Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~*~

Water. The first thing Tech knew, understood, recognized, was water.

He was in water.

Specifically, he was lying on a river bank, aching all over, head throbbing. The river's flow tugged at his legs, chilled them to the bone.

His second understanding: he was alive.

The last few minutes were muddled, but he could call up the broad strokes: shooting out a rail car connector, plummeting, trying his best for trees and sloped cliffs to slow himself. Something striking his head, tearing off his helmet and goggles. Why had he shot out the hinge?

He tried to sit up, found that next to impossible. Rolling over worked better. More memories began to filter back to him. He'd realized their mission had been a failure, that any future element of surprise had been entirely lost. They were worse off than before they'd come. On top of that, they were all in danger of dying if the two rail cars fell. But if only he fell, they could survive. He might be able to as well; there were options. Which was why he was lying here, alone, half in a river, his head bleeding.

He could hear V-wings in the distance, though they didn't seem to be coming closer. Had he floated downstream far enough they'd lost track? Possibly. He needed to capitalize on that.

The first problem became evident when he went to assess his armor: his left eye was nonfunctional. Carefully touching the area revealed significant damage. The eye itself seemed to be present, though he was sure there was glass caught in the orbital. To go by the searing pain, possibly the eye itself. Fortunately the site and his eyelids were swollen enough it largely held shut, preventing him from blinking even by reflex. A small victory.

So, first injury identified: his left eye. A concussion to go with that. Definitely a fracture of some sort in his right arm. Ribs, yes...two at a minimum. His legs were numb from the water, but a visual and tactile inspection suggested nothing beyond severe bruising.

His armor was in ruins, what little that remained cracked apart like an eggshell. He began yanking it off, tossed the pieces into the river. Some floated, others sank, pulled under by the rippling current. Better to leave as little of a visual trail as possible. No sign of his goggles or his helmet, nor his datapad. Unfortunate; he'd have liked to make sure they didn't fall into enemy hands. Nothing he could do about that now, though.

He crawled to his knees, waited for the dizziness to pass. He should find a stick to use for stability. There was nothing here next to the river bank, though further up he could see branches at the bases of trees. If he could get to them.

Standing didn't prove to work so well, so he settled for crawling, murderous as it was on the fracture in his arm. The V-wings circled further west, then north. Away from him, for the moment, and his sparse cover beneath the trees.

He sat heavily on a gnarled patch of roots, tried to catch his breath. A branch to act as a crutch, then follow the river downstream. Eventually he should run into a mining camp; they were placed all along the rivers according to the maps he’d studied in preparation for the mission. Sand mining for fine lommite deposits. But how to blend in with them like this?

One thing at a time.

He leaned over, felt among the sticks scattered at the base of the tree, regretting being stuck without his goggles and only one functioning eye. His depth perception was flattened, making it hard to judge distance without actually reaching for something (and even then he found his hand touched things sooner or later than expected). Presently he became accustomed to it, or at least learned to compensate, began trying out branches. Too short, too thin, too large, too crooked–there. That one would do.

He had to use the tree's trunk as well as his newly appointed walking stick to stand, spent a few seconds remembering how to steady himself. This was going to be a particularly difficult walk.

Slowly but surely, he began to follow the river.

~*~

In what he estimated to be a kilometer Tech encountered his first signs of a nearby mining camp, though they weren't the signs he expected. It was part of the rail car's wreckage, a section of the track mount, twisted and smashed, sitting on the river bank. It appeared to have landed on a cluster of three speeders that had been parked side by side but were now scattered.

Ahead he heard voices, shouting, panic making them sharp and harsh. He tried to increase his pace, but there was nothing for it; even with the walking stick he was hobbling.

He rounded a turn in the river to find the remains of the rail car scattered over what had been a dredger-excavator but was now merely an enormous wreck spanning the length of the river. Men scrambled over it, helping one another out of the water, working to free those trapped by the car's remains.

For a time all Tech could do was stare. It hadn't occurred to him the rail car might land anywhere that would put others at risk. He'd assumed the chances of it landing on anyone or -thing in particular were too low to be concerned with. He'd assumed—

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

Tech blinked, tried to focus on the blob moving towards him. Outer Rim accent. Possibly human. "I am...mobile."

"Barely—ah, taght, lookit yer eye. Okay look we got a transport takin' folks to the infirmary, we'll putcha on it." They moved next to him, guided his good arm around their shoulders. At this range Tech could make out a few features: Pantoran, male, middle-aged.

It took Tech a moment to understand what was happening. This person, a sand miner, thought Tech was one as well. The reason why became clear a moment later: many of the sand miners were dressed in wetsuits not unlike Tech’s blacks. Heavier material, but at a glance it would be difficult to notice any appreciable difference. Certainly not something someone would be concerned with while workers were showing up half-dead or trapped and potentially drowning in the river.

"Thank you," Tech said, wincing.

"Is there more of this bashanks upstream? Was kinda hoping it was just this one."

Tech needed to capitalize on the Pantoran's assumptions as quickly as possible. A severe head injury leading to amnesia would work well.

"Yes. There was...a door, of some sort, I think. Parts of," he shifted his working eye to the smashed rail car, “one of those. Perhaps this one.”

The Pantoran eyed him. "You think?" He scanned Tech, sighed. "Right, your head. Taght, I bet you don't even know your serial number."

Tech winced. "...I'm not sure." He'd need to hear one before he could make one up. And he needed a datapad to slice the records as soon as he could find one.

One thing at a time.

The Pantoran sighed. "Don't worry about it. You're not the first TBI we ever had, won’t be the last, especially not today. Gonna be a whole taghtas lot more. The docs'll sort you. Name's Yish, by the way. Yish-aqqa."

The Pantoran’s use of curse words from what Tech could only assume was a cultural pidgin or dialect had him working longer than usual to understand what he was saying. "Yish. Thank you, for the assistance." He needed a name. But what to use?

"No problem big guy. Bettin’ you’re hazy on yours."

A convenient excuse he latched onto. “...yes.”

Yish sighed. “Eh, just give it a few. Let’s getcha on the shuttle.”

The confusion of shapes continued to rush by as Yish helped Tech to the transport, which was already half full with wounded sand miners. Most were in a condition similar to Tech; they winced in sympathy at whatever his eye looked like.

"Can you fucking believe this?" he heard one mutter to another. "Bad enough they got us mining the river while they blast upstream, now they're dropping these useless rail cars on us. They could just run air skiffs."

Another murmured, "Skiffs can't hold the weight. Takes too many." She was holding a bacta patch to her neck.

Yish got him settled, said, “Take care if I don’t see ya back at the camp.”

“You...too.”

“Remember your name yet?”

Tech considered that question. “Ace,” he said, trying it out. “Yes, that sounds correct.”

“Ace eh? Nice of your parents, bein’ up front with their expectations and all.”

“Indeed. Thank you again.”

Yish clapped him on his good shoulder, hustled out of the transport when someone elbowed past him. That person knelt next to Tech. "Hey. Let's look at this eye."

Tech tried to focus on them, saw a familiar logo: a medic. He allowed them to move his head. "Guessing your eyewear got smashed into your face."

"I believe so."

"You weren't conscious?"

"No. I do not...recall what happened. Only that I woke up on the river bank." All reasonably true, to an extent.

They sighed. "Gonna be a lot of that today, so don't sweat it." A pause, then, "Okay, there's a shard of transparisteel in your eye, gotta let the surgeons do that. I can get these pieces out of your skin and the zygomatic bone. Gonna use some local and get to it."

Transparisteel in his eye. If his cornea was punctured that didn’t bode well for restoration of function. But he couldn’t do anything about that for the moment. "Understood."

More than a few of the miners around Tech were regarding him with equal parts horror and fascination. It occurred to him that, though this sort of procedure had been common in the war–for him to perform or witness being performed–to them it might not be. His calm was possibly unnerving. He had to keep that in mind.

The medic was, if nothing else, skilled at their task. Tech couldn't see what was happening, only felt the occasional pinch and pull. Once they were done they bound his head in a large bacta patch.

"Droids'll get the rest." They patted him on the shoulder, got up, moved on.

"Thank you," he said after them, thought perhaps they raised their hand in acknowledgment.

Next to him someone said, "Ain't that a bitch? They give you protective eyewear and then it takes out your eye."

Tech made a low sound in response. "I am alive, at least." Which he couldn't, he suspected, say for at least some of the miners outside.

His neighbor grunted an agreement. "Would love to give whoever did this a fucking piece of my mind. And my claws."

Tech grimaced. The irony that he was, if not ultimately at fault, at least involved, sat heavy in his mind. "Sadly I expect this was simply another mistake on the...on their part." It occurred to him he didn't know how restrictive commentary on the Empire was in locations like this, and that he needed to be careful.

"Probably," they muttered. Tech tilted his head for a better look: a Bothan. "Not even the first time this has happened."

"It's not?"

"No, word is one of these stupid things—actually, two of them—fell on a site to the northwest. Where they're blasting for the bigger deposits. Killed a half-dozen."

"Unsurprising," Tech murmured. Of course Tarkin would wring every last resource out of his own planet, count the lives of workers and inhabitants as the cost of doing business.

The entry ramp shut. Someone leaned out from the cockpit. "Hang on folks."

The shuttle rocked, slowly began to ascend. To go by the whine in the port thruster the engines were in bad need of tuning.

Tech laid the right side of his head on his knees, let out a slow breath. First the infirmary. After that a datapad.

Then, hopefully, he could get off this planet and reunite with the squad.

~*~

They weren’t in the air long. Tech tried to track their position through the windows, but the pain in his head and sheer exhaustion of surviving proved too much. Triangulating based on the angle of the planet’s star and the shadows slid from his mental grasp.

The shuttle rocked unevenly, the engines shut down, the ramp opened. Two medics joined the pair who’d ridden with them, bringing a rack of repulsorlift stretchers.

