#and echo running around droiding into all the secure terminals

[redbean-nom]

now that i think about it the empire probably developed those anti-droid ports from rebels because of echo

[aestariiwilderness]

Bad Batch -- Actually Probably Not Spoilers?

But Just In Case:

Like, for plot reasons, I see why they couldn't do it. But my biggest (and possibly the funniest) peeve I have with Bad Batch is this: Canonically, Tech is some kind of master hacker. Can forge chain codes after learning about them five seconds ago. Hacks battle droids -- presumably, you know, SECURED in some way -- on the regular. Masked a ship's signature or whatever. Calculates percentages of plans' successes on the fly while hanging upside down from a screechy flying reptile. Has zero fear (except when Omega is driving the Marauder or someone is doing the Wikipedia entry who isn't him) ("it's not affecting life support. We're fine"; riot racing; everything he's ever done). The moral heart of the Batch pre-Omega ("the systematic termination of the Jedi was a big one for me"; "I understand. I do not agree with you"; "of course we are a family"; "we have not always seen eye to eye with Crosshair but he is our brother and we do not leave our own behind"; but has no issue being pragmatic when it's called for (see: Cid, riot racing again, missions for Rex, interruptions thereof, etc.). Seriously. Wack job of a man. Crazy. Strict moral code arranged almost solely around his family that absolutely nobody sees coming and that, specifically, does NOT preclude massive destruction, property damage, and lethal measures. Ridiculous man. Homeschooled. Genetic Mandalorian. COMPETENT. (Usually.) Bona fide, literal, genetically-engineered test tube genius who is also biologically nine years old. Has no concept whatsoever of overkill. Point being -- he is EXACTLY the kind of person I would expect, once it sunk in that: 1. They are no longer Kaminoan/Republic property 2. They are, in fact, on the run with fam + new baby and - cranky but nonetheless beloved sniper bro who picked a terrible time to be stupid And 3. that "money" is now a thing they must Account For.... Give him two days to study finances, economy, and the various mafia; send him on a weekend trip to Nal Hutta to observe gangs, and hey presto -- the Hutts? overthrown in a year. Black Sun? Under new management. Pykes? A thing of the past. The Senate? Convening emergency sessions to discuss Where All the Money Has Gone. Palpatine's Secret Slush Fund #43? Drained. Hemlock's Science Budget? Currently funding the clone rebellion. ISB 401ks? Being used to pay someone to "retrieve" (read: kidnap) Crosshair from Rampart. Cad Bane's baby-stealing revenue? Currently outfitting the Marauder with gold plating. My point: WHY ISN'T TECH HACKING STAR WARS ATMs Story would have been over six episodes in. Tech would have foreclosed on the Palace; the Death Star would have fallen prey to insurance fraud; Omega would have grown up with more gowns than Padme. The Banking Clan bows to their new and, uh, eccentric overlords. Wrecker has thirteen new Z-6 cannons. Echo has thirteen natborn employees and is thoroughly enjoying himself. Hunter took an actual shower (still didn't get a new bandana). The Empire is turning over the empty coffers and shaking them out, wondering if they have rats. Mas Amedda is standing on street corners with an upturned hat. Crosshair is happily occupied with suing the Kaminoans for emotional damages. The end

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 8

Prompt: “hey, hey, this is no time for sleep”

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence and injury

Crash at Point Rain

The battle already rages below them as the 212th Attack Battalion descends toward Geonosis. Obi-Wan watches with great trepidation as the ground forces are already deep in the midst of a violent undertaking. The explosions kick up the dusty surface of the bug planet, creating a cloud that obscures his view from seeing anything besides the muted flashes of blaster and cannon fire. 

The Force reeks of death and destruction. If the turbulence of the gunship isn't enough to cause his stomach to turn, the feeling of darkness is. 

"Five klicks to the rendezvous, General!" the message is passed from the pilot. 

"Very good, stay sharp." 

Everything relies on things according to plan. So naturally, everything goes up in smoke. 

A massive explosion next to them causes the gunship to jolt, nearly throwing half the men out the other side of the open ship. Obi-Wan whirls around in time to watch one of their other ships, hit by cannons, violently explode and fall to the ground in a massive fireball. 

