As the Bad Batch approached the lift that would take them back to the Havoc Marauder, the dark of the undercity slowly gave way to the dim lights that hung at every level of the open lift shaft. Hunter was glad, because that meant he could stop focusing so much on listening for potential ambushes from random thugs.

It wasn't like his team was being subtle about their presence here, after all.

"Wait until Echo sees this!" Wrecker exclaimed at the top of his lungs, waving the new explosives attachment for his deecee over his head. "Even he can't say no to this!"

Crosshair, who was wearing his helmet, rubbed at where his ear would be if he didn't have the helmet on and hissed, "Do you have to yell about it?"

"I'm not yelling!" yelled Wrecker.

Hunter snorted and walked slower, deliberately falling behind his squad mates as they approached the lift.

"Technically," intervened Tech, "you are yelling."

"NO, I'M NOT!"

Tech turned to look at Wrecker, eyes narrowed behind his goggles, and sighed in a put-upon way. "And now you are screaming."

"Oh, yeah?" Wrecker shoved the explosives attachment into his pack. "Get over here, I'll show you screaming –"

"Fellas," said Hunter, as Tech easily avoided Wrecker's half-hearted grab. "Let's not attract attention. We're almost there."

They got into the lift with a good deal of muttered complaints – the lift hadn't exactly been built for four people, especially when one of those people was Wrecker – and waited impatiently while it dragged its way up the long chain towards the landing pad.

Hunter decided to comm Echo and give him a heads-up that the squad was on its way back, just in case the ARC trooper was asleep. Echo was usually good about not attacking the nearest person when he was startled, but it had taken just one time of him waking up swinging to make everyone cautious.

It had only been five seconds of action, too. Late at night, while Echo was asleep and the Batch were dragging around the ship, Wrecker had tripped over a metal toolbox that Tech had left on the bunkroom floor. The tools and box made an awful racket, Tech yelped, Crosshair almost fell out of his bunk, Hunter startled, Wrecker jumped, and Echo leaped out of his hammock, shoved past Tech and Crosshair, grabbed Wrecker by the collar – somehow – and had only not hurt anyone because . . . well, because it was Wrecker he'd subconsciously registered as the cause of the noise, and therefore as the threat, and it was pretty hard to hurt Wrecker without serious effort.

The whole situation had been funnier than it was worrying. Echo, one hand on Wrecker's collar and the scomp on the back of his head, had tried to throw him, but Wrecker was pulled forward only about two inches before he halted, staring down at the confused ARC. Then he'd picked Echo up and cautiously put him back in the hammock.

Naturally, the ARC trooper had been mortified, both by his knee-jerk reaction and the fact that Wrecker could just carry him around at will . . .

Hunter's comm was still blinking, and he frowned down at it.

"Hunter?" asked Tech, peering at him past Wrecker's arm. "What is it?"

"Echo's not answering."

"Lemme try," Wrecker offered, promptly hitting his commlink. "Echo? You there?"

"He's not picking up," Hunter said.

"Ah." Tech adjusted his goggles. "He could be asleep."

"I guess. . . But he always hears his comms."

"Except when he mutes them," Crosshair reminded him.

"Hey, yeah!" Wrecker turned towards Hunter, nearly squashing Crosshair against the wall in the process. "Remember? Last time he wanted to get some real sleep, he just shut off the comms."

"Yeah," said Hunter dubiously, edging towards Tech as Crosshair tried to force Wrecker away from him. "But that was when we were on an unoccupied planet."

Wrecker got tired of being shoved and elbowed Crosshair into the corner of the lift, resulting in a brief and vicious squabble.

"That is true," Tech said, ducking the flying elbows. "However, it is also possible that he was merely out of comms range . . . Which, as a matter of fact, he still could be. I shall check the logs."

Hunter got jostled into the door by Crosshair and sighed. Turning, the sergeant put a hand against each of the wrestling troopers' chest plates, gave them a sharp shove, and said, "Cut it out."

The reluctant silence that fell was broken by a thud-clank as the lift ground to a halt, and the door opened to reveal the quiet, empty landing pad, and the Havoc Marauder, sitting right where they'd left it.

Nothing looked out of place, but Hunter knew right away that Echo was not on board. "Tech," he said. "Check for life signals."

"One moment," said Tech, tapping away. He tilted his head in concern. "Hunter, Echo is not in range of my sensors. Not only that, but he appears to have contacted us, several times, in the space of half an hour – and the final transmission, at twenty-two fifty-four, was sent through the emergency channel."

