Shortly after joining the Batch, Echo had wondered aloud if the addition of a cybernetic head implant had, in actuality, increased his processing capability the way it had apparently been designed to. Tech said it had. Hunter seemed to think that Echo would know best. Wrecker wondered if it mattered. Crosshair said it was doubtful, Techno Union stuff was junk, and maybe Echo's thoughts just felt fast because there'd been almost nothing to speed up in the first place.(An underhanded insult, which had been aimed, strangely enough, at the Techno Union and not at Echo. It was hard to tell.)
As for Echo himself? He suspected that Tech was right. His mental capabilities were far better now – usually – than they had been before . . . much though he hated to admit the fact. Right now, though, it felt like someone had poured sugar-syrup in his brain cells.
Most likely, he was suffering a minor short-circuit. Or maybe his synapses weren't firing, or something like that.
The long and short of it was that, right now, he had four accidentally-drugged commandos to deal with, and he wasn't sure where to start. Should he knock them all out and make them sleep it off, or hope for the best?
Reg manuals . . . let's see. Echo breathed in slowly, shut his eyes, breathed out, and opened them again.
Primary mission objective: stay alive. Secondary objective: stay sane. Damage control had to come first, which led to a plan of attack: contain all four commandos in one room, preferably a room with a working lock; locate the nearest safe planet to land on; land the Marauder, and proceed to keep his teammates from being stupid. Also, hide the pain meds.
First and foremost, though, Echo took a moment to ascertain everyone's positions.
Tech was now in his own bunk, humming under his breath as he examined his datapad. Wrecker was looking at the galaxy chart on the wall with an unusual amount of focus. Hunter, on the other hand, was lying flat on his back and gazing vaguely at the bunk above him. Crosshair, who was visible through the open bunkroom door, sat on the galley table and swung his legs slightly. He had a really weird, glassy look in his eyes.
Keeping a wary eye on the sniper, Echo went into the galley and set a large container of water in the heater. He was going to brew a few liters of caf, since hot drinks were always . . .
Wait. No. There had been something in Hunter's file about him refusing, on principle, to allow his squad mates to drink caf. And on top of that, Kix's irritated shout rang in Echo's memory: "Mixing caf with painkillers, Fives? Really?"
Yeah, the Fives-on-caf-and-pain-meds incident had been one for the books.
Echo put the caf away, instead pulling out the powdered tea. He dumped a scoopful into the water and left it to steep. Then he glanced at Crosshair, who for some reason was trying to balance one toothpick on the one that was protruding from his mouth, decided against commenting, and entered the bunkroom.
"Echo!" Wrecker said excitedly. He twisted to face him, jabbing a finger at one of the planets on the chart. "We're on shore leave, right?"
"Well . . ." Echo raised an eyebrow. "We're supposed to be. I haven't decided on a planet yet."
"I've got one!"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah!" Wrecker grinned brightly. "Let's go to Raxus!"
Echo stared at him, mouth half-open.
"Raxus!" Hunter sat up, eyes suddenly gleaming. "Wrecker – what is wrong with me? Why didn't I ever think of that?!"
"Because it is a kriffing stupid idea," Echo said, folding his arms. "What are you thinking? We can't go to Separatist space for shore leave, let alone the Separatist capital."
"Why not?" Hunter swung his legs over the side of the bunk, stood, and leaned dizzily against Wrecker. "We're not on duty. We should go end the war. It's dragging too much. What kind of idiot strategists they got running this army, anyway?"
Echo caught him by the arm, shoved him back to sit on his bunk, and said, "We aren't going to Raxus."
"Yes, but why not?" demanded Tech's chipper voice, very close to his ear.
Echo twisted on his heel and nearly let out a yelp. Tech's head was right next to Echo's, but . . . upside down. The resident genius of the team was hanging backwards off the upper bunk, gaze flicking alertly over the article he was reading. "There are some interesting points that could be raised in favor of it. For example, we could invade the capital city of Raxus easily. There are five of us now, instead of four –"
He gestured, nearly toppling from the bunk.
Echo grabbed him by one shoulder and shoved upward, forced to use his scomp link as a sort of brace against his upper back. "Tech! Get – what are you trying to do, land on that big head of yours?"
"Decidedly not," Tech replied, continuing to read instead of helping Echo out. He didn't even seem to notice that Echo was struggling to shove him upright. "Echo, I must ask what in the galaxy would possess me to do such an obviously foolish thing."
"The wrong pain meds," grunted Echo. "Y'know . . . you're heavier than you look."
Instantly, Tech sat upright, almost knocking Echo over at the sudden lack of weight, and shouted, "See, Wrecker? I am not a shrimp!"
"Yeah, you are," said Wrecker automatically.
Hunter, who was once again lying on his back, sighed heavily and spoke to the wire mattress supports. "Tech is not a shrimp . . . except in comparison to Wrecker."
Tech let out an actual squawk and flung a pillow at him.
Echo marched to the bunkroom door to check on Crosshair – who, it turned out, was occupied with using his toothpicks to make trick shots into the steeping tea.
"Hey – Crosshair!" Echo said, then rolled his eyes. "Get in here."
Crosshair flicked a toothpick into the air, used a second one to knock the first into the tea, looked curiously at Echo, and said, "I'm busy."
"Crosshair. NOW." Echo used his most dangerous tone, the one that made rookies snap to attention, but – as it turned out, he wasn't dealing with rookies. He was dealing with a group of commandos who didn't like listening to anyone. . . and who were currently not in their right minds.
As a result, it didn't really surprise him when Crosshair shot him a confused look and demanded, "Why?"
". . . Because I said?" Echo tried.
Behind him, Hunter sneezed again.
