyse had brought nothing else to the meeting with the Jedi. After all, she had very little idea of what she could possibly bring to an offered tour with a group of monks who followed a mystical, unknowable "Force" that seemed to guide all life in this galaxy. Truthfully, it seemed words would be the best the Militia commander could bring, to share what she knew and learned of her home, and compare with what they themselves knew.

"Commander, we're approaching the temple, I'll set her down on the landing pad."

"Copy that, pilot."

And with that, the dropship rumbled as it began to descend to its landing point, lightly rattling its passengers until with a lowering whine and one last shake of the hull, the Goblin set itself down onto the ground, followed quickly by the access ramp lowering itself to allow the three passengers to disembark and see their greeting party. And to no surprise, it was quite a small affair, with only three people waiting at the landing pad, all of them being people Elyse had met only through a hologram before learning their names thanks to Obi-Wan Kenobi: Plo Koon, Shaak Ti, and Kit Fisto.

"Commander Elyse, welcome to the Jedi Temple," greeted Plo Koon with utmost politeness as he took a short bow, one that she quickly returned.

"Thank you, Jedi Master." Once she saw their gaze move from her to the other two Militia members present, Elyse took a step to the side and motioned to them. "These are Samuel Scirocco and Ash. They requested permission to join me during this visit. I apologize for the suddenness of their arrival."

"Worry not, commander. If your trust in them enough to bring them, we shall acquiesce your decision," replied Shaak Ti calmly, before returning her attention to Samuel and Ash. "I am Jedi Master Shaak Ti. In the name of the Jedi Council, I welcome you both to our temple."

"The honor's all mine, master," replied Samuel with a grin and a bow, while beside him Ash merely stared at the three before giving a quiet nod of acknowledgement.

With greetings shared, and seemingly no more words to be exchanged, the three masters motioned their wards forward, and without delay the six began their walk towards the temple, the Militia members letting their eyes wander across the surroundings as they walked. And there was much, much to see.

Now, all three were not unused to massive buildings or expansive constructions. After all, be it in the Core Worlds, Frontier or Outlands, one would be hard-pressed to not find architecture built to be massive, since use of space always had to be optimal as to allow the most amount of people to be housed in colonies. Even Harmony itself, after an extended period of expansion and peace from IMC attacks, was occupied primarily by the ugly, industrial cities from its earliest colonization efforts, something that the Militia struggled to change to this day.

But this place… It was different. Its grandiose presence was born not out of sheer scale, but beauty. The contrast of sharp and rounded forms, the dozens of seemingly purposeful art pieces located throughout the open plaza, the massive statues of what seemed to be bronze, towering over all the people that walked amidst their shadows… There was grandiose here, yes, but it was exuded through age and artistry… And perhaps a touch of intimidation.

And yet it didn't seem to matter to the many Jedi that occupied the gigantic plaza, each engrossed in whatever activities they seemed to be engrossed with… That is, until the entourage passed by them, and for the briefest moment Elyse caught a glimpse of the Jedi minutely turning their heads to stare at the passing group, before quickly returning their attention to their original task, until finally the group came upon the entrance to the temple itself.

And what an entrance it was: a massive stairway, flanked atop by massive bronze statues of Jedi with their lightsabers raised, and past them, colossal pillars of stone and steel, etched with figures of Jedi warriors at the ready, which certainly made for an obviously awe-inspiring and intimidating image, while past it stretched a gargantuan atrium with a ceiling so high that if the entrance allowed, dropships would fit comfortably inside, and where even more Jedi seemed to reside. However, here there seemed to be one big difference from the crowds outside: not only were there young and older adults, but also very young children, walking in groups and being shepherded by an older Jedi as they passed by the halls, though more than once some of the children turned their attention away from their teacher and towards the passing group of Council members and Militia visitors.

"Well, you certainly seem to start them young," spoke up Samuel as he watched the children pass by with an amused, but analytic eye. "Any reason for that?"

"Children who are Force sensitive require careful training from a young age, so that their abilities may be tempered with discipline and restraint," replied Shaak Ti in a tranquil, teacher-like tone as she momentarily glanced back towards the swordsman. "Any emotional outburst could result in tragic accidents, thus the Order has taken the responsibility of properly guiding these younglings into a path where their gifts shall not become burdens."

"All of their needs are met here at the Temple, and once they come of age and achieve the rank of Padawan, they are taken under the care of a Jedi Master, joining them in their travels across the galaxy," added Plo Koon as he motioned towards one such duo of master and apprentice, who gave greeting nods before passing by the group towards whatever destination they held. "From there, they shall learn until they are old and learned enough to become Knights, and further on, Masters."

"I see, I see… Well, in that case, you wouldn't happen to have a sparring arena, would you?"

"Lieutenant."

It was no lie to say that the three Jedi were quite surprised by how frigid Elyse's tone was as she called out to Samuel, even going as far as placing one hand onto his shoulder that slowly began to tighten.

That the metal suit also subtly groaned under her grip did not escape their notice, but the man seemed quite non-plussed about it.

"Repeat to me, the explicit orders you were given five minutes ago."

"Don't worry, commander, I'll bring her along with me for it," calmly replied Samuel as he thumbed towards Ash, who in response lightly turned her head at just the right angle so as to allow one glowing yellow eye to glare at the swordsman. "That way the Jedi get to keep an eye on her as well, and you get some peace and quiet for this tour of yours."

Unfortunately for Samuel, however, it seemed that Elyse did not share his train of thought, if the way her grip only grew tighter on his shoulder. Thankfully, before any incidents could occur, Kit Fisto took a step forward and motioned towards the two. "Commander, if he wishes to spar, I'd be more than happy to show him to the training halls." And with that, the Jedi turned to Samuel and gave him a small, polite grin. "I would be honored to see what kind of techniques a swordsman from another galaxy can offer as a challenge."

The grin that Samuel offered in return was positively ecstatic, one hand moving down to rest on the pommel of his sword. "Oh, I'd be more than happy, Jedi Master."

"I have no interest in fostering your childish games, Samuel," quickly replied Ash in her usual cold, detached tone as she kept her gaze focused on the swordsman, before moving to stare at Elyse. "The public archives, however, are of far greater interest to me. A visit supervised by a member of the Council would suffice, would you not agree, commander?"

At first, Elyse merely remained silent, even as her fingers twitched and began hovering just an inch closer to her sidearm. However, with a heavy and weary sigh, the Militia commander pinched the bridge of her nose and kneaded it as heavily as she could, before turning back to the Jedi accompanying them and bowing down to them. "I apologize for my brazen request, Master Jedi… But I'd like to ask permission to have Ash accompanied to the Archives."

Thankfully, rather than seeming insulted, the other two masters merely smiled and gave nods of their own, with Plo Koon taking one step towards Ash. "Then I shall accompany you to the archives. Please, follow me."

And with that, the group of six broke up into three duos, two of them leaving to destinations of their own, and one remaining behind, until finally Shaak Ti and Elyse resumed their travels through the temple, and the latter hoping that this would not end in a horrible, diplomatic disaster.

-O-

GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC BARRACKS – HANGAR 4

Let it never be said that the Engineering Corps ever slacked on the job. Whether it be fixing a faulty repulsorlift unit of a speeder bike, replacing the damaged engine of a LAAT gunship, or even installing new turrets on a moored Venator-class cruiser, the clones assigned to the Engineering Corps would never shirk from their duty. After all, if maintenance and construction stopped, then so would the Republic's war machine, and that meant the Separatists gained the advantage. And it would be a cold day in hell before the clone forces allowed laziness to get in the way of their victory.