The medic who’d assisted Tech stood up in the front of the shuttle. “Alright, listen up!” they shouted. The muttering on the shuttle collapsed into silence. “Anyone who can walk without assistance, go ahead and get yourself to the intake droids. Anyone who can’t, stay put, we’re getting you on a lift.”

Around Tech miners began to stand. He braced himself, started to follow suit, only to stop as a hand landed on his shoulder. One of the medics who’d just come in loomed over him; an older human man with silvering, curly, black hair and dark gold skin.

“Oh no you don’t. Not with that head injury. Sit your ass down.”

Tech didn’t find it hard to comply. Some indeterminate amount of time later the medic took him under the arm. “Alright, here we go.”

It was nearly impossible for Tech to move under his own power; he had to let them do most of the work. Unsurprising, he supposed, though also a problem. He needed to stay conscious long enough to get a datapad, hear a serial number. Slice himself in...

The medic scanned him as the lift slowly carried Tech out of the shuttle. He winced as they encountered daylight, turned his head, squeezed his eyes shut. Pain broke through the local anesthetic and lanced through the left one, forcing them both open again. He set his teeth against it.

“Fracture in the left orbital. Definitely a concussion. No intercranial bleed. Transparisteel in the left cornea.” He swept at his datapad, gestured to a medical droid. It shuffled over, took the edge of the lift in hand.

“Take him to O-6. Medium-high priority unless he worsens. Observation before and after treatment.” The droid nodded, began shuffling Tech towards an indistinct shape in the distance. Portable medical units, perhaps; boxy shuttled which could have the landing gear fully retracted and the sides fully opened to connect them into something resembling a proper facility. Cheaper than building one, easier to move. Not as well outfitted, however.

Tech couldn’t really make out much as the droid directed him to the medical unit. This would make getting his hands on a datapad difficult. Unless...

“Is there a...communal, or public use terminal? Or unit?”

The medical droid’s eyelights flickered. “I can obtain one for your use once surgery is complete.”

So, his idea had merit. “Not...before?”

“In your deteriorated state it is unlikely you could operate it effectively.”

This would have been true of many other people. But not him. “Using it might...jog my memory. Of my serial number. Which would make many things easier...for you. Yes?”

The droid parsed this response. “Very well.”

They entered one of the large, hazy shapes, turning the harsh daylight into equally harsh overhead lighting. The raw, pungent smell of bacta intermingled with antiseptics and cleaning agents. Tech willed his stomach to calm down, found it extraordinarily difficult.

The droid halted his lift in a line of similar lifts, all occupied save the last two. As the droid hooked him up to the monitoring equipment a doctor and another droid came into view.

“What’ve we got here,” a soft, raspy voice murmured. They were small, barely more than a meter and a half tall, their long, pointed head faintly black and rust-red against the dull white-gray of their surgical scrubs. The droid next to them chirped. “Ah, yes, there it is—glass in the cornea and zygomatic bone, some of it out, need to scan for smaller fragments, repair the fracture...” They hopped up on top of the droid, peered down at the left side of Tech’s head. He felt gloved fingers prodding here and there.

“Eyewear did this, I’m guessing.”

“Yes.”

“Nasty. What sort?”

They’d be able to verify anything he said against the piece in his eye. He couldn’t risk being caught lying. “Quadranium-treated transparisteel in tungsten carbide rings.”

The doctor guffawed. “Oh, you’re practically blind without them, aren’t you? Ha. Well then. Cornea’s not leaking, so we’ll get to you in a minute here. My droids have a few compound fractures to finish on, some nerves to sew up.” They hopped back off their droid, headed back down the line of lifts.

The droid which had brought him in resumed setting up the equipment. An IV drip of fluids, leads on his chest and temple. It then shuffled away, leaving Tech to wonder if droids could forget things. Would it still bring the datapad?

He sighed, listened to the soft report of his heart rate. He couldn’t see any of the readouts, unfortunately. The miner immediately next to him was unconscious, patches all over their arms and legs. Burns, possibly—he wondered if there’d been an explosion when the rail car landed.

The droid appeared on his right. “As requested,” it said, placed a familiar, bulky shape in his hand. “Leave it on the lift when you are done.”

“Thank you,” Tech said. The droid nodded once, shuffled away.

He gripped the datapad, brought it up close to his right eye so he could squint enough to read the text. A public account on a general network adjacent to the settlement’s primary holonet access and local intranet. Sufficient for his purposes.

Keeping an ear open for the head surgeon and their droids, he got to work.

~*~

By the time it was his turn with the operating droids Tech had been able to slice himself into the registry as a relatively new employee, a technician and surveyor. That would help account for his placement during the accident should it come up. He was careful, giving himself only enough credits to purchase a basic datapad, some new clothes, and a pair of goggles from the commissary, once he had access to it. Anything more would be noticed by the actuarial subroutines and flagged.

As they set up the droids, the surgeon asked, “So, can you afford a prosthetic, for the eye?”

Tech shook his head, regretted the motion. The local from before was wearing off. “No. I can barely afford to replace my clothes.”

A grunt of acknowledgment, perhaps sympathy as well. “Did you want me to leave the eye in, then?”

See ya around, Brown Eyes.

His chest ached at the memory of Phee’s voice. No, he couldn’t think about that right now. “Yes, please.”

The surgeon nodded. “Optical nerve’s in good shape, so, if you do decide to get one, you should have full functionality restored.”

“That is good to know.”

They leaned in far enough that Tech could finally see they were a Ranat. He felt a familiar pinch at his neck. “There’s your relaxers. Have a good nap, I probably won’t see you in recovery.”

“Thank you,” he said. The surgeon waved a gloved hand at him, hopped off their droid.

“Alright, let’s get to work you buckets-a-bolts.” The Ranat’s darker shape moved among a handful of others that gleamed dull silver or muted bronze under the hospital lights.

The room slowly faded into obscurity.

~*~

Tech came to in the gradual manner of low-grade general sedatives, reality slowly reassembling itself in phases. After several minutes of observing the comings and goings of the Ranat surgeon and their droids he became aware enough of his situation to sit up, raised a hand to his left eye. A small bacta bandage had been placed over it, precisely cut. He could feel some stitching underneath, wondered when he’d have a chance to properly view the results.

They’d removed his blacks, no doubt thrown them away, replaced them with a nondescript, beige jumpsuit. A few new surgical scars here and there indicated where the droids had made other repairs; most of these had already been resealed, possibly with one of the bacta sealants he knew they kept on job sites. Overall, he felt significantly improved, if groggy and in need of a shower.

A medical droid approached; a different one than had shown him in, though the same model. He took up the datapad, rolled back the various changes which had let him slice himself an identity, logged out of the system.

“Employee S/T-66A20-L4. You have been cleared by the surgeon and may return to work.”

“I will require new equipment and clothing first.”

“The commissary can provide these things. You have been assigned to Site 332. Please report to your supervisor within three hours.”

Which he could not be doing under any circumstances. “Understood,” he said, carefully climbed out of the lift. He was a little wobbly, though he could walk. A staff or cane might not be a bad idea for the time being. “Is there a cane or similar mobility aid?”

“The commissary can provide that as well.”

“And...how am I to reach the commissary when I am unable to see or walk unassisted?”

The droid’s eyelights flickered. Scanning him, possibly. “This way.”

The solution was nothing more elaborate than a droid-operated cart which had other, similarly disabled or low-mobility workers. A few of them nodded their heads in a greeting; a Rodian winced at the sight of the patch on his eye.

“That from the car that came down?”

Tech nodded, grabbed the seat as the cart lurched into motion. A woman sitting next to him set a hand on his shoulder to stabilize him.

“Heard it was bad,” she said, frowning. Her pale skin was smudged with lommite dust, her long black hair bound in tight braids.

“It was. I am not certain about deaths, but there were dozens of injuries.”

“Four,” someone else muttered. The Rodian’s snout curled.

“Four. Because they want to use those fucking contraptions instead of pay for shuttles.”

Tech grimaced. “So it would seem.”

The woman licked her lips, glanced among the other workers. She leaned forward. “I heard it was an attack.”

The Rodian blinked, starry eyes whirling. Tech stilled.

“A what? Not those rock huggers again.”

The woman shook her head. “Partisans.” Another furtive glance among the others, who were either ignoring them or listening intently, “They say the compound got hit pretty hard.”

The others were now looking at him. Tech blinked slowly. “We...were not far from there, I suppose, though I...” He frowned, winced as it irritated his eye. Touching his head, he added, “I do not remember seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary before the door fell on me. But, that is not a surprise.”

All of them followed the motion to his eye. No one seemed to doubt his explanation. If anything, it was taken as further proof.

A voice to Tech’s left asked, “Were they caught?”

The woman shrugged. “Who knows. Saw a lot of those fighters roaming around—so maybe not.”

Tech had to stop himself from saying, ‘V-Wings’, only just managed it. The cart lurched to a stop. The pit droid controlling it chirped out their destination, though Tech could already see the brilliant, orange Aurebesh of ‘COMMISSARY’ on a large sign above the series of portable units where they’d stopped. With the Rodian’s help he climbed down.

“Thank you,” he said. The Rodian waved at him.

“No worries. See ya around.”

With any luck, you will not, Tech thought. “And you,” he said, then slowly made his way into the rambling building. It was moderately busy, though not so much that he felt crowded or overwhelmed.

First order of business: a staff. Second, eyewear. Third, a datapad. Nothing fancy; he didn’t want to attract attention and could upgrade whatever he received.

A pit droid ambled up to him. “Can I be of assistance?”

Tech glanced around. Some of the workers were being assisted by droids, others were not. He wouldn’t look out of the ordinary having one aid him, then. “Yes. I require a walking staff, or a cane, replacement eyewear, and a datapad.” He glanced down at his infirmary-provided ‘basics’. “And some clothing.”

