For nearly fifteen minutes, Echo lay flat on his stomach in the sand, spying on the enemy's fortress through the rain-streaked lenses of his electrobinoculars. He timed different patrols with half his attention while he tried to think of something – anything – that would allow him to get close, unnoticed, without being forced to wait for nightfall.

But he didn't come up with any ideas. Unfortunately for Echo and his team, Nu'osa seemed to have some common sense.

The metal-walled fortress had been set up in the literal center of a valley, and the land around it was empty and flat, with no cover for two hundred meters in all directions.

Despite the distance, Echo might have been able to risk crawling through the rain and hoping he wouldn't be noticed. . . if there had been just B-1s to deal with. But with spider droids ready to fire from two of the corner walls, there was no use in even starting to take the risk. If he were seen, he'd have about three seconds of life left, and then he'd be turned into a smear on the sand.

Echo shoved himself onto his knees. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Thunder rumbled dully overhead, and he glanced up, concerned. The storm was getting close now, and Echo figured he'd better get to shelter. Tech had warned him, the first time the Batch went to Kamino with Echo, that he had best avoid being outside in lightning storms. It wasn't something Echo would have automatically considered, but in hindsight it seemed painfully obvious.

Echo didn't mind heading back to cover. He wasn't doing any good out here, that was for sure. And besides, he needed to return to the Marauder anyway. Something told him that Nu'osa would probably be comming him in a quarter of an hour, and he didn't need to give the Twi'lek any reason to wonder why he wasn't on the ship.

Not that Echo would want to answer this comm. . .

Shaking his head, the ARC trooper crawled backwards down the hill until he could stand upright. He headed towards the Marauder, listening to the approaching thunder and the patter of rain on his armor.

It was faster walking, going downhill, and he made it to the shuttle in just under ten minutes. Once inside, he pulled off his helmet, shook it free of water, and tossed it onto the nearest chair before sinking into the pilot's seat.

Rather than waiting for what was sure to be an unpleasant call, assuming Nu'osa called at all, Echo plugged his scomp link into the consol and got to work. He set the ship scanners to gather data on the enemy fortress, the enemy shuttle, the droids, the life signs in the fortress, the nearby terrain, the weather – anything and everything that might possibly have an effect on his solo rescue mission.

As the computer slowly generated maps and lists of data on the screen in front of him, Echo studied them through narrowed eyes. The vague beginnings of a plan were starting to take shape in his mind, but right now, everything seemed to depend on whether or not he could get inside unseen.

And it was still three hours until dark.

Inside the prison cell, Hunter and Wrecker stood on either side of the barred door, waiting for the first hour to end and the droids to come – and Crosshair and Tech occupied themselves with complaining about the plan Hunter had come up with.

"Why do I have to play the victim," grumbled Crosshair, lying flat on the floor. He seemed to consider for a moment, then curled on his side, one arm clasped around his stomach as though he'd been injured. It was not very convincing.

Huffing, Tech lay on his back next to him, as stiff as a board. "You are not the only one who is forced to remain out of the fight, at least momentarily," he answered. "I also must pretend that I have been incapacitated."

"Tech," said Hunter. "No one's gonna think you're injured if you lie there like that."

With an irritated frown, Tech stared at the ceiling. "What would you like me to do, then? Attempt to act as though I am in pain and require immediate medical intervention?"

"No," said Hunter, because Tech was terrible at acting. No doubt he'd forget and start commenting on the composition of durasteel or something halfway through a plea for help. "Try to pretend you're unconscious."

Tech closed his eyes deliberately, but remained stiff, with his arms straight at his sides. That was even worse than before. Now, instead of looking annoyed, he looked like a corpse.

"Tech," said Hunter in exasperation. "Make yourself relax! Cross, can you make yourself look more . . . I don't know, more hurt? Less like you're about to rip a droid apart?"

Crosshair blinked. "I am about to rip a droid apart. As soon as one comes in."

On the other side of the door, Wrecker cast a sympathetic look at Hunter and whispered, "Sarge, I think you picked the wrong decoys."