And in Coruscant, this was no different. Being the capital of the Republic made it one of the safest places in the galaxy, militarily speaking, but that only served to spur the work of the clones assigned there even harder. If the capital of the Republic couldn't be safe, then how could they preach of being an army that would bring peace back to the galaxy?

It was with this thought in mind that the commander of the 342nd Engineering Corps, CT-8590, aka "Habit", made his way to the hangar of the building to check on an alleged "work delay issue".

Now, Habit was not one to brag or boast, but he had utmost faith in the clones assigned to his command. They were hard-working, committed, and most of all, near tireless in their stubbornness to see the job through. So, either it was a mistake of some kind… Or something horrible had just happened on his watch.

His mind racing, Habit arrived at the door leading into Hangar 4, their main storage area for fighters and bombers in need of repair. V-19 Torrents, BTL-B Y-Wings and even a few reserve Delta-7meant as back-up ships for the Jedi, all of them littered the hangar in various states of disassembly or damage, attended by clone engineers and worker droids alike as they tackled the work with gusto… Except for one corner of the hangar. In one specific part of the hangar, a large group of clones stood off close to the wall, all facing the same direction and, judging by what few troopers Habit could see were helmetless, with equal expressions of shock… And just like the report that had been given to him, no work was being done, at seemingly no reason.

They also seemed to, for some reason, be staring at a Y-Wing hanging from the ceiling in a mag-clamp…

Giving himself a moment to ready his usual repertoire and give the clones a good scare, Habit took a few deep breaths, then marched towards the group of clones, who for some reason continued to ignore him, until finally the commander stopped a few paces away from them. "I believe your break time is a long way from now, brothers."

That had the desired effect. With the voice of a fellow clone calling them out from their stupor, the troopers turned around to see who had called for them, only to immediately stand to attention when they realized said "fellow clone" was their superior officer.

"Attention!"

"At ease, troopers," said Habit in return, before he calmly began pacing around the group of engineers. "I've been informed that there were interruptions to the workflow here." To his mild surprise, some of the troopers glanced back somewhat sheepishly to the hanging Y-Wing, with one of them, Wrench, even gulping nervously as he fidgeted in place. "You wouldn't happen to have the answer, would you?"

"Well… Yes, sir, I do."

"Then let's hear it, then trooper."

"The new arrivals, the Militia, asked to send one of their own to assist us with repairs on our ships, sir. They said it was so they could learn how to operate our tech, to uhh… Make sure they could get some practice before going onto the field, sir."

And indeed, now that Habit was closer, he could see that the clones and droids were not the only ones inside the hangar: here and there, draped in green fatigues or in grey-and-blue jumpsuits, covered in pockets and pouches most likely packed with tools and gadgets, men and women worked on fighters alongside the GAR's own engineers, some holding datapads or holo-projectors as manuals and schematics were shown and explained to them, while others got their hands dirty working on the actual ships as the clones gave them pointers on the work. Truly, the extra hands would be a plausible explanation for why these clones were idling… Save for one detail…

"I can certainly see the extra help, Wrench…" finally replied Habit as he gazed over the activity, before turning back to the gathered troopers once more. "But that doesn't explain why all of you aren't helping or working."

"That would be because of me, commander."

It took all of Habit's discipline and self-control to not pull a gun and point at the rafters of the hangar, from where that eerie, melodious voice came from, but he still turned faster than he should probably have, only to catch sight of the person who had spoken up.

It was a woman. Or, at least, half a woman.

Just like the rest of the more common Militia members, she wore combat fatigues littered with pouches, all of them seemingly full, while from over her shoulders two Hookshot kits could be seen. Her hair was shoulder-length at best, colored green and black, her skin had a peach tone, even if the oil smudges darkened it somewhat, and her physique was definitely of someone who performed heavy labor constantly. Finally, there were her eyes, hidden behind a pair of googles with triple lenses for each eye, arranged in a triangle pattern, but from which below the lenses seemed to glow bright purple.

But the most striking detail about this woman was that she was only human from the waist up. From the waist down, rather than normal legs, she had what could only be described as a massive metallic spider body, with eight thick metal legs lining the bizarre prosthetic, two arms protruding from the front where the spider's head would be, and an angular, panel-lined abdomen that had the telltale signs of being able to open in some fashion, though for what purpose, Habit didn't know.

"I apologize for not speaking up sooner, commander," continued the woman in that same polite tone as before as she crawled over the suspended Y-Wing like a gigantic bug, wiping her hands on a dirty rag before tossing it aside as she stopped at a point where she hung upside-down from the fighter. "Unfortunately, I was too absorbed with analyzing this fighter's intricacies."

Before anyone else could speak up, the woman fired three Hookshots onto the ceiling, before calmly but quickly rappelling down from the Y-Wing onto the ground right in front of the gathered clones, her weight causing a low metallic rumble to echo when she landed. "But where are my manners? I am Salem Taranto, chief engineer of the Orpheus, and temporary liaison to your engineering corps. It is a pleasure to be able to work with you all."

Unfortunately, the clones did not seem to share of her tranquil reaction to the meeting, choosing instead to stand and stare at the half-metal arachnid engineer, until finally Habit cleared his throat and took a step forward, standing at a picture-perfect parade rest. "Thank you, ma'am. Commander CT-8590, at your service."

"Ah, so you would be Habit. Your men had made clear that I was to talk with you regarding a certain… Item kept in here."

It did not escape Habit's attention how… Pleased she sounded when talking about whatever this item was, but thankfully it was still a very composed kind of interest, one that eased the commander's worries over her professionalism. Still, his curiosity remained piqued, so the clone took a moment to collect his thoughts and swept his gaze over the hangar. "What… Item do you mean, ma'am?"

Rather than reply verbally, however, Salem merely turned her body around and pointed with one of her metal legs, leading Habit to follow the limb towards the… The…

Oh… Oh, Force…

"It is such a marvelous machine, a far cry from the rest of the ships in here. I can easily tell it's a custom job, so I suppose your men were worried I might insult the owner," spoke the engineer with a wistful tone, arms crossed and one leg tapping lightly against the floor. "Lieutenant Hawk asked me to go over it for technical data after he heard of there being a high-performance machine stashed away here, but the clones asked that I do not tinker with the fighter, so I could only pull performance and specifications data from its on-board computers… Who does this fighter belong to, commander?"

"It's… It's General Skywalker's personal starfighter, ma'am," replied Habit in an almost uneasy tone, as he took in the sight of the (thankfully still very much intact) custom Aethersprite fighter, its twin engines hanging from underneath the chassis like podracer engines, and only one or two armor plates missing from its body, revealing the wires and mechanics under the hood.

"Really now? Interesting… Does it have a name?"

"Yes ma'am. The general calls it the Azure Angel. It's… Actually the second one he has built, but General Skywalker has yet to have free time to return here and finish constructing it."

"Is that so… Then it is perhaps best that I offer my services to General Skywalker to finishing this job."

Before Habit could fully process what the Militia engineer had just said, Salem turned around and moved back to where her team had been gathered, and stomped four legs down with a loud SLAM sound. "Listen up, everyone!" she called out cheerfully, and after making sure that they all were paying attention, the engineer pointed back to the clones. "I'll be gone for a bit in an errand, so I want all of you working hard while I'm gone, is that clear?"