Oh, not good, he thinks, because as long as they are in the air, they are practically defenseless. The clunky ships only have so much maneuverability and the dust is too thick to get a proper visual to shoot down the anti-aircraft tech. 

"Take evasive action!" he yells, though his orders are implied. The blast doors are slammed shut, and darkness encompasses the hold. Obi-Wan white knuckles the hand-hold, his heart dropping as the reports begin to come flooding in through his commlink of other gunships having the same issues. 

He would have preferred to never step foot on this Force-forsaken planet again. One time on Geonosis is more than enough in Obi-Wan's opinion, but apparently, the bugs seem to have a significant role to play in all of this. He still remembers the carnage in that arena like it happened yesterday. It still haunts him that all of this could have been stopped had they managed to capture Dooku. 

Instead, Anakin lost his hand, The Jedi lost numerous, and the galaxy received a civil war. 

Cody's voice rings through on his commlink, sharp and frantic. "General Kenobi, don't land! The zone is hot!" 

"But there's nowhere else to go!"

Suddenly, the gunship jolts once more, but this time the horrible sound of durasteel being forced apart and the heat of explosion accompanies it. 

"We're hit, we're hit!" he yells over the alarms that now blare through the cabin. "We're going down!" 

Some troopers fall into the walls as the ship loses control. Obi-Wan can see out the front window from where he stands, and the red sands of Geonosis are very quickly approaching. We're coming in at too hard an angle!

Another shot comes hurdling through the very window, shattering the transperisteel and striking the pilot. There is only time for a gasp of surprise, and then the trooper slumps forward. 

"Brace yourselves!" Obi-Wan screams as the ship takes a nose dive. Gravity is pulling his body off the ground now, and despite his order, he finds himself suspended with only his grip on the strap as an anchor. The Jedi Master flails, trying unsuccessfully to plant his weight anywhere else and get some traction, but troopers are already being thrown at a terminal velocity within the durasteel coffin, pushing him out of any position of security he could manage. 

When the front of the gunship slams into Geonosis, Obi-Wan is torn from the handle. He unceremoniously crashes into the durasteel floor, his forehead bouncing off it with a sickening crack. Darkness clouds his vision, but he holds onto consciousness as the belly of the ship follows close behind in the violent crash. He is tossed into a huddle of other troopers, their armor cutting into the unprotected portions of his skin. Obi-Wan has no idea if up is up or down is up, or how long they have been skidding across the surface of the planet. The pile of helpless men is suddenly thrown in the other direction as the ship seems to slow, but tip onto its side. Obi-Wan, on top of the pile one moment, is hitting the wall again the next. This time, he doesn't have a moment to react before the other occupants of the hold are on top of him. 

The destroyed gunship itself has stopped, but everything still feels like it's spinning. He gasps through the thick black smoke that has funneled into the cabin, trying to move, but the four troopers that are slung across him have him pinned against the wall. His head throbs, his vision is blurred. He can't tell if it's from the smoke or he hit his head hard enough to give him a nasty concussion-- possibly both. 

Through his haze, he hears groans of agony around him. His troopers have not moved since they came to a stop. He can feel their Force presences-- they're dim. Few. Many have perished, and many more are on the way. 

Obi-Wan manages to get an arm free and pushes the clone that lies across his chest to the side. Blood covers the front of his armor where it looks like his blaster got jammed in his throat. He pushes down a wave of nausea and uses his newfound freedom to push another one of his fallen men off his leg. He's weak. Barely able to manage the weight, though he's never had issues before.

"General!" a faint voice calls from the other side of the ship. It takes him a moment to look up, searching lazily across the smokey cabin. A trooper slowly gets to his feet, stumbling over the bodies of his fallen brothers and landing on his knees at Obi-Wan's side. 

"Trapper," he recalls his name. "are you injured?" 

"Not as bad as others. And you, sir?" 

Obi-Wan grimaces as another wave of nausea burns like acid in this throat, and decides to ignore that question. "Help me get free if you can." 

Trapper is able to pull the other two troopers off him before practically collapsing. Obi-Wan pulls him to sit next to him with his back against the wall. "Well done, trooper. Rest now." 

The clone sighs in relief, reaching up and pulling his bucket off, and holding it in his lap. Now that they have settled and the smoke has thinned, Obi-Wan can finally take stock of the damage. 