Hunter was starting to think the same thing himself, and when he saw that Tech had indeed relaxed – to such an extent that he now appeared to be peacefully asleep – he went so far as to consider changing his mind. But . . . no. He and Wrecker were the best at taking out droids without weapons, and therefore the best options for giving Tech and Crosshair a chance at escape. Not that the younger commandos knew that was the reason for Hunter's plan. . . and he didn't intend to tell them, either. They were being difficult enough as it was.

"Tech," he sighed. "I said act unconscious. What are you doing?"

"Attempting to mimic an unconscious person," said Tech, not even bothering to open his eyes. "However, having never been aware while unconscious, I am not entirely certain what my exact position and appearance should be."

Hunter rubbed his head. "Stop being difficult. I know you've seen unconscious people before."

His youngest teammate opened one eye and gave Hunter an irritated, sidelong look. Then he huffed again. "Fine," he said, with the put-upon air of an overworked protocol droid. "But do not expect me to maintain this appearance for more than three seconds after the door has been opened."

And he promptly went limp, head tilted to the side and eyes lightly closed, the very picture of an unconscious person.

That was one down. But Crosshair, who was still facing the door, looked more than ready to launch himself at the droids as soon as it opened.

Folding his arms, Hunter raised an eyebrow at the team's sniper. "Well?"

"Well, what?" said Crosshair, tapping his free hand on the floor.

"You look like you're waiting to ambush a droid."

"Yeah?" Crosshair considered, then closed his eyes. "Well, thanks to you, I also look like an idiot."

Wrecker sighed. "You always look like an idiot. Come on, Crosshair, you're supposed to act like you're injured!"

"I am acting like I'm injured," drawled the sniper, draping a forearm over his eyes.

When Wrecker and Hunter and even Tech proceeded to stare at him, Crosshair peered back at them and said, "What? I'm in the throes of agony. Can't you tell?"

"Oh, yes." Tech reached up to adjust his cracked goggles. "Indubitably."

Hunter sighed and decided to drop it. "Okay. You guys know the plan."

"Yes," said Tech, but his gaze shifted left.

Hunter folded his arms with a stern frown. "Just to be sure there hasn't been any misunderstanding: you guys stay where you are until the droids come in. Then, when the door's clear, Wrecker and I will distract – take them out – and we'll run."

At his slip of the tongue, Wrecker eyed him, but the other two didn't seem to notice.

Muttering under his breath, Crosshair finally rearranged himself into an acceptably unconscious-looking position and relaxed.

For a couple of minutes, the cell was quiet and almost peaceful. Hunter cracked his neck and elbows and tried to loosen up his stiff muscles. If he and Wrecker could take out the guards, when they came, it would be a short run up the hall and outside to the walls, and from there they could –

"I still object to this plan," Tech announced.

Hunter, good and tired of his younger brothers' nonsense, turned to face him. "You can object all day, Tech," he said. "But you and Crosshair are still going to play the victims, so that you have half a chance of escape when the time comes, and that's all there is to it."

Immediately, both of his 'injured' teammates zeroed in on him, Wrecker cleared his throat with a cough, and Hunter felt his eyes widen as he realized he'd just made a potentially fatal error.

"Ah," said Tech, sitting up. "As I suspected. We will have half a chance of escape while you and Wrecker stay behind. Isn't that correct, Wrecker?"

"Uhh. . ." Wrecker ran a hand over the back of his head, glancing aside.

"No, it's not correct," said Hunter. "We're not going to try to stay behind, but –"

"Sure you're not," said Crosshair, propping himself on one elbow. "What is this, Hunter, you trying to play the hero?"

Hunter glared at him. "No."

And he wasn't. He just wanted them to escape. Well, he wanted all four of them to escape, but he wasn't counting on it. He was not at his best, thanks to the electrical shocks he'd received, and Wrecker wasn't doing too great, either. But Crosshair and Tech had a chance of running, especially if Wrecker and Hunter put up a good defense.