"YES, MA'AM!"

"Good boys~ Now, off you go, make sure these fighters are purring when you're done, and don't forget your break in thirty minutes! I'll have Command ship in some Marvins to help you all."

And with another bark of confirmation, the Militia engineering team threw themselves with the same enthusiasm as before, leaving Salem free to walk back to the stupefied clones as she pulled out a small flash drive from within one of her pouches.

"Now, commander, if you'd be so kind… Would you mind telling me where General Skywalker is?"

"The general is currently off-world, ma'am. He and General Kenobi are patrolling the outer territory hyperspace lanes."

"Hmm, a pity… Well, I suppose I can at least make the delivery to Hawk, then… Thank you for your help, commander."

And with another bow, Salem calmly paced away, her legs clinking lightly against the floor before suddenly, her hookshots fired onto the ceiling and hoisted her entire body up, leaving the engineer to crawl away on the ceiling… And a very stunned group of clones, who as one, turned to face their commanding officer., who after a long moment of silence, let out a long, weary sigh.

"Things just keep getting crazier in this war… Alright everyone, back to work!"

-O-

JEDI TEMPLE

Elyse had been in plenty of military facilities, both in the Core Worlds and in the Frontier, and they ran the gamut of organizations: whether it be pristine orbital stations and fortresses doting the surface of Neptune, mobile tankers and forges crossing the space between humanity's territories, or the more utilitarian and chaotic frontline bases of the Frontier War, Elyse always found herself somewhat disappointed by how… Repetitive some of the sights could be, especially when one fought a thirty-three year period in a war reaching its fifty-second year of duration.

But now, she could safely say that her tour of the temple had served to bring in more than a fair share of new and refreshing sights. Mainly, because it was both unlike and exactly what she expected to find in the monastery of an order of space monks.

Throughout the halls of the Jedi Temple were scattered gigantic works of art, be they statues cast of metal in perfect detail, stained glass windows meticulously assembled, or tablets containing excerpts or complete texts of the Order. And Shaak Ti had been more than accommodating of explaining the history behind the works, be it of the Jedi that had long come and gone, the battles they had fought for the sake of the galaxy, or the codes and teachings that she was allowed to share.

There were also the many, many rooms inside, be they meditation chambers for Jedi of all ranks to contemplate the Force at peace, classrooms and teaching spaces for the younglings, or even more entire chapels In passing, Shaak Ti showed Elyse the entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, an area of the temple apparently reserved as a meditative retreat, something that had the Militia commander making a mental note to ask for permission to allow some of the more spiritually-inclined members of the Pilot Corps to utilize the room in lieu of the Gauntlet… Possibly Samuel too… And Ash, if she maintained her well-behavior.

With everything that Shaak Ti had shared with her, it was times like this that Elyse was thankful for the cybernetics wired into her brain, particularly the ones that served as information storage that she could access later aboard the Hippolyta. And that was only the more spiritual part of the tour.

Not two floors above all of this, Elyse found herself amidst rows and rows of laboratories and workshops, occupied by both Jedi and civilians, toiling away at whatever project seemed to occupy their mind and time, from droid repair to flora and fauna analysis and tests, even a few larger rooms that seemed reserved for smaller vehicles. There were even hydroponic labs for food production, more than once Elyse caught glimpses of younglings and Padawans assisting with projects or working on their own.

"This is… Certainly different," muttered the Militia commander as she watched a small boy pass some tools to an adult, four-armed alien as he tinkered with a deactivated droid. However, it seemed even the low-spoken words did not escape the Jedi Master accompanying her, who turned to face her with a smile.

"Are you not used to facilities such as these, commander?"

"Not in a place like this… Back home, God has no place inside of a lab, and science errs from entering a temple… Though of course, with how far science has gone, it seems that God has no place even inside the hearts of men."

"Yes, I understand your point, commander," replied Shaak Ti. "The Jedi, however, have long realized that our understanding of the Force will only move forward as far as our understanding of the world continues to grow."

With an affirmative hum, Elyse allowed the subject to drop, and the two once more continued to walk in silence, until finally they reached the entrance to the Jedi Archives. And Elyse almost failed to suppress a chuckle when she realized she had just stepped into an honest-to-goodness library.

Of course, that was mostly in appearance. There where dozens of shelves on both floors of the room, but rather than be filled with books, they were occupied by what seemed to be digital or holographic slates, all neatly arranged and marked with that curious alphabet that the people of this galaxy apparently called "aurebesh", while the middle space was kept a wide-open corridor with a few tables and chairs with terminals atop them, while bronze busts of people Elyse had yet to learn of stood beside the shelves. Curiously, there were no civilians to be seen inside the Archive, unlike in the research wing, with the only occupants being the Jedi that were performing research on whatever they sought. As Elyse and Shaak Ti walked past, the other Jedi would give a quick greeting before returning to their studies, though some did seem to linger a moment more on the Militia commander when they directed their attention to her.

In that moment, however, something seemed to click in Elyse's mind, and she began looking around the room. "Strange…"

"Is something the matter, commander?"

"Ash mentioned coming here with Master Plo Koon, but… I don't see her anywhere."

"Perhaps they have relocated to one of the other Halls," replied Shaak Ti. Before Elyse could ask anything in return, the Jedi moved towards one of the other occupants of the room and quickly exchanged a few words with them, before returning to Elyse and motioning towards another point in the room. "Master Plo Koon and your subordinate are currently on the Second Hall. We can go to meet them, if you wish."

"Yes, it's probably better. We all still have some affairs to handle back in the Fleet…"

"Then please, follow me."

-O-

HOLOGRAPHIC TRAINING AREA FIVE

And down goes another.

That was the first thought in Kit Fisto's mind as he watched the fourth Knight in a row be kicked back a good three feet by Samuel inside the training room, her lightsaber flying off her hands before a moment later, a dull-gold blade was hovering in front of her neck, and with a defeated sigh, the Jedi raised her hands in a surrender. "I yield."

With a chuckle, Samuel withdrew his blade and placed it back on its sheath, then crouched down and helped the Jedi back to her feet. "And that makes four. Anyone else want to go for a round?"

It had been an… Interesting experience to watch the Militia member duel so far. When they had arrived in the training area and Samuel had posited his challenge, the Knights present had obviously been reluctant with dueling against someone who they had no way of assessing the skills of. So, in order to properly gauge his skill, one of the Knights present had asked his Padawan to perform a quick spar session.

The poor Twi'lek hadn't lasted twenty seconds.

After that showcase, only Knights had taken to the dueling field, and though they had more than put up an admirable fight, the Militia swordsman had yet to be felled by any of them. His form and training, whatever they were called and where he had learned them, was superb on a level that Fisto had rarely seen in Jedi, let alone on those not Force-sensitive. Samuel's moves were fast, blindingly so, yet also economical and with enough force behind them that even the one Knight that had attempted to use her Makashi expertise had found herself struggling to deflect the strikes away.

It was only after the third duel that Kit Fisto began to truly classify Samuel's style as something recognizable: the man dueled like his style was a graceful fusion of the fourth and fifth forms of lightsaber combat, but the strikes and movements themselves were unlike any Jedi combat method he had seen employed. There was also, of course, the fact that Samuel seemed to truly relish on the duels, his excitement palpable as the man threw everything he had into the duels. If he did not know better, Fisto would have marked him as a possible Vaapad practitioner, if the swordsman's extra-galactic nature wasn't common knowledge.