The droid’s lights flickered. “This way!”

The selection for staffs was a bit more than he’d expected, though it did make sense: this was a mountainous area, and surveyors in more treacherous areas would suffer fewer injuries if they had access to the right hiking equipment. Light-weight, collapsible walking staffs were arguably one of the cheapest options. A small miracle Tech wouldn’t argue with.

The eyewear was less ideal. He had to settle for the correct lenses in a broad, wrap-around style with a rigid frame rather than the goggles he was used to. This was necessary to accommodate the patch on his eye. Imperfect, but he would see now out of his right eye, so a significant improvement regardless.

The clothing options were utilitarian and plain, nothing Tech could argue against. Gray work pants, a black thermal shirt, and a decently hefty jacket in dark brown hide. This left the datapad and any tools he wanted to purchase with the remains.

“This is our current selection. If you wait until tomorrow, another shipment is due from the Core.”

“No waiting,” Tech said, not for the first time. He scanned the options. “This one.”

The droid spun its single lens. “Are you certain? It is lower functionality than the VN series. You are a Level IV Technician, which suggests—”

“I prefer to upgrade my own equipment. Regardless, I cannot afford a VN.”

“You could use the lay-away program. With your—”

“No thank you. The K2 will be fine.” He peered at the upgrades. “Please add two of the YH series memory modules.”

The droid’s lights flickered. “As ordered.” It rolled around behind the counter, pulled out three small, nondescript boxes, added them to the little cart holding Tech’s new clothes. “Will this be all?”

“I will require some tools. How much do I have left?”

“Fifteen hundred forty-six.”

Not much, but it would get him started. He walked to the large wall, scanned the options. A spanner for certain, though not a fancy one, a portable soldering iron. A work knife—not as good as his vibroblade, but better than nothing.

“This leaves you with four hundred fifteen.”

Tech nodded. “Then I believe I must stop there.” The droid’s lens whirled. It guided the cart to the checkout line, where another droid input his ID and scanned everything in the cart.

“Thank you for visiting the commissary!” the pit droid chirped. Tech believed he now understood why some of the workers avoided them.

The new datapad allowed him to locate the showers, which did cost money to use but afforded him a modicum of privacy in the form of a small bathroom stall. They were sonics—no chance Tarkin was spending money on water showers for workers—yet even that would be a significant improvement. First, though, he took stock.

The bacta patch on his eye covered anything he would have wanted to see. No medical attachment on this datapad yet; he needn’t wait on that. Signs of bruising and swelling which had been reduced by the larger patch he’d worn on the transport shuttle lingered; he could see a stitched head wound around the back left side of his scalp. Surgical scars on the arm which had been fractured; more on his legs, one at his abdomen. Ruptured spleen, perhaps? He would need to slice into the infirmary’s medical records.

The eye was his largest concern. Piloting and shooting were going to be vastly more difficult without it. He was also at significantly higher risk of being caught unawares. Though the surgeon had been optimistic about a prosthetic, Tech had to wonder. It could be several rotations before that was an option, assuming he could even find anywhere safe to have it done.

He could feel frustration building, bringing with it anxiety. He had no idea where the squad was, realistically could only hope they’d made it out as he’d intended.

Breathe.

Crosshair’s voice from a memory; an old trick they’d come up with they’d been younger and Tech was prone to becoming overwhelmed.

Breathe. Observe. Evaluate. Plan. Act.

He took in a deep breath, let it out. He needed off Eriadu. Going straight to Pabu wasn’t an option. Ord Mantell was, however. Cid owed him. Assuming he could find an outbound ship and get onto it without being caught, he could slice his way to Ord Mantell. Things would be easier at that point.

A rudimentary plan in place, Tech got to work cleaning himself up.

Chapter Text

~*~

Tech’s timeframe for getting himself onto a departing ship was short. Much of his three hour grace period to showing up at the job site had been eaten up getting himself sorted at the commissary and in the showers, leaving him with only an hour and change. This limited his choices to those which were, in a word, unfavorable.

Two were clearly spice runners. He had no interest in being shipped off to Kessel, so they were out of the question. (Setting aside how their prior run-in with the Pykes might not have been forgotten, and could easily put him afoul of the Durands.) One was a general purpose smuggler, which meant he was much more likely to be caught stowing away.

The final choice was a bacta hauler, or what was labeled as a bacta hauler. It didn’t take much digging around in the ship’s manifests to determine it was actually a lommite and kyrium smuggling outfit. They brought in kyrium, probably from Kijimi since it was relatively accessible to Eriadu via the Hydian Way, took out lommite skimmed from the primary hauls. So, someone with connections in the upper management of one or more camps. A cartel ship. But which one?

Kijimi didn’t really tell him much in that regard; it was a largely ungoverned planet, with numerous crime organizations and petty criminal powers constantly jockeying for the top spots. Anyone from Black Sun to a newly formed coalition of lesser criminals was a possibility.

“Hey, Ace! There ya are.”

The proximity of the voice was what actually caught Tech’s attention, not the name. He looked up, turned his head to orient his right eye towards the sound, saw a Pantoran approaching. Yish-aqqa, from the crash site.

Now that Tech could focus on him, he saw that Yish was probably middle-aged, or close to it. Not young, as Tech had initially thought. Tech raised a hand in greeting, shifted further so his right eye would be facing towards Yish with a wider view around them.

He was now familiar enough with the settlement’s uniforms that he recognized Yish’s clothing as that of an Operator Mechanic: a lightweight, durable wetsuit under looser overalls with numerous patch pockets and a utility belt. The color of the badge clipped at his waist suggested he was Level III, though Tech knew the color rankings varied between the professions (for unknown reasons which Tech found highly inefficient).

“Looks like they gotcha sorted.” Yish’s focus switched to Tech’s left eye. “Ah, mostly.”

Tech moved to allow Yish space to sit on the bench next to him (on his right), made a face. “I cannot afford a prosthetic just yet. I imagine I will be some time in working up to that. Assuming I can.”

“Yeah the eye and hearing implants, bashanks’ expensive. A lot of people I know never bother.” He settled, gave Tech a once over. His attention latched onto the pale orange badge at Tech’s waist. He blinked. “Woah, wait, you’re a Tech IV?” His eyebrows gathered. “The hell were you doing all the way out on the river?”

“Technician Surveyor,” Tech explained. He was glad to see his time spent studying the various job descriptions had not, in fact, been a waste. “I was tasked with determining the lommite levels available in the banks and caves upstream of the dig site, and downstream of the blasting.”

“A nice, cushy job, eh?”

“Since they began detonations, it has been decidedly less so.”

Yish grunted, rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Heard a few surveyors got caught in a landslide a few weeks ago.”

“That was before my arrival, though, I am unsurprised to hear it. They are being somewhat imprudent in their use of explosives to reach additional deposits. Scanning may take longer, but comes with less of a cost in personnel.”

As he spoke Yish watched him, and Tech couldn’t help but feel like he was being examined somehow. Well, if he was, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Eh, they don’t give a taght about that,” Yish said, waving a hand dismissively. “Surprised they still keep up with the medical, to be honest. Won’t be shocked if they start short-changing us there too.”

“An unfortunate possibility.” Tech tapped his datapad, tried to think of something innocuous and expected to say. “In such a case, if I am to replace my eye, it may need to be sooner rather than later. Though I am unsure I can earn such funds in enough time.”

Yish shrugged. “As a Tech IV? You just might. You’ll get a decent profit share compared to a II or a III.” He tilted his head. “If ya don’t mind me asking, where were you before here?”

“Eroudac.”

“Aaaaah, Quadranium mining? Yeah, that’d get you to a IV real quick, you know, if you don’t get killed going around the Gandolixium right next to it.”

“Precisely,” Tech said, and though he had no such experience, the squad’s near-disastrous experience on Ipsidon was a suitable stand-in. “It was a rather unforgiving environment which I do not in all honesty miss.”

“Well.” Yish raised his hands. “At least Eriadu’s nice, once you’re out in the woods.”

“It is indeed. Mountainous, with a great deal of vertical variability.”

Yish stared at him, burst into laughter a second later. “Yeah, I guess—I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Tech nodded, glanced back at his datapad. Not done breaking through the encryption. He backgrounded the process, pulled up some site and survey plans for the camp he had theoretically been assigned to.

Yish tilted his head, peered at Tech. “So, about that accident.”

Tech flicked a glance up at him, back to the datapad. “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help but notice. Your wet suit. It was real thin.”

Tech paused, fingers hovering mid-swipe. This could prove problematic, depending on what Yish was after: money, or something less concrete.

Tech lowered his datapad, said nothing, simply gave Yish a level look, which Yish returned unflinchingly. Yish continued, “More like a thermal layer for armor.”

Tech raised his eyebrows. “You are familiar with armor dress protocols?”

Yish licked his lips. “I seen a few of the troopers when they bring ‘em through here. And the clones, before them.”

Tech nodded thoughtfully. “Mmmm. Interesting. Well of course I only had what I was given upon landing.” Which was completely true. “Perhaps it was the foreman’s idea of a joke.”

Yish stared at him for several long, tense seconds. Finally he barked a laugh. “Wow, you’re not giving up bashanks, are you?”

No indeed, he was not. “I do not have much to give up.” He held out his hands. “Everything I currently own is right here.” It was as tacit of an admission as he was willing to give. Presumably as a worker he would have a locker and a bunk somewhere in one of the barracks-like living areas, but of course Tech didn’t have that, hadn’t bothered slicing in that information.

Yish seemed to take the hint, scratched at his chin. “Huh. Well. Enjoy site, uh, which one was it?”

“I had not said. But it is Site 332.”

“Ah, yeah, grid 56.”

Tech found people attempting to be wrong as a trick to be no different than people being wrong in any other circumstances. “Grid 12, actually.”

