Hope

Grass rustled as booted feet crushed thru the undergrowth, then, voices.

'Hey, they were right! Someone did fall from the rail. Right there.'

'Yeah. Looks like he's a goner.'

'There's the rail car, over there.''

'Whew, that's a mess. Just think what he'd look like if that had landed on him.'

'No, thanks.'

'Call it in, we'll need a cleanup crew.'

'Yeah, TK-2163 reporting in…we found the body of the guy that…'

A muffled, choking cough came from beneath the cracked helmet of the body on the ground.

'What the Kriff? This guy isn't dead!'

The trooper knelt alongside, laid a hand on the smashed cuirass of the body lying there.

'How's that possible?'

'I don't know. Get us an emergency med vac. Tarkin and Doctor Hemlock will want him alive and we don't want to disappoint them.'

'Even better, we could get a promotion.'

'Get his helmet off so he can breathe. Yes, TK-2163 updating…this guy is still alive, but we need emergency triage immediately or he won't be.'

The voice had acquired a sense of urgency.

Light flooded Techs bloody features as one of the troopers carefully slid the ruined helmet and his goggles off, but he couldn't see.

Could barely breathe.

Maker, it was agony to even try.

His breath gurgled in his chest, the sweet taste of blood on his mouth.

His brilliant, logical mind rattled thru a list of probable damages he'd sustained, but he was too disoriented to remember what they were even as he was doing so.

Shock.

He was going into shock, death would follow without proper treatment.

Might follow, regardless.

His body was shattered, and he knew it.

'Hey, buddy, c'mon. You survived a crazy fall, don't give up now, right?' the second troopers voice encouraged, laying a hand on Techs shoulder. The simple gesture pulled a groan of pain from Tech, and he gritted his teeth, eyes tight, blinked.

Was now able to make out the blurry white form of a trooper kneeling alongside.

'Hold on. He's got something in his hand, there. What is that?'

Tech tried to grip his data pad, keep it from them, but his hand went limp as they took ahold of it.

That was unimportant. They would not be able to unlock it, and repeated attempts would disable the device, power it off.

It would default to 'lost' mode, send out a homing beacon.

That is, if it was even still functioning.

He heard the roar of machinery approaching, undulating weirdly as if he were underwater.

'C'mon! C'mon!' the first troopers voice called, and it sounded so distant.

His field of vision was narrowing rapidly, and he sighed, coughed again. Tech knew he didn't have much longer.

That was….disappointing..but he'd accomplished his final mission. His squad had escaped.

In a sudden, mad swirl there were hands, …cutting free his broken armor,…..rolling him onto a stabilizing board, an oxygen mask fitted to his face…the jolt of an injection in his arm….

Voices spoke urgently, in rapid, clipped tones…'no anesthetic, heart rate too low'…'pain meds'…….'get the bacta tank prepped'…he was being carried?

Into a transport?

He felt the thrum of the engines vibrating thru the ship as they lifted off. The practiced, precise movements of the medics as they rapidly assessed and field dressed his most serious injuries.

Tech's personal estimation was that it wasn't going to be enough.

The squad had survived, even if he didn't.

That was the point of plan 99, after all.

With that thought, he spun away into blackness, where there was no more pain.

Doctor Royce Hemlock paced down the dimly lit hallway toward his private lab, massaging his aching left arm. He was beyond irritated that he'd been more or less forced to turn Omega and CT-9904 over to Nala Se.

Tarkin was insisting on progress, which was not as rapid as Hemlock had initially anticipated.

If she could produce results, he'd allow it, for now.

Since he was alone, he permitted himself to scowl, albeit briefly.

He certainly hadn't expected the child to be so confrontational.

The stubborn silence of clone CT-9904 was especially frustrating.

Hemlock had been able to break many of the others, but this one had vital information.

Information he needed sooner rather than later.

If the Kaminoan could successfully manipulate the two clones, he would, of course, immediately reclaim possession.

They were only property.

Imperial property.

And Hemlock was, for all essential purposes, the hand of the Empire, here.

At least his collection of Clone Force 99 members was growing.

That thought brought a renewed smirk to his face as he entered his private lab, and the door locked behind him.

The only illumination came from the consoles encircling most of the lab, but he wasn't there for that.

He stepped over to a single panel, swiped his card, and a door opened to a hidden room.

The droid didn't even look up when he came in.

It was one of a dozen custom Two One B units he'd ordered from the Techno union, especially for use in this facility. It was busily monitoring micro readouts on the body occupying the dimly lit bacta tank in front of it.

Hemlock stepped over, perusing the data flashing across the monitor, but it was set at a speed the droid could read, not him.

Hemlock stared at the blurry form floating in the bubbling tank for some time, then murmured to the droid,

'Status?'

The droid didn't respond immediately.

'As you know, Doctor, the subject sustained catastrophic damages. Considering his condition upon initial intake, his survival is…. unexpected.'

'I know, he really shouldn't be alive,' Hemlock answered, distractedly, tapping his chin with his right hand.

'Is there still continued improvement ?'

'Affirmative. It is incremental, but steady.'

'Has the subject regained consciousness?'

'No, sir, but there is still brain activity.'

Hemlock gave an evil chuckle of satisfaction, asked,

'Will he require reconstruction? Prosthetics?'

'There is that possibility, sir. His legs, in particular. Other damage may be discovered if his recovery progresses.'

'Do we know if his cognition is intact? Motor skills? Is there neurological damage?'

'There is no way to discern any of those answers, yet.'

Hemlock gave a brief sigh.

It was fortunate he was a patient man.

He reached over to pick up a data pad lying immediately beside the droid.

'The subject had this in his possession?'

'Affirmative.'

Hemlock tapped the device, but apparently it wasn't functioning.

'It's broken?' he wondered, turning it over in his hands.

'It was functional when we received it. However our best decryption droids were unable to unlock it. It seems to have some safety protocols that prevent excessive attempts to override the security.'

'Well, Tech, you may be clever' Hemlock sneered, with a nasty glare toward the bacta tank, 'but I'll be interested to see what my Emerie can do with this.'

He tucked the data pad under his arm, cast a lingering scowl toward the bacta tank.

Tech hung suspended in the healing fluid, unmoving, mostly obscured by hoses and the viscosity of the bacta.

'Notify me immediately of any changes,' he said, distractedly, and the droid responded,

'Of course, Doctor.'

Hemlock turned, left, locking the door behind him.