And then, there was his blade… In all his years under the Jedi Order, Kit Fisto could count in both his hands the number of times he had found a weapon capable of stopping a lightsaber. Today, that count had reached the third hand. It would be a disservice to say that the Jedi present had been surprised when they saw Samuel's sword block the blade of a lightsaber, but block it did, even after several hits and prolonged contact with the pure plasma cylinder. By all accounts, Samuel should have long lost his weapon and his fingers, but instead the impossible had happened: he had dueled, and won, using a solid blade sword.

And yet, Kit couldn't help but feel there was something… Unusual about the blade. The way the material looked and shimmered oddly under the light, not to mention the strange thrumming it emitted when it made prolonged contact with a lightsaber… There was something more to that sword, and he wished to learn what it was.

But first… It was about time he stepped into the ring.

"Alright folks, anyone else willing to give it a go?" asked Samuel aloud as he spun around to face all the gathered Jedi. "C'mon, don't be shy, I'm open to entries!"

"Then I accept."

To Fisto's surprise, however, before he could take even one step forward, someone else entered the dueling ring. And really, of all the times Mace Windu had decided to join his fellow Jedi on the training arena, what were the odds it would have been when a stranger had been there as well?

"Master Windu, I did not expect to see you here," spoke the Nautolan to his fellow Council member, who did not break his stride as he removed his robes and placed them aside.

"I was informed that the Militia representative had arrived in the Temple, but that additional visitors were also present. And that one of them was a duelist," calmly said Windu, and in just three steps, he was standing across from Samuel, his lightsaber deactivated but firmly held in his hand. "If you are so confident in your abilities, allowing me to test your abilities would not be unreasonable, correct?"

For the first time since he had set foot inside that room, Samuel's grin was positively eager.

"Why… I'd be happy to oblige, master Jedi."

For a moment, silence settled. Neither combatant moved a muscle, simply resting in their favored stances as they seemed to size up one another…

The next, Windu's lightsaber had ignited, its blade rising to block an upward slash that surely would have carved a trench in the Jedi's torso had it landed.

The exchange that followed was awe-inspiring to behold. Rarely had a swordsman managed to fight a Jedi so evenly, let alone one without a connection to the Force, but it seemed Samuel cared not for those rumors. The man's sword blurred as he struck time and again against Windu's own attacks, the metal blade thrumming once more with that same odd sound as the attacks increased in ferocity.

And all throughout, while Windu maintained his calm, composed self, his mind raced as he analyzed Samuel's patterns and attacks. Not for openings, nor for weaknesses, but for connections, sources… Origins. All to ascertain this man's true intentions.

From the moment the Militia had arrived in Coruscant proper and had established a more permanent presence, the Council had meditated on the fact these newcomers were cut off from the Force. It surrounded them, molded around their bodies and spirits… But that was it.

But still, the more experienced Jedi discovered that were one to focus their senses directly onto specific individuals, they could "see" the Militia members as faint emotional specters, though the stronger the emotion, the more "visible" they'd be.

And this man, Samuel Scirocco, irradiated a love for battle so strong, it had almost made Mace Windu question if a Sith had somehow sneaked into the temple. But now, with the man standing across from him as they furiously threw themselves into a deadly dance, Windu realized that his first assessment had been wrong: the love of battle was there, yes, but it was… Pure. It was not rooted in a craving for violence or wish to hurt others, but instead exuded a certain sense of satisfaction, as if dueling against him proved something to Samuel or others.

Strange… Certainly, very strange.

Any other musings, however, were kept at bay when the Militia swordsman suddenly halted his assault and jumped back, sheathing his sword the moment his feet touched the ground and closing his eyes. Seeing the momentary lull in their duel, Windu took a step back himself and tightened his guard, his lightsaber at the ready at an optimal position to intercept blows from any direction.

Rooted in violence as Vaapad was, Windu still knew that his defenses had to be solid if he was to win against stronger opponents.

For the second time since they had decided to face one another, both duelists settled into an uneasy, expecting silence, neither combatant moving as they waited for the next attack that would come. Yet even as he waited, Windu couldn't help but notice that Samuel's emotions seemed to become muted, the man almost disappearing from his senses and became once more just an empty spot in the world around them—

The blaring, almost dizzying cry of imminent danger from the Force was the only warning that Windu received as, faster than any human had a right to be, Samuel shot forward and unsheathed his sword, the golden blade almost disappearing from the sheer speed of the draw…

And even with his perfectly cultivated calm, Windu could not help but widen his eyes as, for a fraction of a second, he saw Samuel's blade cut through his lightsaber.

Once he had reeled in his thoughts and emotions, Windu stepped back and resumed his stance, already prepared to lash out against the following attack… Only for see Samuel chuckle as he re-sheathed his sword and bowed to the Jedi Master. "Alright, I concede this duel."

To say that had not been the expected reaction would have been an understatement. Confusion and surprise reigned amidst the Jedi as the Militia soldier stepped out of the ring and bowed once more to the Knights he had dueled, then walked to where his gear had been piled up on the floor and withdrew two water bottles from within the discarded harness, with one being tossed over to Windu who deftly stopped it mid-air with the Force before pulling it into his grasp. "This is an interesting conclusion. You are willing to admit defeat?" However, in yet another surprise, Samuel simply chuckled and shook his head.

"Oh, not defeat, master Jedi. I still think I can beat you… But I'd rather keep my arms and legs at the end of it." The man then took a long, uninterrupted gulp from the bottle, draining it in one go, before tossing it aside and refocusing his attention on Windu. "Besides, I think the commander would very much appreciate that I don't cause a… How would she put it…"

"A fucking diplomatic incident, that's how I'd put it."

As if on cue, Elyse's voice rang loud as she stormed through the doorway of the training, followed not long behind by Ash, Shaak Ti and Plo Koon, the later two of which seemed caught between curious and amused by the way their guest was speaking. A sentiment that Samuel clearly shared of. "Ah, commander! How was your tour?" asked the swordsman in his usual jovial tone, only to earn himself a cold, serious glare from the white-haired woman.

"Perfectly fine," she responded frigidly as she moved towards his discarded gear, before picking it up and bodily tossing them at him. "And as it has come to be, also finished. We're going back to the fleet."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

As the swordsman began to once more don his gear, Elyse turned towards Mace Windu and, with a far more schooled expression, bowed to the man. "I apologize if my subordinate has done anything untoward any of you, Master Jedi. I'm afraid lieutenant Scirocco has a certain reputation he seems eager to uphold."

"You need not worry, commander," replied Windu with his usual calm, hands folded behind his back. "It was my own wish to ascertain his skills, and though the experience was… Unusual, it was very much enlightening."

"I appreciate the compliment, master," piped up Samuel in return, giving the man a two-finger salute. Unfortunately, it seemed Elyse's mood was not yet so forgiving, with the commander quickly pinning Samuel with yet another intense glare, even if it seemed to do little to cow the man's smirk.

So instead, the Militia members simply followed their guides back to the landing point, where the Goblin had remained ever since they arrived. "Thank you for the opportunity, Master Jedi," said Elyse just as they reached the access ramp, the commander turning around to give the three Jedi Masters one last bow of respect. "It was an honor to be allowed inside your temple."