Yish smiled, crooked and sly, shook his head. “Man. S/T IV? You coulda put yourself down as a site chief and anyone woulda bought it, ‘cept they all know one another.” He got up, dusted himself off. “Since I’m probably not gonna see you around much, take care, yeah?”

“You as well Yish.” After a pause, he added, “Thank you.”

Yish waved a hand carelessly as he walked away, ambling towards a food cart. Tech watched him go, lost sight of him in the press of workers heading to their next shift.

Tech glanced at his datapad. Just about done breaking into the bacta hauler’s passenger manifest. Given how difficult it was proving, this was certainly a cartel ship, possibly even one taking ‘passengers’. Now he just had to get himself on board.

~*~

By the time Tech had made his way to the dock he was done getting into the passenger manifest and had added himself. It was a tricky affair; whoever was running network security on the ship was fairly skilled. Not skilled enough to keep him out, though possibly skilled enough to catch him. He had to be careful, tailor his record with more nuance than he might normally employ.

The ship in question was a Barloz-class freighter, its tapered nose giving way to the broad, blocky body common in the older Corellian ships which predated the YT series. Age not-withstanding, it appeared well-maintained save for a few off-color hull panels which had yet to be repainted. The cargo ramps were already shut and the loading droids nowhere in sight, meaning it was just the dead head passengers left to get on board. He’d timed this well, with minimal exposure.

Tech stowed his employment badge, made sure everything he had was secure, joined the other passengers in line to be scanned. There were enough of them he estimated some of them would be riding in the cargo hold on cots. Possibly the more expensive spaces came with a cabin.

A gruff looking pair of Kage guards were scanning everyone for tracking implants, glancing at their datapads, going through any bags or cases. Nominal checks, which probably meant failure to behave on the flight resulted in being spaced. He would need to watch out for trouble.

Tech swapped his datapad’s active system to the backup partition which made it appear far less capable than it was. He’d never engaged in this sort of subterfuge before, had decided it might be prudent until he could get himself somewhere safe and secure. Sure enough, when it came his turn, the security guards poked at his datapad, examined his staff, patted him down, scanned his arms for the non-existent tracker he might have on him. One of them frowned at his arm scars.

Neural uplinks, Tech realized. Well, he needed to put that out of their minds immediately. He raised a finger to point at his left eye, explained, “Job site accident.”

The two Kage exchanged a look. One shrugged, the other nodded at the ramp behind them. “You’re in the hold. Seating’s first come first serve.”

“Thank you,” Tech said, accepting his datapad back and making his way onto the ship. He moved slowly and with exaggerated care, both to help his cover and to give himself time to examine everything and everyone else.

The passengers who’d paid for the cabins seemed obvious enough: there was a dusky rose-skinned Mirialan traveling with two human assistants, or possibly body guards; a Weequay whose clothing, though non-descript, seemed far too well made for this mode of travel; and a Trandoshan carrying a small, metal-sided case which was attached to his wrist via a complex lock and restraining wire.

Hearing some of the other passengers catch up to him, Tech made a modest effort to speed up. The loading ramp placed him between the cargo hold and the crew deck; another security guard, this one Bothan, nodded him towards the hold.

As he’d expected, the cargo had been pushed to the aft of the ship and lashed down to make space for a series of simple cots bolted to the walls. Further inspection revealed they could be quickly removed with the application of a spanner, suggesting passengers were an added source of income when they had the room. Tech chose a spot in one corner, allowing him maximum security, settled in to watch the rest board.

The cargo passenger section didn’t fill entirely. This was also good for him; an inexact count would be harder for them to detect at a glance. They’d need to reconcile from backups, at which point he should be off the ship and one step closer to his destination: Ord Mantell.

~*~

Nothing untoward happened on the flight, which went some way to easing Tech’s nerves. He was able to sell his badge to a Bothan trade goods smuggler looking to head back to Eriadu after his current leg was done.

As he handed over the badge for a decent sum of credits (in his personal estimation), Tech said, “I must warn you, the record this is tied to may be marked as absent by the time you make use of it.”

The Bothan shook his head. “That’s fine, I got a friend who can slice it to something else. This,” they flicked the badge, “is way harder to fake. They use that special chip and everything.”

Tech tilted his head. “Interesting.”

The Bothan tucked the badge away. “If you got more of these, look me up, yeah?” They moved deeper into the passenger compartment, to a cot at the back with a handful of other Bothans sitting on sturdy crates. Tech had watched them board out of the corner of his eye. Kyrium, perhaps, given the warnings and markings.

Tech mused over the transaction. A fake ID market for bypassing Imperial security protocols and smuggling goods. He filed that away for later, resettled himself on his cot. Two more hours in hyperspace, according to his chronometer.

~*~

Landing was a simple enough process; unlike boarding the ship, they had little interest in checking anyone for anything. They simply wanted them off as quickly as possible so they could begin unloading their cargo.

Tech made his way down the ramp, paused at the dock exit to glance over his datapad. He’d identified a possible ag transport he could take to Warlentta, from which a flight to Ord Mantell was feasible. Expensive, but feasible. An ag hauler wouldn’t be hard to slice onto, as they were constantly taking on and dropping off workers at various sites. Easy enough to claim to be a machinery technician or similar.

He waited for the most of the other passengers to file past him, merged in with them at a steady pace. He was just about to the rail line when he realized he was being followed.

They were careful, hanging back, engaging in anything except watching him. He only became suspicious when he paused to buy himself a drink and a ration bar and noticed them in the reflection of the droid serving him: the Mirialan and his two body guards. The former was a little shorter than Tech, lanky in the way of someone still growing into their adult body. His blue-black hair was bound in a braided bun, and he wore garish outfit that appeared to straddle that nigh impossible line between comfortable, practical, and fashionable (or, what Tech assumed was meant to be fashionable, by someone’s standards somewhere), which implied ‘expensive’. The tattoos on his forehead and cheeks, by what Tech could recall of Mirialan culture, suggested someone skilled in technology. The guards, a pair of human women, were more simply dressed and armed, one taller and one shorter, professional in bearing as well as plain black and gray attire.

Their presence could have been a coincidence, yet when Tech took the rail line to the organics shipping end of the port, they did as well. What would a man with two bodyguards be doing in the organics shipping sector? Nothing. Except maybe looking for an easy score, like a man blind in one eye, using a walking staff.

Tech expected them to close in on him after he exited the car, so he needed to pick the location well. If he was lucky, he could catch them unawares, disarm one of them for a weapon to deal with the other two. Of course, he was still recovering, and the guards didn’t look like cheap mercenaries. He might need to settle for using the Mirialan against them.

He made his way from the rail station, glancing down at his datapad as he went, staying near other people. It took him a handful of minutes to find a building with an appropriate alley and intersection, though at least he was able to keep himself pointed towards his destination to avoid suspicion. Another handful of steps, then he clipped his datapad to his belt, stepped around a vendor selling overly aromatic roasted vegetables on sticks, and slipped into the alley. Two meters down were two doors facing one another, both on security systems he’d already sliced into. He left one sitting cracked open, just a sliver, ducked into the other and stood flush to the wall. He shut it, flagged it as locked in the system. Then he waited, monitoring the alley through a security camera feed.

A half-minute later he saw his pursuers pause at the entrance to the alley. Through the door he could hear them, their voices muffles.

“Where’d he go?” That was the Mirialan. On the grainy security footage one of the guards peered into the alley.

“Two doors down here—one looks open.” The guards moved forward, blasters drawn, steps cautious. The Mirialan trailed close behind, glancing back at the main street. He faced the door Tech was hiding behind, scanned it with a rather high-end datapad. A slicer, possibly. Interesting.

“This one’s still locked.” He turned to the open door. “Not that one though.”

One of the guards stepped forward, nudged the door open with her foot. She clicked on a light, panned it over the room beyond: a warehouse of some variety, a maze of crates and palettes obscuring sight beyond a few meters.

The Mirialan sighed. “Let me see if I can get into the security system,” he said, brought up his datapad. The two guards stepped forward so they had a better view into the building.

Which was when Tech eased open the door, extended his staff, and gave the Mirialan a glancing blow to his temple. The guards spun but didn’t fire, having no clear shot. Their charge staggered back into Tech, flailing; Tech braced the staff across him, pinning his arms, pulled the slicer’s blaster from its holster, held it to his head. As his left eye was non-functional, he was able to keep most of his head safely behind the Mirialan’s, save for just enough clearance to see with his right eye.

Tech said, “Drop your weapons and kick them to me.” The taller of the two guards narrowed her eyes at him. The Mirialan laughed, tense, afraid.

“You’re fucking crazy, they’re not doing that.”

“They are, or you die. The math is not complex.”

“Wh—you kill me, they’ll kill you.”

“If I kill you, your employer will kill them, regardless of my status.” The smaller guard swallowed, nearly vibrating in place with anger. Well, Tech couldn’t blame her; he had orchestrated a no-win situation for them.

The Mirialan sighed, sagged against Tech. “Just, fucking—do it.”

The guards exchanged glances, set their blasters down, kicked them towards Tech. He waited, expression impassive. The tall one’s lip curled in annoyance. With a look for her partner, she pulled a second holdout blaster. The shorter guard sighed, produced a small baton. These soon clattered to his feet as well.

“Back up,” Tech said, jerking his head towards the alley’s entrance. They complied, hands raised. Once they were a good two meters from their weapons Tech shoved the Mirialan at them, stepped forward so he was on top of the blasters and baton.

The Mirialan stumbled, was caught by one of the guards. He turned and laughed, nervous and high-pitched. “Eeeeeasy big guy. We were just impressed with your work.” He checked his forehead, winced. “Guess that’s why they don’t have you traveling with a guard.”

Tech watched the guards watching him. They were calculating the likelihood they could rush him, which was why he was still aiming at the slicer under their protection. “To whom are you referring?”