"What? Where did the call originate?" demanded Hunter. "Wrecker, Crosshair, leave the weapons here and secure the ship. We're tracing that signal."

While his squad mates rushed to the Marauder, Hunter paced around the perimeter of the landing pad, senses alert for anything that seemed out of place. He couldn't find anything, though – certainly nothing that would have made Echo leave. There were no signs of a struggle. Had he, for some reason, decided to explore some of the surrounding area? Surely not. . . his joints had been bothering him, and besides, Echo stuck to regulations whenever possible. Troopers on shore leave were always supposed to have a fellow trooper with them.

As his teammates returned, Hunter checked his chrono. "It's oh-two-ten," he said, frowning. "Quinlan should be here in a couple minutes . . ."

"He will likely be late," said Tech. "When he is not ridiculously early, he is late."

"Hm, yeah." Hunter punched in the Jedi's comm code and entered the lift. "I'll let him know we have to find Echo, he might be able to help us."

But by the time the lift hit the end of the shaft, Hunter had commed Quinlan three separate times, and the Jedi still hadn't picked up.

"That doesn't make sense," said Wrecker, when Hunter reported failure for the fourth and final time. "Quinlan always answers when he's not on a mission – 'specially when we're on-planet. Why not this time?"

"I dunno," said Hunter. "But I'm sure he'll contact us when he doesn't find us at the Marauder. Tech, you got that signal, still?"

"Of course."

"Good. Lead the way."

Tech slipped to the front of the group and trotted off, the others easily keeping pace as he went down a narrow walkway. Within a minute, he came to a stop, and the others gathered behind him. Together, they studied the warehouse that stood fifty meters away. It was long and low, and the door was standing open.

"There are no occupants," Tech said. "At least, according to my scanners."

"There's a blaster mark," said Crosshair. "On the duracrete, in front of the door. It's recent."

Hunter took his word for it, and the team started cautiously forward. There were no sounds from the immediate vicinity, though the sergeant could hear a group of five or six people, a few levels above, yelling at each other in two different languages.

As the squad neared the building, Hunter took off his helmet and inhaled. The tangy scent of burnt metal and the cold scent of smoke, along with the mildly bitter smell of some non-human species' blood hit him, and his concern for Echo grew. "There was a battle here, recently," he said.

"That would explain why Echo tried to contact us from inside the building," Tech said. "Sensors still show nothing."

They glanced carefully inside anyway before turning on their helmet lights and walking into the massive building. It was mostly just empty space right now, probably because it had been prepared to receive some shipment or other. Hunter's attention was immediately drawn to a stack of crates that stood some ten meters away. There were blaster burns all over the pile, along with tiny plastoid bits from a smoke grenade, and when he turned around, there were only a few blaster burns on the wall above and round the main door.

"Only one person shooting from behind the pile," he murmured, and stopped to stare at a few bloodstains on the floor. "Several of the attackers were injured. . ."

As he got closer to the pile, the faintest touch of electricity brushed up his spine, and he paused again. "The defender was taken out with an EMP."

"Oh boy. . ." Wrecker shoved his helmet back on his head, frowning. "I think we all know who the defender was."

"An EMP?" said Tech. "That . . . is not ideal. Echo's prosthetics will be giving him trouble."

Hunter wandered around the crates, trying to visualize exactly what had happened in this room. People – at least four or five, because it would have taken at least that many to deal with Echo – had attacked Echo, for some reason. Or, they had somehow captured him, up on the landing pad, without any kind of a struggle and then Echo had managed to escape. . .? And still had a working comm? It didn't make sense.

"Tech," he said. "Where was Echo when he first commed us, down here?"

"One moment." Tech typed rapidly for a few seconds. "No; it appears that he was near the edge of the landing pad."

Crosshair ambled over to join them, rifle at the ready. "Then what was he doing down here?"

"I dunno," Hunter murmured, staring at the rest of the room. "But there are no bodies. Whoever took him clearly had enough manpower to clean up after the battle."

"So, it was a gang," Wrecker suggested. "But which gang?"

"And why?" asked Tech.

Crosshair took off his helmet, put a toothpick into his mouth, gazed contemplatively at the crates for several long seconds, and then turned to face Hunter. "Well?" he demanded. "Can you track him?"

"Maybe," said Hunter. "If they didn't take a vehicle. . . Tech, why would any gang take Echo, in particular?"