"The honor is all ours, commander," replied Plo Koon, the Kel Dor returning her gesture with a small bow of his own. "We hope that our cooperation may be long and beneficial."

"Likewise. Contact us if you require anything."

And with that, they were off, the three Militia members climbing aboard the dropship before it quickly took off, engines burning hot as it joined the Coruscant air traffic on its way back to their planet side headquarters. After a few minutes of silence, Elyse stood from her seat, moved to one of the lockers inside the dropship and withdrew from it something she had stashed inside just this morning, for emergency's sake. And it didn't take long for Samuel to sniff the smell coming from it, something that drew a hearty laugh from him.

"Whiskey, commander? How could you?"

"Fuck off, Samuel."

Not like it'd actually do anything, regardless… Unfortunately, her liver had been too well made by Vinson's scientists for a small bottle of whiskey to affect Elyse in any meaningful way, but it was the thought that counted, dammit. After a long, drawn-out swig from the small bottle, Elyse put it back on its hiding place, and turned to the two "guests" aboard the ship.

"You two are lucky that this whole thing didn't end in a shitshow," she spoke in a calm, but absurdly frigid tone, her eyes flitting between both Ash and Samuel. "As much as I'd like to throw the book at you two, however, things are… Okay."

"You speak as if both of us have committed wrong-doings, commander," replied Ash in return, even as she calmly flitted through the holographic interface emitted from her arm as information scrolled by at dizzying speeds. "Only lieutenant Scirocco has come close to any slight."

"Then if I rip your head off your shoulders and have Shatterglass comb it, there won't be any stolen data from the Archives, will there?"

Credit to her professionalism, Ash did not even twitch from the accusation, though that may as well have been from her current state of existence. Instead, the ex-Apex simply raised her hand and waved it, spreading the holograms in the air and for Elyse to see.

"Not stolen, commander, merely copied. Though the inactive worm will grant remote access once it is active."

For a moment, Elyse seriously considered the consequences of starting a firefight with the Simulacrum inside a Goblin dropship, and how likely she was to be able to have her nervous system ripped out of her smoldering corpse to be put into a synthetic body. And while she considered her odds to be favorable, she was unwilling to test her fortunes after the possibly massive check-in of good luck that had allowed her fleet to survive a trans-galactic travel. So instead, she settled for simply keeping her gaze on Ash, before going back for the whiskey bottle in the locker then back to her seat.

"You're offloading all that into the Avalanche, and you're letting Shatterglass monitor the worm. Is that clear?"

"Of course, commander."

Maybe she should have put Titan hydraulic fluid inside the locker instead…

-O-

SENTINEL MERCENARY CORPS HEADQUARTERS – CORUSCANT UPPER TIER

When Palpatine had signed the Republic's treaty-slash-contract with the 5th Fleet, obviously several things had been taken into consideration, such as supply lines, communications and transport… And of course, a base of operations. And while Point Serenity could feasibly be used as such an installation, it was the consensus of the Council of Captains that it should be kept strictly as their "living quarters" so to say, thus necessitating an official office where business could be handled, be it paperwork or logistical organization. Thankfully, once such place had been open to purchase: a rather large commercial building a reasonable distance away from both the Grand Army barracks and the Senate, with plenty of room to fill up with offices, medical bays, workshops… There was even a generously large hangar, with enough size to station Goblin dropships, Condor gunships, Hornet fighters, and even a Mother Goose if they really squeezed the fit. They were even granted special rights to mount defense turrets onto the building, though of course only after the necessary paperwork had been checked and filled out.

Which, obviously, had been done in seconds by Shatterglass, so the process had been mercifully quick and easy. One of the pros of having an AI with a brain the size of a multi-kilometer dreadnought.

One decision that had been made out of security, however, was to keep all tinkering, analysis and experimentation with native technology strictly to the planet-side installations, both to keep any potentially dangerous objects away from the fleet, and to have local help be more readily accessible for technical support. As a result of this set up, this meant that the spoils of technology acquired by Golem Team in their first op had to first be sorted through, separated, shipped into orbit, then run through a thorough examination with Republic technicians to ascertain what was legal, illegal, safe or unsafe for the Militia to handle. This included both the actual cargo aboard the deceased salvager's transport, and the transport itself, carefully taken apart and shipped down to be processed for its value.

Well, as much value as a glorified garbage hauler could hold.

Of course, to guarantee they learned absolutely everything that the new technology had to teach them, they'd need the best of the best working on it, top-line scientists who could crack any theory and principle and apply it to anything. Fortunately, two such people had come aboard the Avalanche before the assault on Nibelungen, and thus were viable choices.

Unfortunately, one of said people had become too occupied with Nicolai and Archimedes to be able to assist in anything outside of those two projects, with the future of the Militia on the line. The other person, however, was completely free to work on native tech engineering.

She was also no longer aboard the Avalanche and under strict supervision, but instead under moderate supervision at the Sentinel Corps HQ, sparse commanding officer visits and as much exotic technology as the Militia could feasibly fit inside her laboratory.

It was honestly a miracle the building was still intact.

And it was also with this in mind that Private Chuck Landers led a troupe of four clone troopers through the halls of the building, all four pushing hover-carts stuffed to the brim with droid parts, weapons both recovered from the transport or kindly donated by the Republic, and the last of the odds and ends that been aboard the salvage hauler.

"You sure seem interested in all this stuff…" muttered one of the troopers, Cosmos, as he steered his cart through a turn in the hallway, just in time to dodge a Marvin carrying a stack of boxes to some other corner of the building. "You really think you can learn that much from a bunch of broken clankers?"

"Not my place to say, buddy," replied Chuck, not even looking back as he continued to guide them through a path he hoped to high heavens he wouldn't have to make any time soon. "I'm just the doorman for the one who actually knows how to tinker with this stuff… Or at least, should know… Then again, knowing Gauss, she'll make do. If she hasn't blown the building into hell by now, then she won't do it any time soon."

It sounded like a joke, and had the undertones of it. But the tone Chuck had used made the clones seriously second guess their decision of accepting this work detail. Such regret, however, came too late to truly matter, since they were already inside the building and hauling the salvage. And not a moment later, they had reached a door with a plaque above it reading "R&D TESTING SITE", written both in English and Aurebesh.

To note, as well, was the plaque beneath it with a stylized skull and crossbones, angrily staring forward, and the words "DANGER! LIVE TESTING!", all of it painted with what seemed to be purple paint from a spray-can.

Before any of the clones could enter, however, Chuck turned around let out a weary, almost dreadful sigh. "Alright, before we go in… Ground rules: don't touch things that look dangerous, don't touch things that don't look dangerous, don't worry about leaving the carts anywhere, and please, please for the love all that is holy, do not make mentions of crazy people in there. You all got that?"

If the clones had said they were quite… Apprehensive of the tone the trooper was using as he neared the end of the list, it'd be a lie. So instead they chose to simply nod as confidently as they could, which seemed to serve as enough of a reply for Chuck, who turned around and swiped down an access card on a lock just beside the door, before moving inside.