The guards shared an amused glance. The Mirialan peered at Tech. “Your—you know, your employer.”

“I am not currently an employee of anyone save myself.”

The Mirialan’s head jerked back. “Really.” He looked back at the guards, who both shrugged. He gave Tech a once-over. “So, you’re not someone’s slicer.”

Tech paused, considered the three of them. He supposed it made sense, as assumptions went. “No. And since that was your line of thought, am I to assume you are under such employ?” He thought through the implications further. If his guess about the ship was correct—that it belonged to Black Sun—their demeanors didn’t track with those of people looking for some payback. Thus, “Perhaps the Eye?”

The Mirialan beholder—for that was what he had to be, an Eldritch Eye slicer—grinned. “You got that right.” He gestured at Tech. “I kinda assumed, you getting yourself on and off that ship without them catching on, you were on a similar kinda job.”

So, the freighter had been a Black Sun ship, which Eldritch Eye was pirating under their noses in a manner similar to Tech’s own methodology. The Bothans, in all likelihood—this slicer and his guards had been sent to ensure they weren’t caught, or could escape if found out. Fascinating and amusing in equal parts. Also, perhaps, useful. “The only job I am engaged in at present is obtaining passage to a preferred location.”

“Which I have to assume isn’t,” the Mirialan spread his arms, “here.”

“It is not.”

The Mirialan clapped his hands together. “Well, maybe we can work something out. Just so happens my people have a lot of ships heading out of here. We could get you somewhere.”

Though the guards kept close watch on Tech’s blaster, he could see their demeanor was becoming less tense, more relaxed. The situation had become marginally less hostile, begun approaching a standard negotiation.

Tech allowed himself to relax the smallest fraction in turn. “In exchange for?”

“Well, money, obviously, but since you pulled some pretty amazing slicing to get yourself off Eriadu I’m betting that’s not what you’re trading on at present...?”

Tech grimaced. “No.”

The Mirialan grinned. “In that case, maaaaaaybe a little work? Depending on where you want to go.”

His misgivings at being identified as destitute aside, this could prove very useful. Tech would need to be careful, though. He was no spy to lay down machinations and trick people into believing half-truths. It was easier for him to be honest while maintaining a backup plan no one knew about. Thus, “Ord Mantell.”

“Mmmmmm, Black Sun territory. Not easy to get into without getting noticed.” The Mirialan made a face. “Especially not these days.”

“Indeed.” Tech tilted his head. “And yet, I suspect the Eye has their methods, and would not mind sending in a slicer who would be more than happy to provide them with inside work.”

“Now we’re talking. You got a name?”

“Ace.”

“Nothing else?”

He hated to say it, yet it was the truth: “Nothing worth using.”

The Mirialan shrugged, stepped forward, offered his hand. A bit brave in the face of an unwavering blaster, all told. Tech shook it, wary of any last-second attempts by the slicer or his guards. None were forthcoming.

“Jairee,” the Mirialan said. He jerked his head back at the street. “Come on. Let my gals here get their stuff, and let’s take a walk.”

Chapter Text

~*~

Jairee was a mid-level slicer employed by the Eldritch Eye. He warranted two guards despite his modest position due to the nature of his prior assignment: escorting a shipment of pyronium pirated off Eriadu under the nose of the Black Sun’s own lommite smuggling ring. The Bothans were the muscle, Jairee was the brains. All in all, he was quite skilled at it, enough so that he’d noticed Tech adding himself to the passenger manifest.

“I wasn’t sure which person was you until I heard about the ID card,” Jairee admitted around a mouthful of roasted tuber. They’d paused to eat at a food stall on the way towards a dock the Eye had leased out; given the way the guards (named Rocza and Ahbeth) rolled their eyes when Jairee insisted on it, Tech gathered this was something of a habit for him.

Tech sipped from a blended drink, not wanting to be too wrapped up in the requirements of eating food. Though he was reasonably sure he could trust most of what Jairee was saying, he knew it was foolish to let his guard down. The drink was salty and a little sweet, went a long way to easing the hunger that had been plaguing Tech for hours. The two guards drank plain water, eyes scanning the area in casual glances.

Tech allowed that they were in better shape to assess the area for threats, studied Jairee instead. “But you did see me add myself.”

“I saw the manifest change. Took me a bit to track down when and where.” He laughed, shook his head. “Because believe me, I did not want to get caught by the ship’s eclipser. Shit would’ve gotten so messy.”

An understatement of truly galactic proportions. “That it would have.”

Jairee glanced up at him, gave him yet another once over. This time his attention settled on Tech’s left eye, still covered by a bacta patch. “I’m guessing whatever you were up to didn’t go so well.”

Tech tapped on his glass, sending beads of water falling to the tabletop. The failing day was warm and humid here on the southern continent’s coast. No ocean breeze at the moment, either. He’d been expecting this question, pondered how to answer it while they stood in line to order their meal. “It seems my timing for engaging in some information gathering was...poor.” The truth was much easier to tell than any lie, at least for him.

Jairee paused between bites, flicked a glance at the guards, who now looked very interested. “Yeah? You get pinched?”

“No. But someone else had plans of their own of which I ran afoul.” He made a face. “Very literally.”

Rocza bobbed her eyebrows, held out a hand. Ahbeth sighed, handed her a credit. Jairee chuckled, did the same. Tech looked between the three of them, frowning. Jairee said, “We had a bet on what you were up to, how you got messed up. Rocza said it was probably that hit on the compound.”

Tech exchanged a look with Rocza. She was the taller of the two, olive-skinned, brown-haired, with a hawkish nose and dark, severe eyes. She definitely moved like a former soldier of some sort. Logically she would see Tech’s injuries and know them for what they were: someone in the wrong place at the worst possible time. He was glad for having opted to elide the truth rather than lie.

Jairee raised his eyebrows. “Empire’s been keeping a lid on that. Did you see who it was?”

He had, but there was no point in saying that; revealing he knew who Saw Guerra was could be problematic. “They’d stolen trooper armor to wear.” Tech shrugged. “But given the security of that location, the list of suspects cannot be long. I try to steer clear of such concerns.”

Jairee grunted in sympathy. The criminal underworld had no use for the Partisans, except to sell them weapons. “Didya at least get what you were after?”

Drily, Tech said, “I would not have been slicing my way off Eriadu on a Black Sun smuggling ship if I had.”

Ahbeth laughed behind her hand. Smaller than her counterpart, she had tawny skin and dark gold hair framing a round, soft face. She struck Tech as fast and observant, though probably not a former soldier like Rocza. Jairee gave her a Look, to which she paid no attention.

Into this brief interlude Tech asked, “What manner of work would the Eye require in Ord Mantell?”

“Oh, there’s,” Jairee gestured with his fork, “all kinds of shit we need. Imperials showed up a little while back, which really threw a spanner into...”

Tech heard a fraction of anything Jairee said after ‘Imperials’. His mind filled with static, his stomach soured with fear. Surely it was a coincidence.

He dragged himself back to the conversation, focused as best he could. Forced himself to sip from the drink, if only for the caloric intake.

“...it’s a fucking mess down there,” Jairee was saying. “In all honesty, Black Sun’s only half the problem. Soon as the Empire’s idiot brigade began fucking up the holonet it turned into a free-for-all. Everyone from the top level holosec guys to the bargain basement script kiddies is in on it.”

As frustrating as that no doubt was for Jairee, it was good for Tech. It was easier to hide what one was up to as an individual actor in a crowd of them. “So then, an opportunity to slice Imperial intelligence as well.”

Jairee laughed. “Guess I’m not surprised you want another crack at them. I mean, sure, if you think you can do it, but I was more thinking,” he toyed with his hair, flicked his fingers at the busy street beyond, “maybe, get some Black Sun shipping intel, blame a few things on them so the Imperials get up in their business, that kind of thing. If you think you can get us Imperial shit, hell,” he washed down his last bite of tuber with a long drink of water, “that’ll cover your trip and get you some cash.”

“I can.” And he was going to anyways, because if the Empire was on Ord Mantell, his squad was in unbelievable danger.

“Well in that case,” Jairee pulled out his datapad, began swiping at it, “lemme check in with the higher ups, and we’ll get on our way.”

~*~

Ord Mantell was every bit as dicey as Tech remembered, worse now for the Imperial presence crawling all over it. Dread had been eating at him since they’d arrived in orbit and he’d seen the Venators pop up on the sensors. Easy enough to avoid with their sliced credentials, but the question of what awaited him in Cid’s parlor ate at him. Until he had secure holonet access to check the security feeds, he couldn’t be sure.

Jairee swept at the little transport’s co-pilot console. “Can you believe this? Walkers and troopers everywhere.” He sighed. “Sure would love to know what brought on all this heat. Usually Black Sun’s not this dense.”

What indeed. If it even had been Black Sun. Tech hoped so, rather than the (to him) obvious alternative. Anything but that. Anything but that.

Rocza was flying the simple XS freighter Jairee had commandeered from his employers. She was a capable pilot, confirming to Tech that’d she been military in some capacity. Separatist? Local militia defending a Republic garrison, perhaps?

Ahbeth sat next to Tech, strapped in tight. She didn’t seem to enjoy flying in the least, was keeping her eyes off the viewport. By now Tech was reasonably sure she’d been someone’s personal security most of her career. The sort of bodyguard used to flying in larger vessels, well away from the cockpit.

Absently, Tech said, “Perhaps we will find out once we’ve penetrated the Imperial network.”

Jairee mmmm’d. “Yeah, keep an eye out for that.”

Tech intended to.

~*~

They landed on the outskirts of the city, at a dock which in Tech’s estimation was Eldritch Eye secured. Jairee and the guards escorted him to a speeder; from there, they made their way through the manufacturing sector to a small machining plant on the far eastern side of town. Closer to Cid’s than not, though not especially so. Not safely walkable, in his current state, to go by what he saw on the way there.