Before he could try to convince his squad mates to listen, metallic footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, drawing closer.

Forgetting their argument, the four commandos exchanged looks and immediately returned to their former positions. The footsteps drew closer and stopped, and Hunter dropped into a half-crouch, ready to spring at the first droid that showed itself. On the other side of the door, Wrecker clenched his fists.

There was a brief pause, followed by a B-1's voice. "Okay, prisoners, get back against the – hey. Wait a second."

"What is it?" demanded Nu'osa's voice, and Hunter blinked. He hadn't sensed the Twi'lek arriving – probably because his enhanced senses were still screwed up from the attack. Nu'osa being present might be a problem.

"That's weird," said the droid. "There are only two prisoners in the cell. And they both appear to be unconscious!"

"Is that so?" Nu'osa asked, with a vague note of concern in his voice. "Then by all means, check on them."

Hunter exchanged a surprised glance with Wrecker. Surely the Twi'lek wouldn't fall for such an old trick. . .

But the bolt on the outside of the door slid back, and the first B-1 stepped casually inside.

"Wake up, prisoner!" it said, prodding Crosshair with one foot.

Wrecker plowed into the half-opened door and jumped into the hallway, and Hunter followed on his heels. But the sergeant had only just kicked down the first droid when there was a muted buzz, and Wrecker collapsed without a sound.

"As I suspected," said Nu'osa, turning his stun weapon towards Hunter. "An escape attempt. And a clumsy one, at that."

Fuming at the easy defeat but determined to give his remaining teammates time to act, Hunter clenched his fists and said, "Would've worked if it had been just droids."

"I agree." Nu'osa pressed a button on his comm. "Which is precisely why I came with them, and brought some commando droids as well."

Four commandos clanked into the room, their metal hands loose at their sides as they approached Hunter, who shifted his weight, glowering back at them.

A faint whisper of sound from inside the cell made him tense, and he stepped out of the way as Crosshair and Tech rushed out into the hall, Crosshair armed with a droid's blaster.

Instantly, Nu'osa twisted to stun Tech. As he fell, Crosshair shot down the droids in front of Nu'osa and sent a couple lasers at the warlord, who dodged hastily aside.

Hunter, meanwhile, dove forward to grab a weapon of his own, but the commando droids were already on top of him. He twisted and fought for all he was worth, but his reaction time was still slow. Within seconds, they had pinned him to the wall by his wrists and Nu'osa had stunned Crosshair.

"Now," said the Twi'lek, sounding bored as he holstered his gun. "Bring two of them up to the command room. I have a call to make to the ARC trooper."

"Understood," said a commando droid, in its guttural voice. "Which ones do we bring?"

Nu'osa eyed Hunter. "This one," he said. "And . . . yes, bring Crosshair. Ensure the other two are imprisoned again before they wake up, thank you."

At first, Hunter struggled against the droids who dragged him forward, but after one of them twisted his arm in retaliation, he gave up and went quietly with them. There was nothing he could do to get away anyway – not at this moment. The escape plan had failed abysmally, and now Nu'osa would carry through with his plan of putting more pressure on Echo.

Don't surrender, Echo, Hunter thought, as if thinking it would somehow keep the ARC trooper away.

Echo sat motionless in front of the holotable, staring at Nu'osa as if his gaze could melt the Twi'lek through the hologram itself. At the edge of the hologram's range knelt the wavering blue forms of Hunter and Crosshair. Neither of them seemed even halfway cognizant at this point. They probably weren't, given the number of times the commando droids had just shocked them. Hunter definitely wasn't; he was slumped sideways against the wall, head bowed. Crosshair, though, had a stubborn set to his jaw and was still managing to kneel upright, even if his eyes did seem glazed over.

"Well?" said Nu'osa, gesturing with one hand. "I trust we understand each other better now?"

"Spare me the melodrama," Echo retorted. "I understood you from the beginning, Nu'osa. I'm not stupid."

From behind the Twi'lek, Crosshair blinked, looking up with a faint smirk.

