Hunter strolled into 79's, taking in the room at a glance as he wandered towards the bar. It was surprisingly full, considering that it was four-fifteen in the morning; a ship must have just recently gotten in. Presumably, the regs in here had just come off night duty. There were about fifty troopers present – and, judging by the fact that almost all of them had some kind of elaborate design painted in dark brown on their armor, they were probably from the same battalion.
Overall, the atmosphere was relaxed, even bored. Some troopers sat at tables, playing cards and talking or eating. Others sat in small groups, conversing over their drinks. A sergeant was arm-wrestling with rookies. He didn't seem to be trying very hard, but in the five seconds Hunter was looking his way, he managed to beat two of them.
On the other side of the main room, a dozen regs stood in front of a vidscreen, watching a replay of last week's podrace and arguing over which of the competitors would win.
Hunter knew the winner already, because Tech had downloaded the video and spent an hour and a half analyzing the winner's tactics to anyone who would listen. He'd also mentioned possibly building a pod racer of his own some day. Wrecker thought it was a good idea. Hunter and Crosshair thought it wasn't, and agreed that it was all Quinlan's fault for introducing Tech to the sport in the first place, even though Tech insisted he'd already known of it, just not how fun it could be.
Hunter approached the bar and realized there was a serving droid stationed behind it. Good. Droids automatically checked troopers' IDs, which meant Hunter wouldn't have to cause too much trouble in order for other troopers to throw him and his squad out.
Picking a table with three regs, Hunter walked past, deliberately jostling one trooper's chair. Then, ignoring the irritated grumbling from behind him, he went straight to the bar and said, "I'll have a Vaschean rye."
The droid hovered for a moment, then said, "I am sorry, but I cannot serve you."
It turned away without further comment and began polishing a glass.
Sometimes, Hunter wished droids were a little more aggressive. Oh well. Bracing one foot on the rungs of a stool, he leaned forward. "Yeah?" he demanded. "Why not?"
The droid rotated to blink at him. "My records indicate that you have been permanently banned from this establishment."
"Have I?" said Hunter curiously.
"You have. Now, please leave."
Hunter considered. "What if I don't want to?"
The conversation in the room quieted a bit.
The droid's digital eyes vanished and turned back on, as if trying to reset.
Right on cue, the main doors hissed open and Crosshair sauntered over to join Hunter. He put a toothpick in his mouth and leaned on the bar, pretending to study the menu. "I'll take a Reactor Coolant," he said. "Plenty of ice."
The droid rotated towards him, then back towards Hunter. "You have also been banned," it said, a note of programmed confusion in its voice.
Crosshair and Hunter stared at it without speaking for a moment.
"So?" said Crosshair.
The remaining murmurs of conversation from the regular troopers died away.
In the background, the voice from the quiet vidscreen sounded in a cheer: "And Daryl the Destroyer comes in FIRST!"
As if on cue, Wrecker came barging into the cantina, cracking his knuckles. "Hi," the big commando said, planting his hands on his waist as he stared threateningly down at the droid. "I'd like to order something. Dunno what yet, but I'll think about it."
Someone shut off the vidscreen with a click.
"But you cannot order!" yelped the droid, rotating its head from one to the other. "All three of you have been banned! Permanently!"
One of the regs whispered a question, and another trooper answered, "Quiet, rookie. Let's see where this goes."
"Banned?" asked Tech's uncharacteristically mournful voice, and he materialized beside Hunter, one finger positioned over his datapad as he eyed the droid. "I suppose that means we have to leave?"
"Of course it does! Thank you for being logical, and have a nice day." The droid pointed emphatically at the door. "There is the exit. Please take it."
"Eh," said Hunter, as Crosshair picked up a tall metal cup. "I'd rather get thrown in the brig."
The droid's eyes glitched again, freezing for a couple of seconds. It shook its metal head. "That does not follow standard procedure."
"Got it one, clanker," said Crosshair, and launched the cup with deadly accuracy, hitting the comm panel's reset button. "Oops. Can't call the authorities for thirty seconds, guess you'd better have the regs here do it for you."
The droid stared at him, eyes glitching again. Its processors were probably faulty.