"I got a bad feeling about this…" muttered Cosmos, only to receive an elbow to the ribs from the trooper beside him, Gauntlet, who gave a hearty chuckle as they

"Ah, come on, Cosmos. How bad could it… Really… Be…"

As it turned out? Quite. The so called "R&D Testing Site" looked more like a large mad scientist's lair than a proper lab, with tens of pieces of Milky Way-born technology strewn about in a chaotic yet also strangely organized mess. Mechs and worker robots in various states of assembly hung from maintenance racks, some torn down to their base skeleton, others showing various signs of customization, be it cosmetic or in terms of hardware. Off in another corner, isolated in what seemed to be heavy security plating, a half-assembled shield generator and ship engine sat on metal pedestals, machines constantly running scans on them and transmitting the results to a plethora of monitors scattered across the room, alongside possibly dozens of other data flows.

And then there were the guns.

None of them were blasters, granted, but all of them looked incredibly dangerous, to a degree that put a small measure of fear in the clones' minds. Over there, a rifle that seemed two sizes too large for any regular human to use, and whose caliber seemed more akin to an anti-tank rifle than an infantry weapon. On another corner, a pair of boxy for deadly-looking claws that, from time to time, would hum and vibrate just slightly, and sitting beside what seemed to be an honest-to-goodness laser cannon, big enough to mount on the back of a vehicle. There was even a massive gun hanging from the ceiling from several clamp arms, its body missing some bits and pieces, but overall very much intact. There were also racks upon racks of more normal looking guns, all neatly arranged and cleaned, from rifles to shotguns and even some grenade launchers and Pilot Blades, alongside boxes of spare or modification parts, tools and ammunitions.

In summation? The room was a dream come true to any tech or gun afficionado, a treasure trove of gear… And seemingly no one inside.

"Place looks empty…" muttered Gauntlet as he carefully looked around the room, before affixing his attention onto Chuck. "You sure they're in here? Maybe they're out of the workshop?"

As if on cue, lightning crackled from a small stall around the corner, followed by the sound of loud, ecstatic laughter from the same room.

"No, they're definitely here," deadpanned Chuck, waving one hand to the clones as they settled the carts to the side. "Salvage delivery! We're dropping off and leaving!"

"Okay, see you later!" replied a cheery, female voice back, though the clones didn't fail to note how it seemed to have an oddly… Electronic tone to it. Still, with their job done, the group of five turned around and headed back towards the door. And for a moment, Chuck mentally breathed out a sigh of relief…

"I don't know what you were so worried about… She doesn't sound crazier than some of our generals."

Only to feel his blood run cold as one of the troopers, Knocker, muttered that word to Cosmos. And he barely had time to turn around before two things happened.

First, something heavy was dropped on the stall, making a deep, echoing sound ring across the large room.

Second, Knocker was summarily bowled over by a whirlwind of purple, pink, metal, claws and anger.

"I'M NOT CRAZY, WHO SAID I'M CRAZY, DID YOU JUST CALL ME CRAZY!? YOU'RE THE CRAZY ONE HERE!"!?"

That was the first encounter a clone would have with the 5th Fleet's chief armorer and weapons expert, Gauss. It was also the first time that Chuck would have to pry her from atop some poor sap before he ended up with a few more scars.

"Bloody hell-!"

"C'MON, SAY IT AGAIN! I DARE, I DOUBLE DARE YOU—!"

"Gauss stop, he didn't call you—I mean, he didn't say what you think he said!"

And like a switch had been flipped, the mad gunsmith stilled like a statue, then quickly turned her head towards Chuck, who while also perfectly still, also had his hand halfway reaching for a small pistol on his hip.

"… Wait, he didn't?"

"No, he didn't. That was just your imagination. Again."

"… Oh… Sorry about that then, buddy!"

And just like that, the weaponsmith's anger was replaced with pep and happiness, the woman quickly getting off from atop the trooper and helping him to his feet before jumping back two steps, allowing the clones to properly have a look at their… Acquaintance.

She was surprisingly tall, easily towering over the clones and Chuck, and with a chaotic mop of purple and pink hair atop her head, alongside a large white hairband keeping it in place. She wore a yellow top with a sleeveless, fur-lined hoodie hanging open from her torso and a red scarf wrapped around her neck, while her legs were covered by oversized white cargo pants that were positively littered with pockets and straps, and finally a pair of steel-lined boots covering her feet. But the most striking feature of the woman was, without a doubt, her arms and face.

Her arms, rather than being organic, were oversized and fully made of metal. And rather than solid, organic-looking limbs, they seemed to be a mix of skeletal and armor plated, with the forearms seeming to be both hollow but also surprisingly filled with metal parts, and the hands having not normal metal fingers, but sharp and dangerous-looking metal claws.

As for her face, it was a strange mix of organic and artificial: while everything from her nose down was clearly flesh and blood, her eyes were like a pair of face-wide VR goggles, glassy and displaying a pair of digital eyes, not unlike what the clones had heard to be the case with the Simulacrum called NYX… Until they opened to reveal the actual top of her head, made of smooth metal with circuitry running underneath the artificial "skin", and with clearly mechanical eyes with cross-shaped pupils underneath.

All in all, it made the woman certainly look… Unique, at the very least.

"Sorry about the scare there, folks!" she piped up with a smile, waving a few clawed fingers at the troopers. "Just had some bad experiences is all, nothing personal!" In response, Cosmos could only look at his brothers and at Chuck, before coughing into his fist and shifting his stance into a parade rest.

"Uhh… It's… Not an issue, ma'am," replied the clone, only to receive an eye roll and a twirl of the hand as a response from the woman.

"Oh please, ain't no need for the "ma'am" stuff in here, we're all grunts! Name's Gauss, pleasure to meet ya!" she called out happily, thrusting her claws forward in an offered handshake…

"… Oops, sorry 'bout that."

Only to take one glance at the limb before sheepishly swapping it out for a more skeletal looking, but far less dangerous and more normal hand, which Cosmos carefully grasped after only a quick moment of hesitation. With her greetings finished, Gauss quickly skipped over to the carts as her hands pulled back into the arms once more to be replaced with a trio of claws each, and began digging through them with gusto, picking parts up before setting them back down just as fast. "Ohohohoh, look at all this stuff! Now I can finally finish some of those projects I got! Oooohhh, the babies I'll be building with these…"

"Remember what the captain said, Gauss."

"Yeah, yeah, no worries I remember… You blow up a room once and they never let it go…"

With a grumble, Gauss took hold of two of the carts and hauled to another corner of the room, leaving them as one more part of the organized chaos that was the lab, before slowly starting to pace back to her stall. "Alright, if that's all, you guys can go. Nice meeting you, new buddies!"

Before she fully disappeared however, Chuck took a step forward and shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "You know that's not how that works, Gauss. Captain Deanna wants a report on the progress, already, and you're late on it."

"Oh, come oooooonnnnn, I'm not that late on it!" grumbled the gunsmith in response, waving at the piles of things surrounding them all. "Not when I have all this to work on!"

"You're three days late already!"

Just as Gauss went to reply however, the group heard the door of the lab open, followed by the sounds of footsteps getting closer, and finally the sight of Gauss jumping ever so slightly back while letting out a soft Eep! sound. And when Chuck turned around, he felt himself unconsciously snap into a crisp, picture-perfect salute, something that the clones quickly matched as they watched the figure dressed in an imposing black, gold and red trench coat, long flowing blood-red hair cascading down her back, shining golden electronic eyes and a cigarette holder held between the fingers of one of her twin metal prosthetic arms.