Imperials, crawling all over. AT-STs, TK troopers, probe droids, the occasional V-Wing passing by overhead in a lazy patrol. Ahbeth avoided most of ground personnel, so Tech caught sight of them only briefly as they crossed alleys or darted through intersections. He recorded all of it on his datapad, as well as their route. Thus far everything seemed on the up and up, but he intended to remain wary at all times. He knew full well that he could only trust Jairee as far as he could throw him. Presently, that wasn’t very far at all.

The plant interior was functional rather than a front, even had some work going on. Parts disassembly, to go by the brief glimpse Tech got of the shop floor on their way to a plain door leading into the other half of the structure. A chop shop for hyperdrives, from what he could tell. Three security guards checked over Tech quite thoroughly on the way in, including a scan of his bacta patch-covered eye and for neural uplinks. Once they were satisfied he and his datapad weren’t a risk, they waved him on through.

“Sorry,” Jairee said. “Since the Imperials showed up, everyone’s on edge.”

“It is understandable.” As much as he hated to be poked and prodded, he couldn’t fault them for raising their security posture.

The hall was a series of doors labeled with obscure Aurebesh codes. Jairee walked to one in particular labeled RH-A2, opened it, stepped inside. A good sign, that Tech wasn’t being asked to go in first. Rocza and Ahbeth followed behind him, and Tech went in last.

It was a simple console room, complete with a full band holonet uplink and secure comm array on a plain desk. Tech had worked with similar on Tipoca City during his training. He sat down at the chair in front of the console, plugged in his datapad.

“Aside from possibly the more obvious things, did you have a specific request?”

Jairee pulled a chair up next to Tech. Unideal; it wouldn’t take him long watching Tech work to realize Tech knew the system too well to not be from inside it. That would raise some questions.

“Security feeds would be great.”

Tech nodded, began setting up a handful of probes and scans. He wondered if it would be possible to socially engineer a way in, it would be ideal to use real credentials, though that was only feasible if there was a reasonable number of personnel on site. So, he needed a roster.

“Anything else?”

“What, are you taking requests?”

Tech looked askance at him, waited. Jairee run a hand through his hair. “Ah, yeah, how about...personnel list, any, current intel they’ve got. On us or Black Sun.”

Much better. “All very feasible. I will need some time though.”

Jairee waved a hand. “Not a problem.” He raised his chin at Rocza. “Let’s get some food for everyone. I’m starving.”

Rocza’s impassive expression spoke volumes to Tech, most of them exasperation. She exchanged a bland look with Ahbeth, went to the door. “Requests?” Jairee said as he hopped to his feet.

Tech shook his head, eyes remaining on his work at the console. He strongly suspected this wasn’t simply a trip to fetch sustenance. “Anything will be fine. Water, to drink.”

“Suit yourself.”

The door shut, leaving him with Ahbeth, who was content to sit with her tablet, half an eye on him and half on whatever she was reading. It was in many ways like back on Kamino during a training exercise, where he’d be left in a room with one supervisor, a datapad, a terminal, and an objective. The stakes were higher and his equipment better, but the framework was the same.

And so he got to work.

~*~

It took Jairee and Rocza close to two hours to obtain the promised food and drinks, which only confirmed to Tech that really they were also attending to other concerns. Nothing came up on any of his feeds in the Black Sun network (the first thing he’d tunneled into once Jairee was out of the room), nor did he see any private communications come in over the link to Ahbeth’s tablet. Whatever they were up to, it didn’t seem to concern him. For the moment.

Jairee brought Tech a simple wrap stuffed with roasted vegetables, a heavy, spicy sauce, and cooked eggs from some reptile or another. It wasn’t entirely to Tech’s taste, but as he’d experienced during the war, hunger was in fact a potent seasoning. He ate it without complaint as he worked through the Imperial holonet while Jairee watched, pulling down reports, security feeds, activity logs. He’d been able to secure access without Jairee present to witness it, claimed someone had fallen for a standard exploit in a mass communication which he’d used to escalate to an appropriate level. Which was what he would have done, if he didn’t already know the internals of the system so well.

Jairee watched the data load onto the console, shook his head. Around a sip from his drink, he said, “You are something else.” He paged through a report, pulled up the list of attached recordings. “This is incredible.” He laughed, fierce, brittle. This was a truer version of himself, Tech thought. First and foremost, Jairee was a predator. “Well, this is fucking fantastic. I figure we can spot you six for all of this. How’s that sound?”

It was, Tech knew, woefully underpriced. Fortunately Jairee wasn’t finished. “Unless, of course, you leave a backdoor for us on the Imperials network. I think I could swing, oh...ten, for that.”

That was an improvement. Tech had already made three such accounts; two for himself, one for them, suspecting it would be requested. “Acceptable.” He set up the credential transfer to the console. “Payment via a private account is preferable to credits, given my current situation.”

Jairee waved a hand. “No worries, we don’t keep currency like that handy here. Some jackass with a blaster and more sand than sense would just try to hold us up every ten minutes.” He pulled out a datacard, loaded it into his datapad, offered it to Tech after a few seconds of tapping.

Tech double-checked the information, nodded, slid it into one of his pockets. “Please do enjoy yourself,” he said, unplugging his datapad and getting up. “The credentials for access are on the console.”

Jairee swung into the chair, typed for a handful of seconds, grinned at the results. “Fucking incredible. Gonna have some fun with this. You need a ride?”

Tech wanted to be gone before Jairee’s plans came to fruition, as it was sure to become chaotic on the local holonet. Hopefully negotiations with Cid went smoothly. “As a matter of fact, I will.” To a spot near Cid’s, but not right at it. He intended to enter overnight, ambush her in the morning.

“I gotcha. Ahby, take ‘im wherever.”

Ahbeth stood, nodded her head at the door for Tech to precede her.

“Thanks again Ace,” Jairee called over his shoulder.

~*~

The speeder ride was brief, Ahbeth following a circuitous route that avoided probes, walkers, and troops as she’d done on their arrival. A small benefit of working with criminals: they had no more desire to be noticed by Imperials than he did. Tech murmured his thanks to her once they arrived; she waved a goodbye, turned a corner, and was gone.

From where she’d left him, in an alley some blocks from the parlor, he could easily walk at a steady pace with minimal visibility from any patrols or security cameras. His first stop, however, was inside an abandoned warehouse nearby, so he could watch the security footage he’d collected while setting up the backdoor accounts. He’d not had enough time to actually read up on any incidents, had decided it would be safer not to once Jairee was watching him again. Now, though, he had privacy—just him and the vermin and insects who’d colonized the rickety shell of a building.

He paused in the doorway: no sound, no movement, at least not at this end. He found an abandoned crate to sit on, pulled up the footage, scanned the incident list. There—an entry for a shuttle fleeing under fire. He used the timestamp to search the data he’d loaded, brought up what was available just before and after that point.

It was warm and close in the confines of the warehouse, yet Tech shivered, chilled to the bone. The sight of Omega being carried onto an Imperial shuttle filled him with a dread he’d never known possible; the Marauder trailing smoke as it limped into the sky left him nauseated. He’d spent every second since Jairee had mentioned Imperial presence on Ord Mantell convincing himself it had to be something else, when in truth, his worst nightmare had been made reality.

He noticed a notation on the report accompanying the feed. The shuttle had escaped into hyperspace.

Relief followed so swiftly on the heels of terror he felt light headed, needed to take several deep breaths. The Marauder had cleared the planet’s gravity well and jumped. His brothers had made it out. But not Omega.

Nausea threatened again. Another slow breath, in, out.

Breathe. Observe.

He rolled the footage back, tracking the route the troopers and Hemlock used to walk Hunter and Wrecker, following it to the source. Cid’s.

A chill shot up his spine. Phee’s voice echoed in his mind: She’s a good ally to have, but I wouldn’t want to cross her.

He’d been concerned when they’d left things with her on a sour note, worried it might come back to haunt them and well aware coming near Ord Mantell would prove a risk. How he hated to be so right, in the worst possible way. That is was Omega who paid the final price only made things worse.

Evaluate.

Cid had sold them out. Or one of her regulars had, though she had few of those, thus she was the most likely candidate. The one who’d gain the most from it, the one who’d be believed given her prior interactions with Jedi.

Plan.

He had two reasons to see her, now. First, to get in contact with someone who could get him out of here. That someone had changed identities, but the goal remained the same. Second and newly added to the list was to have a conversation with her about mutually beneficial arrangements, and what they did and didn’t entail in terms of recompense.

He checked the charge on the blaster he’d taken from Jairee and refused to return. Plenty remaining. He was probably going to need it.

~*~

He spent the night preparing the encryption for his outgoing message and watching Jairee sow chaos. Really he was quite skilled; Tech’s primary advantage over him was simply knowing the former Republic’s network systems from the inside out. Given a way around such limitations he was making good use of the opportunity.

Once evening gave way to the middle of the night, Tech made his way to the parlor, using the service tunnel to access the secret entrance in her office. He waited beneath it for several minutes, listening. Only when he could be certain there was no sound did he climb up through it, glad to find she’d not covered it with anything heavy or sealed it.

The parlor was quiet and empty. He sliced the office security so he wouldn’t set it off, settled at Cid’s desk for lack of anywhere more comfortable. For a moment Tech was struck with an odd sense of—nostalgia? He couldn’t be sure what to name it, this familiarity with a place which he didn’t exactly miss yet had still occupied an important time in his life. Certainly he would never miss it now, not after what Cid had done.

He pulled out his datapad, got to work dealing with the monitoring the Imperials had in place for Cid’s communications. If nothing else he needed to be certain the message could be sent without them noticing. Realistically, he needed to rest, but seeing that footage of Omega carried onto the shuttle had ensured he wouldn’t be sleeping for some time. Absent any real benefit to doing so, he could make better use of the time.