"Have a trooper call," explained Tech. "Preferably an officer."
Behind him, a reg snorted and pushed back his chair. "Whoa, mate, you're really trying to get in trouble?"
"YUP!" Wrecker answered cheerfully.
"Well, I think you need to leave," called an officer from the back of the room. He was tilted back in his chair, arms behind his head and feet resting on the table, and sounded the opposite of commanding.
None of the Batch moved.
The officer took a sip of his drink and swirled it around in its glass. "Consider that your official warning," he added, by way of commentary.
"We got the warning," Hunter said. Several of the troopers closest to him stirred, eyes sharpening, and Hunter clenched his fists in anticipation of a fight.
"Hey, Monnk," said the armored sergeant, standing up. "Want me to –"
"No," said the officer.
The sergeant blinked at him, and the officer said, "Just wait a moment, Twist."
Huffing, Twist sat back down.
Crosshair eyed Hunter uncertainly, and Hunter could only shrug in reply. Tech gestured at nothing, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Aren't you going to contact the CG?" he asked. "Or attempt to evict us from the premises?"
"Why would I bother?" Monnk picked up his grey hat and tried to cram it down over his unruly curls. It didn't stay on, and after a couple attempts he tossed it back onto the table. "You lot are up to something, and I'm curious about what that something is."
Hunter rolled his eyes, frustrated. Of course the one time they really wanted to fight with the regs, the regs weren't interested. What battalion were these guys from, anyway?
The droid flounced over to the comm panel. "Then I will contact the authorities!" it huffed, and pressed a button.
Nothing happened.
Tech looked up from his datapad with a smirk. "Oh dear," he said, with an innocent blink that probably didn't fool anyone. "It seems that your comm panel is no longer functional. In case you were not aware, the CG only responds to approximately thirty point seven percent of your reports of unruly troopers. I believe they think the other clones present will handle situations if need be."
He sent a sidelong look at Monnk, whose only response was to take a long, loud sip of his drink.
"Uh," said Wrecker, scratching his head. "Hey . . . sir, aren't you gonna try and throw us out yet?"
"Nope."
"Why not?" asked Tech.
"Because," said Monnk, and finished his drink.
Hunter stared in confusion. The clone hadn't drunk much, what was wrong with him? At this point he should definitely be telling his men to throw the Batch out, or at least calling the CG to report a disturbance. The CG would respond if an officer, rather than a droid, reported a disturbance.
The four squad mates huddled together.
"I do not understand," said Tech, glancing at a large chrono on the wall. "Past experience indicates that they should have escalated the situation almost immediately."
"I know," said Hunter in a low voice. "I don't get it."
"What are we gonna do?" asked Wrecker. "Why aren't they attacking?"
"Hm," said Crosshair, stepping towards Sergeant Twist with his sharpest glare. "I don't know. Usually the regs are the ones starting the fight, because they're idiots. . . But maybe these regs are cowards."
Twist looked as if he'd very much enjoy taking Crosshair down a peg or five, and all the troopers around him tensed, including the Batch.
With a bland sigh, Monnk finally got to his feet and set his empty cup down.
"Y'know," said the medic, glancing at Crosshair. "They are really asking for it."
"I noticed, Sunny," Monnk answered. "But I'm still curious about why they want a fight."
The trooper closest to Wrecker grinned. "Do you think the 'why' matters, sir?"
"It might," said Monnk.
The four members of Bad Batch stared at him without answering. Hunter could have told him what was going on, but the troopers would probably insist on the squad going through the proper channels to get help for Echo. And even if the Batch argued them down, it could take hours. Echo might not have hours.
"The why doesn't matter," Hunter announced, folding his arms.
Twist smiled grimly. "We could oblige 'em, Monnk."
"We could," said Monnk. "But if we start a fight –" His gaze went to Hunter, and he smirked. "Then we end up in the brig, too."
The chrono on the wall blinked away the seconds while the Bad Batch and the other clones eyed each other thoughtfully.
"You have a point," said Hunter, and launched a sidekick at the nearest barstool, sending it flying towards the nearest group of troopers. They dodged out of the way with shouts that sounded more like cheers than alarm, and Hunter huffed under his breath as he charged into the group. These regs were weird.