Tech apparently had gone too long without commenting, because he immediately piped in. "Perhaps if you stopped sneezing, Hunter, you would not have a headache."
"Ah-CHOOOO! . . . Ow."
"Like I said."
"Shud up," Hunter grumbled. "I'b dot sneezig."
"Yes, you are. Or, rather, you were."
A loud sniff. "No, I wasn't."
"That is a blatant and obvious lie."
The distinct sound of a pillow striking someone made Echo roll his eyes. He didn't turn around, though. Orders weren't working on Crosshair, or, as far as he could tell, on any of them, because he was dealing with the four people who probably liked rules the least out of all the clones in the entire GAR. He had to get them into the bunkroom, though, just long enough that he could set a course for some friendly planet – without having to worry about them doing something stupid, like . . . oh, putting an explosive in the heater unit.
Personal experience was really an awful thing at times.
Echo considered for a moment, then decided on a new approach. Crosshair always disagreed with Wrecker, and he also looked people in the eye when he argued. If Echo could get an argument started, Crosshair would move to the door, and Echo could shove him inside. "Hey, Cross, Wrecker thinks we should go to Raxus."
Crosshair stopped throwing toothpicks. He considered for a long moment, then nodded agreeably. "Let's assassinate Dooku while we're there."
"He's not on Raxus right now," Echo grumbled, thinking fast. What had Wrecker mentioned a couple days back. . . ? Oh. Right.
He cleared his throat. "You know, Wrecker thinks that fistfights are better than sneak attacks."
Crosshair looked briefly and utterly scandalized. He took two steps to the bunkroom door, leaned through it, and said, "Wrecker, you uncultured moron."
Wrecker glanced up from the map, where he was arranging a number of pins in the shape of a smile face. "Yeah, whatever. I'm busy."
Hunter sneezed again.
Echo crept up behind Crosshair, braced himself, and shoved him hard between the shoulder blades.
The sniper took a single step forward, then slithered free. Echo wrapped both arms around his shoulders and twisted his weight, forcing Crosshair into the room. A couple more steps would do it, the panel was right there, and –
Crosshair abruptly decided to walk into the room under his own volition, leaving Echo off-balance again as he caught the doorframe.
"Are you trying to lock us in?" Crosshair looked interested. "Good idea. Tech has probes, we can practice breaking out."
Good to know. Echo re-entered the bunkroom. "Tech? Where do you keep the electronic probes?"
Tech waved an imperious hand toward the trunk at the foot of his and Wrecker's bunk. "You will find them in a black bag. Do not damage them."
Trust me, I won't. Echo pulled out the bag, checked that the probes were actually present – all five were there, just like normal, thank goodness – and headed back out.
As he turned into the doorway, Wrecker shouldered casually past. It took all of Echo's strength to grab him by the blacks and shove him back inside. "Wrecker. Stay in here."
"Aw, but I don't want to!"
"Well, I don't care," Echo retorted, reaching for the panel. "I'm going to find a planet to land on, preferably one we're not in diplomatic relations with. The Republic would lose the minute we touched ground."
"Not while we're here," Wrecker said, and grinned proudly.
"Uhh . . . right. Just – yeah, Wrecker, let the door go, will you? You guys are all sick, and there's nothing interesting going on. . ."
His inner critic let out a slightly hysterical laugh.
"Just taking a long, boring flight through hyperspace," Echo said. "Might as well go take a nap, right?"
Wrecker looked suspicious. "You sound like you're tryin' to keep a secret. You're not going to blow something up without me, are you?"
"No!" Echo groaned. "I could've been done setting the course by now if you'd all just listen."
He pried Wrecker's fingers free of the door, shut it, and locked it from the outside with a decisive push of a button. Then he leaned his forehead against the cool metal for a moment, thought about pouring himself a drink, realized he'd have to strain the twenty-odd toothpicks out of it, decided against it, and headed for the cockpit.
It took him just under nine minutes to locate a nice, temperate planet with sporadic settlements and wide swathes of untouched grasslands. There was nothing dangerous in the way of predators (not on the particular continent Echo was looking at), and it was the rainy season, so he didn't have to worry about a stray blaster shot setting off a brushfire.
After setting in the course, he made the hyperspace jump, then got up and stretched slowly. It would take less than an hour to reach the planet. Echo was tempted to leave the door locked, but he should probably check on Hunter, at least. The other three seemed fine – or, stars forbid, they only felt fine because they'd taken so big a dose of painkillers . . .
Echo sighed, determined to face his duty, and went back into the galley – where he froze in disbelief.
The bunkroom door was open, and Tech was scanning the container of tea, humming under his breath while he did so. Wrecker was wiring something at the table, utterly quiet and focused.
Echo crossed the room without speaking and peered into the bunkroom. Hunter and Crosshair were playing a very lackluster game of checkers. The board was on the floor, so Hunter was using the tip of his knife to reach the checkers; he had to move for Crosshair, who was draped across the upper bunk in order to see the board. Neither of them seemed enthusiastic.
Echo rubbed at his forehead and turned around. "Who unlocked the door?"
Tech glanced up. "Hunter. Obviously."
"Wait. How is that supposed to be obvious?"
"Unlocking electronic locks is something in which he specializes. It is a useful skill to have, especially when our probes have been broken or we are inadvertently faced with a situation where we were not expecting a locked door. This, obviously, ended up being one of those situations." Tech tossed his datapad across the table, then froze with a very dissatisfied look on his face. "The room is beginning to tilt."
"Pretty sure that's vertigo," Echo said.
"Hm." Tech stumbled and slipped, then caught the edge of the door. "Perhaps it would be a good idea if I went and got some sleep."
Oh, NOW you think it's a good idea. . . Echo sighed again and went to make some new tea.