Around midmorning he heard movement in the main room of the parlor. Glancing at the security feed he saw her enter alone, speaking to her comm unit. She locked the front door behind her. Interesting—she wasn’t allowing anyone in, not even her regulars. Not a complete surprise, though, given the situation with the Imperials. As she approached the office door he raised his blaster.

The door slid open; she wasn’t facing her desk, failed to see him sitting in it.

“Hey we both know those codes aren’t easy to get, real or fake, so—”

“Hello Cid.”

She startled, dropped her comm, spun to face him. The voice on the other end (unfamiliar to Tech) said, “Scaleback?” Coreward accent. Bothan, possibly.

Cid stared at him, eyes wide. “Goggles.”

Tech met her stare, unmoving, the blaster in his hand perfectly still.

“Scaleback?” the voice on the comm repeated.

Quietly, Tech said, “Disconnect. Discretely.”

Cid huffed, scooped up the comm. “Yeah yeah keep your damned shirt on. Look, got someone here I need to talk to. I’ll send you the code soon as I’ve got a second.”

“You’d better, I paid you good credits for that—”

“Sorry, gotta go.” Cid clicked the comm off, set it down on the edge of the desk, stepped back with her hands raised. Tech leaned forward and took the comm device, placed it in one of the desk drawers. Cid was evaluating him, taking in the bacta patch on his left eye, his overall condition.

“You’re looking pretty lively for a dead guy.” When he said nothing, she added, “I mean, that’s what I heard.”

“Would that be from my squad? Or the Imperials you turned them over to.”

She wrung her hands. “Now look, that was just an unfortunate—”

He shot the wall next to her, was pleased it didn’t actually hit her. She flinched, cursed. “Are you crazy? You wanna bring them here so they can get you too?”

“Why did you sell us out.”

“Because, they were all over me. Showed up right before your brothers did. What was I supposed to do?”

“Warning them away would have been an excellent start.”

“Oh, so my place gets leveled? No thanks.”

Tech reminded himself that killing her wouldn’t put him in touch with Phee. “So instead you sell Omega to a monster.”

That gave Cid pause. She sighed, crestfallen. “I—look. I didn’t want to. I just didn’t have a choice.”

“And yet you did quite well for yourself, I see.” He tapped the case of credits he’d found in her safe with his staff.

Cid scowled. “Take it. Not like I really deserve it, when you put it that way.”

“I do not have need of your money. I need something else from you, which you are going to do.”

“Yeah? And why am I being so generous?”

“Because if you are not, the Imperials will discover evidence of my recent presence and your generous aid in helping me off the planet without their notice.”

Her features twisted in a snarl. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Test that assertion at your peril.”

They stayed like that for several long, tense seconds. Finally Cid hissed, folded her arms. “Fine. What’s this favor?”

“I need you to contact someone. Securely, which I will assist in ensuring is the case. And I will need to remain until they can respond, if they’re not immediately available.”

“You think your brothers are gonna take a call from me?”

“I am certain they will not. Which is why you’re not contacting them. You will be contacting Phee Genoa.”

Cid blinked at him, slow, calculating. So she had, in fact, not known where they’d vanished too. Well, there was no helping that now—Tech was low on options for reaching Phee without notice, and Cid at least knew of her and that she’d run missions with them before, so that wasn’t new information.

“I see. Well. Just so happens I can, and, she might even listen to a message from me.”

“It would be best for you that she does.”

Cid made a face at him. He pulled out a datacard and set it on the desk in front of the console, stood, stepped clear. She sat, frowned after a moment of not-so-discretely feeling under the desk for her holdout blaster, which Tech had already taken.

Tech arched an eyebrow at her. “Looking for something?”

She growled, loaded the datacard into the desk’s console. “You’re a piece of fucking work, aren’t you.”

Tech settled himself against the wall in response. Cid skimmed the card’s contents with a quick glance. “Alright. Gonna wing it a little here, that way if this gets cracked they don’t have much.”

“It will not be cracked.”

“I’m sure. Don’t mind me, not trusting a guy holding a blaster on me.” She clicked the record button. “Phee. Long time no chat. I got a line for you on one of those rare pieces you’ve been looking for—the Dentari stuff, the little statues, with the copper eyes? Only found one, but they’re rare enough, figured it was better than nothing. Gimme an idea of when we can chat about it. Limited time offer, you’re my first call, not my last.” She stopped the recording, stood, moved clear of the desk. Tech sat once more, looked over the settings, tweaked a few things, sent the message on its way.

“So,” Cid said. “I’m guessing you need somewhere to hole up while we wait for her.”

“I do,” Tech replied, “and the secret exit under your storage closet will do fine.”

Cid groaned. “Come on, Goggles, you get caught down there I’m really screwed.”

“Perhaps that would have been worth considering before you sold my squad out to the Empire.”

She glared at him, sullen, defeated. They both knew that she couldn’t afford to tip them off again; Tech would know well before they arrived, leave her holding the bag for numerous things which would see her in prison for the rest of her days. Or worse.

“Fine. Don’t expect any room service though.”

Tech made his way back to the storage room, blaster still on her. “I would not dream of it,” he said, and shut the door.

Chapter Text

~*~

The wait for Phee’s reply was interminable despite that it was only a handful of hours. Tech occupied himself taking short naps interspersed with watching Jairee’s rampage and the resulting counter-offensive from Black Sun and the Imperials. A few altercations broke out in various, distant parts of the city. Nothing which would be a problem for Tech, but he kept tabs on them regardless.

Close to sunset he saw the comm system activate, bring in a message from one of the relays Tech had used to send the outgoing signal. He was already stepping out of the storage room by the time Cid had pulled it up. She blinked, gave him a dark look.

“Saw it come in, did you?”

“How else do you think I hardened your communications to ensure the Empire wasn’t listening.”

“So instead of Imperials spying on me it’s you? Can’t say I call that an improvement.” Still, she brought up the recording. Phee flickered into view between them, looking much as Tech remembered her from the night they’d left, if somewhat tired, or possibly agitated. Certainly the expression on her face was guarded, tense.

“Got your message. I’m definitely interested, but I know this isn’t an easy item to move. I’ve attached some openings in my schedule, just let me know which one works for you. I figure there’s a finder’s fee, which I’m prepared to pay. And Cid,” Phee leaned forward in the recording, entire demeanor growing sharp, almost dangerous, “I sure hope you’re not trying to fuck around with me. Because if something happens to that piece in the meantime, we’re gonna have a conversation you won’t like.”

The recording ended. Cid grunted, shook her head. “Well. Guess she likes you lot after all.” She pulled up the attachment to the message, found herself greeted by a request for a decryption passphrase.

“Great. What’s it supposed to be?”

Tech tilted his head, considered. Phee would have used something he would know, not Cid. It would be a way to ensure he was present and alive. He moved to the console, kept half his attention on Cid lest she try something at this proximity. She didn’t, simply watched him type in a phrase, each character disappearing as he put it in: B R O W N _ E Y E S.

The attachment opened before them: coordinates with a standard Galactic date and time. Cid snorted, folded her arms. “Ah. So that’s what she meant.”

Tech gave her a puzzled look, pulled back. “I am not sure what you mean.”

Cid stared at him for a moment, then laughed, humorless and harsh. “You really are the Galaxy’s dumbest smart guy, aren’t you.”

Tech decided that whatever Cid was getting at didn’t bear close scrutiny. He was dangerously low on sleep; the handful of hours he’d dozed in the service tunnel had helped, but he needed a proper rest, and soon. “Do we depart immediately?”

“’We’? Who said I’m going with you.”

“Were you under the impression I had a ship?”

Cid’s lip curled. “What, now you need a ride? You think I can just leave whenever I want? Those Imperials are breathing down my neck nonstop.”

“And yet I’m sure you’ve found ways off-world regardless.”

He knew he was testing her limits, but his alternatives were few and far between. He had a hunch, however, that leaving her with her money and playing to her apparent guilt over Omega had bought him some leverage.

A hunch which proved correct. She sighed, rolled her eyes, grabbed her comm. “Fine. I’ve gotta get this code to Xorash anyways. But after this, we’re quits. Got it?”

“We will be even,” Tech agreed. Of course, she wouldn’t be with his brothers and sister, but that would be Cid’s problem to handle, not his.

~*~

Cid’s shuttle was slow, would barely be able to make the rendezvous on time. Tech had suspected (and found himself correct) that she wouldn’t actually mind going off-world for a short spell, as the Empire’s constant surveillance (and the loss of the squad) made it much more difficult for her to make any money.

Phee had chosen Ipsidon for their meetup, owing to its nearly complete lack of Imperial presence and wide, uninhabited areas. They’d be able to pick up anyone approaching on scanners well before they were too close. Tech appreciated the irony, since this was where the squad had been placed on the path of parting ways with Cid; he thought perhaps Cid picked up on that, given her overall sour disposition when they landed.

The Unyielding Adherent was already there, it’s broad, blocky shape lurking beneath a large overhang, carefully tucked out of view. Tech wondered if there was a chance this meant the others had made their way back to Pabu, though suspected it didn’t; they’d have brought the Marauder instead. It was, in all likelihood, only Phee on board.

“My my. That’s a nice ride there,” Cid remarked, looking sidelong at Tech. “Where’d she get that?”

“It is not her ship, of which I am certain you are aware.”

Cid snorted at him. “No kidding. She’s got a cute little number with solar sails. Real beauty, actually. That looks like a Republic military piece.” Another glance at him, fishing for a reaction. Tech remained impassive. She sighed.

“Look, you lot wanna run off and play soldier against a government that can splatter you like bugs, who am I to say otherwise.”

Tech set his teeth, bit back any response. There was nothing useful to be said about it. Cid set the shuttle down a comfortable fifty meters from the Adherent, opened the door.