Crosshair lunged at Twist, grabbing for his arms. The sergeant leaped aside, caught him by his belt and one wrist, and twisted halfway around, hurling the sniper over a long table. Crosshair scrambled upright, grabbing for the nearest missile. His hand closed on a plate, and he frisbeed it into two other troopers.
Wrecker waded through a few regs, grabbed a card table, and upended it, sending three chairs, the troopers in them, and dozens of cards to the ground. One of the rookies jumped up, grinning; smacked a few airborne cards out of his way, snatched a bowl, and bashed Wrecker over the head with it. Chips and salsa went flying in all directions.
Tech, meanwhile, ambled through the battle, dealing out a punch here and a kick there when he could be bothered, ducking a couple of blows, and mostly focusing on his datapad. He was probably trying to send a call through to the CG himself, at this point, and report on his own squad.
Not a bad idea, Hunter thought, as he floundered out of a pile of troopers. He jerked his arm out of a mechanic's grip, then lunged at Monnk, who was remarkably fast on his feet. Monnk whirled aside, kicked Hunter in the back of the knee, and tripped him, seemingly all in the same movement.
Surprised, Hunter turned his fall into a somersault and jumped up again – just in time to get flattened by Wrecker as Monnk tripped him, too.
"Oops, sorry!" Wrecker scrambled off of Hunter and disappeared into the crowd again, trailing rookies from either arm and one ankle.
Definitely several failed tackles there. . . Hunter really should show them how it was done.
Picking himself up off the floor, he brushed his hair out of his eyes with one hand and charged headfirst into a random group of clones, tackling two of them to the ground. A third clone got on his back, trying to pin him to the floor.
Meanwhile, Sunny got involved in a less violent but no less aggressive way. He, like Monnk, seemed to enjoy tripping people and then leaving. Tech nearly went down twice, and a moment later Crosshair and Twist went down at the same time. There was a moment of confusion before everyone sorted themselves off and returned to their previous occupations and opponents.
"This is awesome," said the trooper on Hunter's back, jumping aside as the commando sergeant writhed free.
"I know." The reg who answered ducked Hunter's blow, aimed a kick at him, and missed. "Haven't had a fight like this in a couple months. Hey, you're the sergeant, right?"
"Yeah," said Hunter, throwing him to the floor and pinning him. "What about it?"
"Just curious," the trooper admitted into the carpet. "Hey, lemme go."
And Hunter had to let him go, partly because he didn't want to seriously hurt the other clones, but mostly because Monnk sauntered past and clouted him on the ear as he went by, and Hunter couldn't leave that unanswered.
"Cheap shot, sir!" congratulated a trooper who was being held by Wrecker against the wall, two meters off the ground.
"Kinda was," agreed Monnk with a grin and a lazy salute. He watched until the trooper broke free of Wrecker's hold; then Hunter caught up with him and they exchanged a couple of blows before Monnk vanished into the crowd again.
Crosshair and Twist were still rushing around the room – it was not apparent who was chasing and who was being chased – leaping on and over tables, throwing chairs, and generally inconveniencing both sides of the battle.
Sunny swiped a drink from the nearest table, took a swig, and emptied the rest over Tech's head as soon as he got close enough. Sputtering, Tech whacked the medic across the chest with his datapad, then elbowed him off-balance and followed up with a kick that landed him right in a large tray of chocolate pudding cups.
There was a clattering, sliding crash, and the nearby troopers stopped short with a collective intake of breath.
"Hey," whispered a rookie, elbowing Tech. "What did you just do?"
"I kicked him," said Tech, swiping his drenched hair back from his face. He paused, head tilted as he considered Sunny getting to his feet, covered in pudding. "Is that unusual in battle?"
"Uh," said another trooper. His eyes were wide with apprehensive glee as he watched Sunny calmly wipe pudding off his face. "No. . ."
"I hit a medic," said Tech thoughtfully. "I suppose that is a higher offence, but still not one to warrant this level of apprehension."
"Uh, no, you don't get it," whispered the rookie. "Sunny hates chocolate."
"Oh," said Tech, raising an eyebrow. "How unfortunate."