"Which is why I decided to get my report in person, private," said Captain Deanna Churchill as she paced towards the gathered people in the room, taking a long drag from her cigarette and letting the smoke eb from between her lips.

"H-Heeeeeeey, captain!" sputtered Gauss in return as she waved one hand shyly towards the officer. "Nice of you to… Come all the way down here, heheh… I'm… Not in trouble, am I?"

"As long as you have performed your duties, no, you are not," replied the Militia captain in a calm, collected tone, before giving a nod to Chuck. "You may leave now, troopers. I will handle the debriefing with our weaponsmith."

"Yes, captain."/"Yes, ma'am!"

And with synchronized salutes, Chuck and the clones marched out of the room, leaving Deanna and Gauss staring at one another for what seemed to be like an eternity, until finally the sound of the door opening and closing echoed to them… And Gauss slumped down with a defeated, weary sigh. "Uuuuuughhh… Okay, they're gone…"

"That they are," answered Deanna in amusement as she shook some ashes out of her cigarette, before quickly putting it out with a flick of her wrist and stashing into the inside of her coat. "I do hope that you have kept your hard work up, Gauss. I'd not like to have to justify laziness to the other members of the fleet."

"Of course I've been hard at work! Come on, over here."

Waving her hand back towards the stall she had first come from, Gauss motioned Deanna to follow, and quickly both of them entered the apparent workspace.

It was a lot bigger than Deanna had been expecting.

Rather than Militia technology, the surprisingly large room was filled to the brim with native galactic bits, from weapons to droid parts to random knicks and knacks, all which had most likely come from the salvager ship. And unlike the chaos of the outside of the room, everything had been neatly separated, arranged and catalogued, laid in boxes or hung from racks in a manner that showed the utmost care. The blasters, both salvaged and donated by the Republic, were laid bare on separate worktables throughout the rooms, some taken apart into multiple components, all being analyzed by a series of scanners attached to work arms mounted onto the tables and walls.

With a pep to her step, Gauss hopped over to the middle of the room and did a quick twirl with her arms stretched out, before turning her attention back to Deanna with a very pleased look on her face. "As you can see, I've been very hard at work. Been checking all the tech I can figure out on my own, putting what I can't on a separate corner for when Professor Tesla comes back. He uhh… Still working on—"

"Gauss."

"Yeah, sure, top-secret shit or whatever… Well, let's start with the simple stuff then: mechs." Quickly moving to the corner of the room holding what remained of the battle droids that Golem had fought in their first mission, Gauss switched out her normal hands for the multiple claws once more and used them to raise up one of more intact samples delivered: one of the IG-100 MagnaGuards. "Now, can't talk much about the main brain on this guy, since the twins decided they wanted to reach his heart faster than most… But I can talk about the mechanics on it. And it's… Kinda complicated."

"I still have some time, Gauss, I can wait for the explanation," replied the captain with an amused smile as she walked closer to look at the wrecked droid. In return, Gauss took the inert body and laid it atop a worktable, switching out some of her claws for a flashlight. "So, what are your thoughts?"

"Well, in terms of construction, these guys have about as good a range of movement as our Spectres, but the smoothness and responsiveness are even better." As she spoke, Gauss quickly manipulated the limbs of the damaged droid, rotating and twisting them through a variety of motions that indeed, were almost human-like in appearance. "The materials are pretty damn high quality. I got some analysis out of the chassis, and lemme tell ya, I'd kill to get my hands on some tons of this stuff… Metaphorically, of course… Okay, maybe literally."

"How tough?"

"Real tough. Did some tests with the more intact pieces, and it ate up most of the armor piercing R301 rounds I shot at it. It apparently also can take glancing blows from those… Lightsabers? That's what the Jedi call those swords? Well, it can take glancing blows from those, so… Yeah, damn good armor plating… Could do with more samples though, don't wanna risk these ones, soooo-"

"I'll see what requisitions we can make, but don't hold your breath, Gauss," quickly replied Deanna as she ran one metallic finger over the warped chest plate, lightly tapping it before turning the head around. "What of the software?"

"Garbage. Like, honestly garbage."

The delivery of the line was made with such a deadpan tone that it actually made Deanna turn around to stare at Gauss once again, and indeed, the weaponsmith was also staring at the MagnaGuard with the flattest possible stare her artificial eyes could make. "… Care to explain?"

"Turns out if you want this thing to actually fight properly, you have to directly train it. The brain inside the head had some past data stored inside, and apparently it only got good at fighting after that big cyborg dude personally taught them dueling. The base program is… Okay, but honestly, a bunch of Spectres could fight better."

"Hmm…" With a nod, Deanna turned back to the other recovered droids, calmly walking alongside the rows of parts and bodies as she carefully examined each one individually. "What of the others?" she asked, only to receive a shrug in response from Gauss.

"Eh, it varies, really. Those B1s and B2s are honestly kind of shit, numbers only, and those assassin droids the lizard had are subpar at best. Really, a bomb would be better… Or several bombs… Anyway, guns, let's talk guns, I really really really wanna talk about the guns."

Letting the MagnaGuard lightly drop onto the table, Gauss hopped over to one of the tables where the donated weapons were resting, specifically a very long, black-colored rifle, and hoisted it up effortlessly onto her arms, before showing it to Deanna. "This baby here's a DC-15A blaster rifle, standard clone trooper long range weapon. Four-point-four kilos, one-point-three meters long, effective range when propped in a tripod is ten kilometers, attached link-up system for compatible HUDs… Oho-ho-ho, what a baby…"

As the weaponsmith continued to speak, Deanna saw her tone become ever more… Sultry as she continued to describe the rifle, one finger tracing the outline of the rifle as her eyes became half-lidded and a dumb smile spread across her face. Before things could get… Out of hand, however, the Militia captain snapped her fingers loudly, breaking whatever trance Gauss had fallen over and earning a nervous chuckle and a cough from the weaponsmith.

"Eheheh… Right, right… Anyway! I went over this gun here, then compared it with the others we managed to haul over to the lab, and while there are some general hardware differences, like power and range, the principle stays the same: every gun uses a dual energy-gas system to fire bolts of compressed particles. It's… Surprisingly similar to our energy-type weapons, honestly… But with key differences."

"And what would those be?"

"Well, our weapons use pure energy to generate the projectile, hence why an L-STAR can turn a human being into strawberry slurry with a few shots. Their guns, however, compress the gas into a particle bolt, hence the need of the dual system… Though I did find out the advantage of it." With a twirl, Gauss broke the rifle open in half and withdrew from inside of it a small canister filled with a glowing violet light, and from the side of the weapon she took a small rectangular box, and set both down onto the table with a smile. "The tube there is the gas canister, filled with what they call "tibanna gas", highly volatile shit. The box is the power pack, kind of like a magazine our rifles use."

With a knowing hum, Deanna picked up the canister and carefully looked it over, quickly noting the strange, liquid-like behavior of the gas inside. "What is the ammunition capacity of these?"

"The canister's good for five hundred shots, at least on standard power setting. The power pack, though, is good for fifty shots, give or take. So rather than needing to replace both, you use up as many power packs as you have gas, then replace that if it runs out."

"So a standard infantry trooper can carry far more ammunition to the field than one of our own soldiers… What's the destructive power of a maximum power shot?"