“Well,” Cid said, “here we are.”

Tech levered himself up, wincing against the complaints in his joints, the mild headache taking up residence at the back of his skull. “Indeed we are. Thank you.”

“Oh, make no mistake, I’m coming out with you. Finder’s fee, remember.”

“Of course,” Tech said under his breath. He made no attempt to hurry, approached the Adherent at a steady pace, careful to keep Cid on his right where he could see her. She did still have a blaster on her, after all.

Once they were within a dozen meters of the Adherent, Phee came down the ramp. One of the many cold lumps in Tech’s chest loosened and fall away; it was an immediate relief to see a friendly face, to no longer be alone in this endeavor of survival.

Phee’s steps were brisk and precise, as though she was just keeping herself from running. The moment she was in range she set a hand on his shoulder, gripped it tight. “You have no idea how good it is to see you in one piece, Brown Eyes.”

“It is...good to be in one piece,” he said. “And good to see you. Though,” he managed a weak smile, “that moniker may no longer apply.”

She sighed, focusing on his left eye for a moment, back to his right. She shook her head. “That’s not how nicknames work.”

He ducked his head, unable to keep looking at her. “I suppose.”

Cid cleared her throat. “This is all very touching, but I seem to recall there was talk of a finder’s fee.”

Just like that, Phee’s demeanor shifted from relieved and open to Quadranium hard and intimidating. She turned to face Cid, tilted her head. One hand settled on her left hip, where she wore her cutlass. Her eyes narrowed. “There was. What sounds fair, Brown Eyes? We let her live?”

Cid’s jovial candor vanished. “Wha—why you—”

Phee drew her blaster. Cid stumbled back a handful of steps. “Hey, Phee, hold on a second—”

“Do not treat me like some naive little rube. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about what you did?”

“I had no choice!”

“’No choice’ but to turn over a kid to the damned Empire?” Phee’s voice rose dangerously with each word. Tech made no move to intervene; he’d had his turn at deciding how Cid paid for her transgression. Now it was Phee’s.

Cid’s expression fell. She seemed to deflate, the last of the fight truly going out of her. “Just...get it over with,” she muttered.

No one moved for a time. Presently, Phee said, “No. You get to explain yourself to his brothers. To Omega.” She holstered her blaster. “That’s your finder’s fee.” She jerked her head at Cid’s shuttle. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Cid flicked a glance at Tech, then Phee, retreated to her shuttle. They stood watch, waiting for it to depart. Only when the shuttle had disappeared into the sky did Phee relax.

“Come on. Let’s get you on board and get out of here.”

Tech continued to watch the place where Cid’s shuttle had vanished, seized by a concern that she had, in fact, sold them out again. Any moment now a squadron of V-wings or a LAAT was going to appear—

He felt Phee’s hand settle on his arm. “It’s okay. No one’s coming. We scanned the sector thoroughly before we landed.”

Tech made himself stop looking into the sky, focusing instead on his datapad in his hands. “Yes. Alright.”

As they walked to the ship and boarded Tech could feel Phee surveying him, trying to determine the extent of his injuries beyond the most obvious one. She didn’t hover, nor did she give him extra space, keeping at a distance which would allow her to intervene if he needed help.

The ramp closed behind them. Tech stopped, took in a slow breath, let it out. It was hard to believe he was finally here, on Echo’s ship. Safe.

Phee moved to stand in front of him, set a hand on his arm, light, tentative. “How’re you doing.”

Not good. Better, but not good. Tech hadn’t been prepared for the possibility his risky gambit would play out acceptably for him but not the others, to say nothing of ultimately failing the most vulnerable among them. He hadn’t accounted for their desperate need to stop on Ord Mantell, which had run afoul of his long-standing concern of Cid’s trustworthiness. He certainly hadn’t thought Hunter would opt for Plan 00, cutting Tech off completely. He didn’t blame him, of course, but it had left Tech utterly alone.

His silence seemed to say enough. She tilted her head. “How are you with hugs.”

A good question. He was used to them in various circumstances from Wrecker and Omega. The others were less prone to them, but he could think of a handful of instances in the war where holding one another had been helpful. Hunter especially, with his senses overloading. But outside the squad, not so much.

“I am...used to them. From the others.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And anyone else?”

“That would be new.”

“That a no?”

“It is not.”

“Okay. C’mere.” She slid her arms around his back. He did the same, shuddered. Since seeing the footage from Ord Mantell he’d needed to contain himself, hold back the feeling that he was going to shake apart. It was strange to him, then, that something as simple as a hug from Phee would threaten the composure he’d worked so hard to build. He tightened his grip on her, felt her do the same.

“Hey, you’re fine. We’ve gotcha.”

He wasn’t fine. He was still quite a ways from fine. He was, however, significantly better, which did count for something. He wasn’t alone anymore, trying to find his way through a maze to whatever exit kept him alive just a little longer. He’d made it out.

He felt her sigh. “Thanks for keeping to your word though.”

“My word?”

“To not run off with any pirates.”

Tech blinked. The memory of that conversation, where he’d had absolutely no idea how to respond, brought to mind several things he’d been turning over in his head. But he didn’t feel up to examining any of it just now. “Fortunately I did not need to.”

She laughed. He should probably let go, though didn’t particularly want to. Yet he noticed something in what she’d said twice now, released her and pulled back. “Who is ’we’?”

Someone in the cockpit cleared their throat, peered around the bulkhead. Rex.

“Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt,” he said. Tech felt the back of his neck warm, resolved to ignore it. Rex set a hand on Tech’s shoulder, gripped it firmly. “Can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Tech.”

“And you, Rex.” He couldn’t help it, he had to ask immediately. “Have you heard from them?”

Rex shook his head. “No. Got a lead, though. I sent Gregor and the boys to get a look for us. If it’s them, we can rendezvous, work out what to do next.”

A lead. Not much, but something. Tech touched his eye. “I will require a prosthetic eye, when we have time to obtain one, and access to a facility which can safely install it.”

Phee hmmm’d, expression thoughtful. “I think I know some folks who can help with that. Might even be able to get you one in brown.”

Rex gave her a puzzled look. Tech nodded, unable to meet her gaze. He could see in her peripheral vision that she was almost smiling. Almost.

“Thank you,” he said, chest feeling oddly warm. “Though that is not necessary.”

Rex glanced between them. He clearly had no idea what the topic of prosthetic eye color was about, seemed to settle for asking a pertinent question instead. “That mean we need to find a medical facility?”

Phee waved a hand. “No, I’ve got a line on some people who can handle this sort of thing. Safely. Just need to get the prosthetic.”

A quick reassuring squeeze for Tech’s shoulder, then Rex turned towards the cockpit. “Where’re we headed?”

“Set a course for Qolinost.”

“Got it.”

Phee gave Tech a once over, nodded towards the aft of the ship. “Can’t imagine you’ve gotten much sleep. Come on, the crew quarters might not be posh, but the bunks have bedrolls and there’s a sonic.”

A shower would be nice. He followed her, feeling like he was floating, a passenger in his own body. Things were happening which he didn’t need to personally monitor. He could let his guard down, in theory. Would he, well, that was another question entirely.

As Phee had said, the crew quarters were simple and sparse. Theoretically they held four people to a meager room on a pair of simple bunks on opposing walls, with a small, serviceable refresher equipped with a sonic cleaning unit for clothing.

He heard her tell him, “I’ll get you some ration bars and water for when you wake up,” was distantly aware of her giving his arm a squeeze before she left.

He sat on one of the bunks, stared out over the close space at the pair on the opposite wall. They were similar to those from the squad’s barracks on Tipoca City. Like there they’d have needed to rig a space for one of them; Echo often preferred a hammock, disliking how the stiff bunk mattresses irritated his hardware. Wrecker wouldn’t fit, though, so possibly he’d need a hammock as well, and Omega could take a bunk.

Omega.

Tech shut his eyes. With the weight of the last few of rotations lifted from him, he felt fragile in a way he never had before. The sudden absence of excessive stressors gave him the space necessary to think and feel, made him realize that the constant pressure of immediate survival had held him together. Now he was left with what remained.

Like when he’d hugged Phee (a memory he would be turning over in his mind for rotations to come), it seemed strange to him that looking at a pair of bunks would come close to shaking him apart. In some corner of his mind he knew that it was the memories and thoughts they called up doing the real work, yet he couldn’t shake the notion that mundane things leading to strong reactions via associated memories and thoughts was highly inconvenient.

It took several minutes for him to decide to use the refresher to clean himself up and remove the bacta patch covering his eye. He wet a towel and soaked it, not wanting to irritate the site with a struggle against stubborn adhesive. Though he was no GAR medic, he managed without much trouble.

The result was as he expected: a broad, roughly circular scar framing his left orbital socket, long lines trailing from it up into his hair. The Ranat surgeon had done a good job keeping the scarring to a minimum. The reddish brown color of that iris was largely occluded by pale, silvery white scarring. A single, prominent, reddish line ran into the sclera, marking the location a fragment of glass had done its worst work.

He felt along his brow, testing for sensitivity, winced at the result. Still tender. It was a relief, though, to get the patch off his face and confront reality. Until they could replace his eye, this was what he had. So it went.

He got back into his underclothes, settled on the bunk. He was safe. Secure. They would find the others, they would rescue Crosshair and Omega. He simply had to be patient in the meantime.

He let out a slow breath, focused on the sounds of the Adherent underway in hyperspace. They formed a familiar, comforting background noise not unlike lying in his rack on the Marauder, or in one of the console seats. If he tried he could imagine Crosshair arguing with Echo about some finer point of regulation, Hunter interjecting now and then. Wrecker muttering in his sleep. Omega asking several questions, someone answering. It was all in his mind, but that was the first step to making it happen: imagining it.

Finally, for the first time in nearly three rotations, he well and truly slept.