"Yeah," said Sunny, picking up a half-full pudding cup. He hefted it in one hand and then flashed a smile, teeth seeming even whiter than before in comparison to the pudding on his face. "How unfortunate."
He hurled the pudding cup at Tech at point-blank range. It hit him in the chest, and the contents splattered up over his shoulder and the tiny transmitter he'd just installed inside the pauldron.
"That was unnecessary," said Tech. Carefully, he put his datapad into its pouch and sealed the top, then got into a fighting stance.
"So's this whole fight," Sunny pointed out, beginning to circle him.
"That is inaccurate," said Tech.
"Really?"
"Yes. It is important that we get into this fight and get arrested."
"I can help with that," Sunny promised, throwing a punch.
"Ah, excellent." Tech knocked him off-balance, then dodged a return kick. "I would prefer if you helped us soon."
"Why don't you comm the CG?"
"I did," he replied, almost managing an armlock before the other clone slipped free of it. "The officer taking calls recognized my voice immediately and hung up."
"Guess you do need my help," said Sunny, landing a blow. "If this is as important as you say."
"Our squad mate is quite likely in danger," answered Tech. "Do you have a comm of your own?"
"I did," said Sunny, coming to a halt. "Before it got filled with that slop the boys can stand to call dessert. You got one?"
"Of course," said Tech, and took the comm from his wrist. "Here, you may borrow it, if you promise to contact the CG immediately – and if it still works. It appears to have pudding on it, as well."
Sunny opened his mouth to reply and got flattened from behind as Twist and Crosshair careened into the pile of what had been dessert, each fumbling for pudding cups.
"Out of my way," growled Twist, wrenching a cup from Crosshair's fingers. "This is ammo, kid."
"Yeah," Crosshair hissed back. "Why do you think I want it?"
For a moment, they fought over the cup Twist held. Then Crosshair gave up, grabbed an entire handful of pudding from the floor, and splatted it into Twist's face.
Monnk appeared out of nowhere and gazed down at the two troopers with an expression that was a mix between disappointed and amused. Transferring his attention to Crosshair, he said, "It was nice knowing you. Twist, keep it nonfatal."
"No problem," said Twist, and considered the cup for a moment. As it turned out, Crosshair ducked too late.
"Oh, and no need to call the CG," said Monnk, casually stepping up behind Tech and putting him in a stranglehold that wasn't exactly strangling. "I already contacted them."
"Excellent," said Tech, holding out a hand to take back his comm from Sunny even as Monnk dragged him off-balance. "This fight is now unnecessary."
"What," Twist grunted, heaving Crosshair up only to knock him down again. "You don't want to keep up a good appearance for the Corries when they get here?"
The doors to the bar slid open, and the sharp bark of an irritated officer made Monnk and Tech spin together as one of the newcomers yelled, "WHAT in the name of COMMON SENSE is going on?!"
Monnk released Tech, and Hunter and Crosshair joined them. Most of the clones had stopped fighting, but there was still a spirited brawl going on in the far corner of the room, involving Wrecker and about sixteen troopers.
The two Coruscant Guard ARC troopers who had just marched into the room, fully kitted out, glanced at each other.
"Stay where you are," snapped one of them, directing his words to the entire room.
Then he and his companion marched over to the fight and set to work hoisting rookies bodily off of Wrecker and setting them aside. As soon as they noticed the CG had arrived in the form of two very intimidating ARCs, the regs hurriedly stepped aside. When the last rookie was on his feet, one of the ARC troopers herded them towards the back of the room.
But Wrecker, who was still in the midst of a grand brawl as far as he knew, didn't quite notice the newcomers in time. Hunter opened his mouth to yell that the CG was here and they could stop fighting, but Wrecker was already in motion, instinctively lunging towards the next target, ready to grab and throw him.
The instant he got within reach, the ARC caught and shifted his position without losing his balance, throwing Wrecker halfway across the room and through two tables.
Everyone stared in awe, either openly or reluctantly, as Wrecker got to his feet.
"Whoa," he said, staring at the shorter trooper who had just thrown him so easily.
"This fight is over," announced the ARC. "Is there a Commander Monnk here?"
"That would be me," Monnk said, stepping forward.