"Of course you aren't," said Nu'osa, unbothered. "As I said, I do not enjoy this –"

"Sure you don't," Echo shot back.

Nu'osa closed his eyes lightly, looking pained. "It is an unfortunate necessity," he said. "I simply cannot think of another way to make you surrender, Echo."

At that, Hunter stirred and looked up. "Can't," he said, and cleared his throat harshly. "Echo. You can't surrender."

"He can surrender," said Nu'osa. "He just chooses not to."

Echo ignored him, focusing on the sergeant instead. "I know, Hunter," he said in a firm voice. "I don't intend to."

"Good," muttered Crosshair.

Hunter appeared to consider that for a moment, as if having to think through Echo's words, then nodded ever so slightly.

"Oh, dear. . ." Nu'osa shook his head and folded his arms over his jacket with a sigh. "I suppose we'll have to continue with this, then. Take them away, droids. We'll give Echo another hour to think things through."

Echo almost answered that another hour wasn't going to change his mind, but remembered that the extra time was an advantage, both for him and the other commandos. It was an effort to bite his tongue in the face of Nu'osa's calm smugness, but he managed.

"Where are Tech and Wrecker?" he asked instead, his gaze flicking towards his teammates as they were dragged away.

"Still imprisoned," answered Nu'osa. "You are fortunate that I am leaving them alone this time, despite your . . . lack of cooperation."

"It's not out of the goodness of your heart," Echo snapped. "Nu'osa, listen. You want me to surrender, but I can't, no matter what you do to them."

"Ah," said Nu'osa, delicately. "I understand. You are . . . afraid."

Echo's fingers dug into the edge of the holotable. "That has nothing to do with this," he snarled. "The Techno Union will turn me into a weapon, Nu'osa, as I'm sure you already know! You money-grubbing tailhead – this isn't just one man's life you're asking for!"

Nu'osa checked his wrist-chrono, then looked up at Echo as if he'd forgotten the ARC trooper was there.

"Be that as it may," he said. "Do remember that I can keep up this little back-and-forth a good deal longer than your teammates can."

The ARC trooper stared wordlessly at him, eyes hot.

"I will call you in fifty-eight minutes precisely, and if you have not changed your mind by then – or, even better, shown up at my gate – I will be forced to repeat the disagreeable scene you just watched. This time, though, I will not limit my droids to using only stun batons . . ." He tilted his head in a thoughtful manner. "You see, Echo, I may not be the most imaginative person in the galaxy, but surely I can come up with something. Perhaps I will resort to having my droids break bones, though I would prefer to avoid that if at all possible. After all, someone's arm breaking makes such an unpleasant sound. Try to keep that in mind while –"

With a wordless snarl, Echo ended the call and stormed into the cargo hold. He stared at the floor, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose so he would calm down and not go do something stupid. Like piloting the Marauder into that kriffing Twi'lek's fortress and – well, probably killing everyone inside . . . Yeah, no, bad plan.

Echo walked across the cargo hold and back a couple of times. Then he sat down on a crate and meticulously cleaned his pistol, even though it didn't need cleaning. When he'd finished with that, the rage had finally died down and his mind was clear enough to think again.

He went to the nearest viewport and stared outside. The rain hadn't died down, and it was starting to get dark. With any luck, the weather would play in his favor and allow him to approach the fortress a good hour earlier than he'd originally thought.

Echo thought that he had a plan. A tentative one, but a plan all the same. He couldn't help but think that it was the kind of plan Rex would have yelled at him for dreaming up, and that was understandable. If Tech had dreamed it up, Echo would have been the one yelling at him. But still, it had a chance of working. And besides, Fives would have loved it, and if Jesse knew about it, he'd approve wholeheartedly.

"I'll have to tell Rex and Jesse about it," he said aloud, wandering through the empty ship. "Then Rex can do his whole pretending-to-be-mad thing. . . and Jesse can tell me all the things I should've improved on . . ."

He stared down at the data display again and thought about exactly how unlikely his plan was to work. "Any ideas, anyone?" he asked dryly, but no one answered.