This time, Gauss remained quiet. Instead, she simply pulled from beneath the table a large slab of neo-titanium, about three or four inches thick, and showed it to Deanna with a smug smirk.

All the while shoving her entire hand through a cleanly-punched half-meter hole right in the middle of the plate, the edges slightly melted from the sheer heat of the shot.

"It actually hit the wall behind it, but I patched the hole up on that already, don't worry."

"Quite… Anything else?"

"Well, I guess the big downside of these is that customization's a bitch to do," replied Gauss sadly as she tossed the plate aside, letting it land with a deafening CRASH onto the floor. "Components are all hardwired, you gotta pull them out and add in whatever you want instead, and of cooooourse, if you fuck it up it may or may not explode on your hand." Picking the power pack and tibanna canister, Gauss reassembled the gun back into its complete sate and returned it to its resting place in the rack, before coming back and resting her elbows onto the table. "I did find out some guns tend to come with stun modes, or how the clone-issued ones have EMP properties onto every bolt… There's some illegal ones called disruptors out there too, heard they're disintegrators... Oh, what I wouldn't give for one of those~"

And with a wistful sigh, Gauss slumped onto the table, then turned her head to peer at Deanna from the corner of her eye. "If you want a full diagnostics report, I can cook it up today… At most 'til tomorrow."

For a moment, Deanna simply remained in silence, looking at the almost blatantly unprofessional weaponsmith with a perfectly neutral expression in her face… Until finally, she let out a sigh of her own, and withdrew her cigarette once more from within her coat, quickly lighting it with a flick of the lighter mounted on her left thumb. And after a long drag of the stick, Deanna blew out the smoke onto the ceiling, where it was dragged away by the ventilation system of the room. "Have it by tomorrow at most, plus recorded test results and suggestions. I'll have a few words with Professor Tesla over helping you out. Until then, keep up the good work." And with her part said and finished, Deanna turned around and left the room, her coat flapping lightly with the motion. "Have a pleasant day, sister."

"Bye sis, kick some ass up there!... Alright, now where did I put those cryogenic grenades… Better get those tests ready…"

-O-

POINT SERENITY – GAUNTLET TRAINING AREA

The deafening roar of the Kraber AT rifle echoed through the firing range as Gardner squeezed the trigger, the kick of the weapon powerful enough to dislodge the shoulder of any unprepared shooter, especially with the modifications he had made onto his own gun (Elyse had made it clear that if he ever took the gun onto a civilian area, she'd ditch him and run as far away as possible, considering how many of those parts were, according to her words, "highly fucking illegal"), but after years of carefully tuning the sniper, plus a replacement shoulder socket reinforced with carbon-nanotube bones, Gardner had grown more than accustomed to it.

So accustomed, in fact, that hitting the flying target three kilometers away had not been as difficult as one would have thought it to be. And once the computer had tallied his score and shown the final results of the training session, Gardner finally exhaled and rose from his prone position, quickly holstering the rifle onto his back. "Yup, still got it."

"I sure fucking hope you did," piped up Natalia as she walked up to him, her Devotion LMG hanging loosely from its strap wrapped around her torso. "I don't want you getting rusty and fucking me over out there on the field when I need cover fire."

"As long as you're not neck-deep in enemies, then yeah sure, I won't miss anyone's heads when I'm shooting."

"I'm holding you to that, pendejo!"

With a snicker, Gardner took a few steps away from his colleague and raised his hand, a monitor on a pedestal quickly materializing in front of him. And with a few taps to it, Gardner's vision went black for a moment, only to be replaced with the view of the inside of the sim-pod he had commandeered for himself after finally being freed of the devil that was punishment paperwork. With a twist of the release handle inside, the sim-pod quickly slid open to allow Gardner to climb out, the Pilot wiping some of the sweat off his brow before hoisting himself out of the metal ball… And almost tumbling directly onto Wolfe and Harper, who had been standing just short of the pod. "Oh… Hey, you two. What's up?" he asked, slumping back onto his seat as he stared at his teammates.

"Hey Gardner," replied Wolfe with a nod, before giving a quick look around the training area. "Where's Natalia?"

"Still inside the pod, why? You're not dragging us off to do paperwork again, right?"

"Nah, none of that, don't worry," quickly interjected Harper, before throwing a small data-pad at Gardner, who quickly grabbed it out of the air. "We got our first mission orders, deployment is tomorrow at zero-six hundred hours. Natalia's riding with ADAM and Lieutenant Creek, you're going with us."

"Fucking finally!"

With renewed vigor, Gardner hoisted himself off the seat and onto his feet, both Harper and Wolfe taking a step back to avoid being bowled over by the Pilot, who quickly began scrolling through his deployment orders. "Please tell me I get to shoot shit, I need to start shooting stuff out there!—"

His glee, however, was quickly cut short once he looked down at the pad and saw the detailed mission objective: assist the Republic with inspection of their communication hardware throughout the Inner and Outer Rim, with him, Harper and Wolfe being sent to the Rishi Moon, on the Abrion sector.

Harper would forever treasure his recording of the absolute train of expletives that came out of Gardner's mouth that day.

~O~

For fucking once, I'm not delivering this at 3am! Hooray!

…

Okay cheer is done.

Time for a… Far more serious talk. And I do this because… I don't really have anyone else to talk to openly.

It's about my current situation.

It's… Not good. Financially, me and my family have been in a hard slump, barely any money coming in. Last month, I had to take the money I gathered up in Pa-Ron (Damn you FFNet for making me write it like this…) that was meant to go to the story as art commission money and use it all to pay for bills. This has already been mentioned on the page itself, but I felt fair to also say it here, to justify why no art has been delivered yet.

Added to that… Well, again, as mentioned on Pa-Ron before on a public post, dad hasn't been the most… Supportive, shall we say, of my decision to earn money with my writing, though he didn't know how much I was making.

Well, today, while he went on what I'm pretty sure is a stress-related/caused rant, once again trashing me for things he has repeated quite a few times already, I finally mentioned about my Pa-Ron and how much I've been pulling in per month. And he trashed me for it.

No matter what he says, though, I am proud of it, and I am deeply thankful for everyone who has pledged in, because it means to me that my writing has been worth it, and again, that money helped me in the pinch that was the start of the year, so it's proof that it helps.

Still… It leaves me at this situation: leaving me to ask for help.

Again, like I said before when I first decided to start my Pa-Ron: this won't be a hostage situation. To the best of my abilities, as long as I can, I will continue to write. It's something I enjoy doing and it has earned results, so there's no reason for me to stop. And if you can't help directly by joining the Pa-Ron, even spreading word of it helps.

… Honestly, at this point, I'll admit there's some dose of spite in wanting to watch the following grow, just so I can show dad it's worth something.

Anyway, enough with the sad shit, time to talk updates: as mentioned on the latest batch of Discarded Blade omakes, I'm taking some time off to rewrite both the ending of chapter 7 of Titanomachy, and several sections of Discarded Blade to change it into something I'm more comfortable with. After that, I'll start work on a new chapter for Discarded Blade, just to whet the appetite of folks who are waiting for more on that story, then go back to the other fics, starting with the next chapter of Special Delivery to the Frontier.

To finalize, if you want to get the link for my Pa-Ron, either to pledge or spread around, the page name is the same as my username here. The link is also posted on my bio as a jumbled mess, and on my SpaceBattles page.

Again, sorry for using you folks as therapy… And see you all next chapter.