Hunter winced. He hadn't known Monnk was a commander. . . He wasn't wearing the proper rank bars.
"ARC trooper Kilo," said the clone who had thrown Wrecker. "That's ARC trooper Steele. You said these lads started a fight because they needed the CG's help."
"That was my closest guess, sir," replied Monnk.
"Right," said Kilo. "You four – are you Clone Force Ninety-Nine?"
"Yes, sir," said Hunter, trying not to let his impatience show. Surely Kilo could just get them to the clone prison at CG headquarters. . .
"Figures," said Steele. "Warden mentioned them."
"He did, didn't he. . . All right. You four, go with Steele and get quietly into the speeder bus. Any trouble at all from you, and I'll personally make sure you won't get the opportunity to talk to any of the CG's officers. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Hunter, and glanced at his squad mates to warn them that they'd best listen.
"I'll join you in a moment," said Kilo, taking out a datapad and heading over to Monnk. "The rest of you, get to work straightening up this absolute disaster."
Echo had been sitting against the wall, gaze fixed suspiciously on his companion, for over half an hour now. His being watchful didn't seem to be accomplishing anything useful, though. Sure, keeping an eye on the mind-reading Kiffar had given him something to focus on, but it was tiring. And it seemed unnecessary. Vos hadn't gone into any more convulsions, or said anything else weird. He just sat there across from Echo, fidgeting with his sleeves or the edge of his tunic, or glancing at Echo with that sharp expression of his.
But there seemed to be no danger from him. He certainly didn't seem to have any inclinations to try reading more of Echo's memories. Heh – given what the Kiffar had been made to experience through his weird power, it would be surprising if he wanted to find out more.
Echo's fingers twitched slightly. Kiffar had weird abilities, and if he ever met up with another he'd be careful to stay well out of reach.
Vos shifted again, staring up at the ceiling.
Automatically, Echo followed his gaze, and then had to hold back a flinch at how close the ceiling seemed.
"What's your name," he said suddenly, more like a statement than a question.
"Hm?" Vos glanced up, surprised at being addressed.
"You know my name . . . I think?"
"Yeah." Vos turned his head away from the camera and whispered, so low Echo could barely hear him. "Your name's Echo."
At least Vos understood the need for secrecy there – even if this Twisted Star gang wasn't likely to know who Echo was – and even though they probably already had his CT number, courtesy of the Kiffar's previous seizure.
"So," said Echo. "What's yours?"
The Kiffar appeared to consider for a moment, then shrugged a shoulder. "Only fair, I guess," he admitted. "First name's Quinlan, you already know my last name."
"Quinlan. . ." Echo studied him, less suspiciously than before. His squad had mentioned a Quinlan, once. "Well. Any ideas on how to get out of here?"
"One," replied the Kiffar promptly. "And it's a last resort plan. As in, seriously last resort."
Echo snorted, because battle plans were supposed to be concise and clear and official, and plans described as 'seriously last resort' gave no information while also somehow giving too much.
He didn't have time to worry about it, though, because Palabar and his guards came back into the corridor. The Quarren leader held Echo's scomp link, which he set in an alcove while he murmured to the guards. Palabar's tone of voice was slightly irritated, but also confident, and Echo wondered if he'd found what he was looking for.
"At least the scomp's in reach," muttered Quinlan, almost to himself.
In reach of what, a ten-meter rope? Or did the Kiffar mean it would be in reach, assuming they could get out of the cell first?
"We'll need it to escape," said Echo quietly. "The locks seem to be accessible through scomp ports. Getting it could be part of your . . . last resort plan."
"Could be." The Kiffar drifted across the cell, keeping a cautious eye on the Quarren and his men while Echo kept a cautious eye on him. When Quinlan knelt down next to him, the ARC trooper almost pulled away, but stopped himself. He couldn't let himself waste energy on pointless fear right now. Besides, the Kiffar was focused entirely on Palabar, his eyes sharp with something like apprehension.
Echo shifted, closing his left hand over the stump of his arm. "Vos," he said. "Why's your plan a last resort plan only?"
"Because," Quinlan explained softly, gaze still on Palabar, "if I don't play my cards right, we'll end up in a much worse situation than the one we're about to be in."