"For any of several reasons," said Tech. "His prosthetics are very valuable, and could easily be resold. He is an officer of the GAR, and an ARC at that, and possesses a good deal of information which certain parties would be very interested in obtaining. He is a former Techno Union project, which I believe we all have reason to remember."

Hunter let out a faint huff, because Tech was right. It had been a couple of weeks since the whole thing with Nu'osa, but none of the squad was likely to forget the fact that, as far as the Techno Union was concerned, Echo was still on the wanted list. And they were pretty sure that Nu'osa wasn't the only person after Echo, hoping to make an easy profit by hunting him down.

Well – no matter what this particular gang wanted with Echo, it was Hunter and his squad who would be doing the hunting this time around.

"Come on, Bad Batch," Hunter said. "Several of those guys were injured. We should be able to track them, at least for a while."

Someone was shaking Echo, every few seconds, and talking – incessantly –

The words filtered their way through his semiconscious mind and dragged him closer and closer towards being awake. The more awake he got, the worse his joints ached, and Echo wanted whoever it was to just shut up and let him sleep.

He tried to stop him, but could barely lift his hand up high enough to push whoever it was, let alone put any strength behind the attempt. Groaning, he let his forearm fall across his face, shielding his eyes from the light.

"Domino?" The shaking stopped, even though there was still a hand on Echo's shoulder. "Are you awake?"

Force, this guy was annoying. Echo made a vague and uncoordinated attempt to grab his wrist, but missed entirely.

"Hey, Domino –" The voice sounded concerned now, and Echo finally recognized it as belonging to Vos. "Are you feeling okay? You're not looking too good. . ."

Groaning, Echo made another grab for his wrist, this time managing to sort of catch it. "Go 'way," he slurred, pushing at Vos' arm with all the strength of a first-year cadet.

"See, about that – I can't. We're both stuck in the same cell now. Which I kind of prefer, really."

It was now evident that Echo would not be allowed to sleep in peace and quiet, so he gave in to the inevitable and opened his eyes. A grey ceiling met his gaze, because of course it did. "We're in a cell," he said, the words mostly intelligible.

"Yeah, I know." Vos sat back on his heels, gaze fixed on Echo's face and one hand still trailing on the floor near his arm. The Kiffar looked nervous and worried – probably waiting for Echo to break into little pieces or something equally ridiculous.

The ARC trooper squinted at him before closing his eyes again. "Why," he said.

"Why – what?"

"Why would you wake me up –" Echo gestured around the cell – "for this?"

"It's been almost an hour," said Vos. "I was getting worried." He paused, as if considering. "Well, more worried."

"An hour . . . since . . .? Oh." For a moment, Echo lay motionless, trying to remember what exactly had taken him out this time. He remembered Palabar's goons coming after him and Vos because they weren't cooperating, but not much after the first five or six hits. He could talk fine, so no one had clocked him in the jaw. . .

He shivered, abruptly, as if his body had finally decided to register how cold the room was. Clearly, his captors didn't have the decency to turn on the temperature controls.

Echo thought about sitting up, realized that it didn't feel like his legs would cooperate, and gathered himself for an attempt anyway.

"Don't try to sit up," said Vos.

Echo tried to sit up. A splitting pain shot up his spine and into his neck, and the only reason he didn't fall and hit his head on the duracrete was that Vos caught him.

"Really?" sighed the Kiffar, lowering him back to the ground. "What part of 'don't try to sit up' didn't you understand?"

"Oh, right, like you're any good at listen –" Echo cut off with a groan, putting an arm over his eyes again as a headache appeared. "Agh, Palabar and his kriffing thugs. . ."

"Well, we did both challenge them," the Kiffar reminded him. He had an infuriatingly casual tone, as if challenging thugs was something he did every day.

"Yeah, but I thought they'd just beat us up," Echo grumbled. "Not – put us through a decompression chamber and electrocute us fifty times, or whatever the heck just happened."

There was a shuffling sound as Vos rearranged himself. "You knocked out four of them, if that makes you feel any better."

The ARC trooper considered. "Maybe," he admitted grudgingly, blinking at the ceiling. It was still blurry. "Did I manage to reach Palabar?"

"No. Neither of us did – unfortunately." Vos huffed. "They cheated and went after you with stun batons."

Echo sighed heavily, squeezing the bridge of his nose until his vision cleared and he could look properly at his surroundings, and his cellmate. The Kiffar was sitting with his back against the wall, right next to Echo, who turned his head to see that the rest of the cell was . . . almost nonexistent. The only good thing about it was that the ceiling appeared to be a normal height. But the room itself was probably seven feet by five feet, with only one tiny window in the door.

Taking a deliberate breath, Echo stared up at the ceiling. Tiny, cold room with one window –

"Yep," said Vos, sounding remarkably casual despite the various new injuries he'd also obtained. "They put us in the five-star joint, that's for sure."

"Uh-huh." Echo cleared his throat. "Did they take the pictures they wanted?"

"Sort of – they got a couple of you but you looked so bad Palabar told 'em to not bother. He didn't want to scare the customers off."

Echo snorted despite himself. "Good." He waited, but Vos didn't seem to have anything else to say. Impatient for a distraction, Echo finally said, "What about you? Did they get pictures of you?"

"I don't know. I guess so?"

"You guess so," Echo prompted.

"Well, yeah," said Vos reasonably. "They couldn't get their stupid pictures while I was conscious, could they? So, anyway. That was fun, not."

"Hm . . ." Echo swallowed against the growing tautness in his throat and tried to think of something to keep the conversation going. Cold tiny room with one window –

"Hey," said Vos. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're fine," said Vos, rolling his eyes. "No you're not."

Echo glared at him and spoke without thinking. "I said, I'm fine. You're as bad as Hunter."

For a moment, they stared at each other.

"Hunter," repeated the Kiffar. "As in, Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker."

Echo narrowed his eyes. "You said they were friends of yours . . ."

"Mm-hmm." Now it was Vos eyeing him curiously. "Are they friends of yours?"

There was a short silence.

"Vos," said Echo at last, trying not to raise his voice because everything hurt. "I am not playing this game with you again. Just answer the question!"

"Information's dangerous," said the Kiffar. "As I'm sure you know. I notice you're not answering the question either."

"Fine," said Echo. "If you're their friend, why don't you know about me?"

"Um . . ." Vos paused, wiping at a still-bleeding split on his cheekbone. "I hadn't spoken to them in a couple of months?"

"I've been with the Batch seven weeks," Echo admitted grudgingly. "And you were skulking around the shuttle tonight because – what – you were visiting? You didn't think to comm first?"

"I did comm," Vos said. "Well, at least, Hunter commed me to say the squad would be planetside for a bit, I said I'd drop by around oh-two-hundred. He gave me the Havoc Marauder's location."

Echo thought back to Hunter, and the comm call he'd abruptly ended when Echo walked into the cockpit. "Right," he said. "And you were there several hours early because?"

"I finished filing reports early," said Vos.

He seemed to have an answer for everything, although if Echo got out of this mess, he fully intended to drag the Kiffar back to the ship and interrogate his teammates. They had never mentioned a 'Vos', or even a Kiffar, to him. And Hunter had kept whatever call he was making a secret – or, maybe, it had just timed out to look like it?

If this whole thing was because of a simple misunderstanding . . . ? Echo was going to have words with his squad mates about communication. This was absolutely beyond ridiculous.

"I know your name isn't Domino," said the Kiffar conversationally. "What is it?"

Echo glowered. "Cameras," he said. "I don't want the Twisted Star to know my real name. Help me sit up?"

"I really don't think you should – kriff, okay, give me a sec." Vos edged closer and helped Echo into a sitting position against the adjacent wall, muttering, "And I thought it was just your eyes that were similar to Crosshair's."

"Crosshair runs on spite and stubbornness," said Echo, gasping from the short-circuiting in his spinal column. "I don't. I run on – well –"

"The same things," finished Vos. "And so does Tech, when he's in a bad mood, especially when someone damages his ship."

Echo's mood lightened, just a bit, at the memory of Tech stomping around the cockpit and shouting at Wrecker and Hunter for wrestling into the control panel and breaking one of the delicate controls on his scanner.

"Yeah," he said. "And what about the other two?"

"Wrecker's cheerful but can be scary," said Vos, smirking a little. "And Hunter broods, a lot, over who knows what."

Echo snorted despite himself. "You sound like you know them," he said, almost convinced.

"I should." The Kiffar tapped a hand against his bent knee. "Spent the better part of a month working with them on a mission."

"Hmm." The ARC trooper didn't often hear of troopers working with civilians, but then again the Bad Batch had a reputation for carrying out missions using unorthodox methods.

He wondered, once again, where they were right now.