The walls of the gunship look as though they were crushed between the hands of a giant. It's a wonder it held up the way it did judging by the force of their impact. Bodies of troopers are strewn about. Motionless. The smell of blood and burning flesh is already potent, which is just about pushing Obi-Wan over the edge. 

"Pardon me, Trapper," he says before leaning over away from his companion and emptying the contents of his stomach. He vomits until there is nothing left, and then his stomach still twists, as though even its natural acid must be ejected. Tears spring up in his eyes and his face feels hot and clammy. Obi-Wan has to clutch the wall to bring himself back to his original sitting position. His hands are shaking. He folds them together in an effort to calm them.

His head hurts. It's a dull, radiating pain that encompasses his head and runs down his neck, making his body simultaneously feel like it's crumbling and completely numb. 

He can feel Trapper watching him. "I'm okay," 

"Did you hit your head general?" 

"A better question may be what didn't my head hit." 

It's more honest than he usually is, but Obi-Wan is quickly losing the will to hide it any longer. He is holding back tears that he isn't sure why are trying to force themselves out. He's felt greater agonies, been through worse tribulations.

But the tears don't seem to be sadness. It's difficult to place, but he feels angry? Frustrated? With every passing moment, his emotion seems to change. 

It's exhausting. He's exhausted. Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath and lets his heavy eyelids fall closed. Though the gunship was dark already, the total darkness is like immediate relief. 

"Hey, general, this is no time for sleep." 

"It sure feels like it," he groans. 

"If you have a concussion you must stay awake to monitor your symptoms, sir." 

"And if I decide to nap?" 

Silence hangs between them for a long moment. 

"I believe there is a chance you may not wake up. Sir." 

As enticing as that sounds in the moment, Obi-Wan forces his eyes open again, rolling his head slowly to the side to look at Trapper. 

"We can't have that, I suppose." 

Minutes or hours later-- Obi-Wan isn't sure-- voices echo from outside and rapid footsteps approach. Not the buzz of Geonosisans nor the clank of battle droids, which is comforting at least. He grips his lightsaber anyway, ready to use it if needed.

Obi-Wan isn't sure of how much help he could possibly be, though. After taking greater stock of his injuries, he is quite sure he won't be able to stand on his own for more than a few minutes, nevermind actually fighting. 

The door of the gunship is forced open and light streams in, causing a flare of pain behind his sensitive eyes. He squints through the daylight until his swimming vision finally focuses long enough to see familiar troopers. 

"Waxer, Boil. Am I glad to see you," he pauses as they run forward to meet them, their gaze obviously wandering to their dead brothers lying about. "Trapper and I are the only ones still alive." 

"Good to see you, sir," They hoist him to his feet, quicker than he probably should have been by the way everything goes black for a few long seconds, but Waxer keeps his arm securely around him as he blinks through it. "Commander Cody's established the square just beyond this position..." a ringing in Obi-Wan's ears drones out the clone's voice, and he winces, squeezing his eyes shut until it passes. "...trying to surround us as we speak, sir." 

Right. The battle. The war. Now out of the ship, he is rudely reminded of the brutality of the ongoing battle that is only made worse by his pounding head. Blaster shots sound as though they are being amplified directly in his ears, and explosions and cannons make his knees feel weak from the light sensitivity. 

Medical is going to have a field day with this, he sighs. 

Though he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bunk for the next week and a half, he reminds himself of the importance of their success. They must recapture Geonosis and take out their droid foundries. 

Obi-Wan pulls the Force around him, releasing his pain and using it to augment his strength. It's a short-term solution-- and something that will get him in deep trouble with the healers if they find out-- but it will do for now. 

There will be time to rest when the war is over. 

[thebadbatch]

The Bad Batch: Soft Universe

Chapter 7 - Healer.

It had been a few hours since Hunter had revealed Omega's very important duty of being a medic for the mission, regardless it was a small and simple mission with a ninety-nine percent rate of nobody getting hurt Tech had mentioned.

That one percent was somebody falling over or catching their hands against the rocks and she had been preparing for it until they had landed, which was luckily just a moment ago. Omega beamed and grabbed her medikit and blaster, keeping both with her at all times as instructed by their leader, Hunter. As soon as the attack shuttle's door had opened, dust began pulling inward at a rapid pace causing everyone to put their helmets on and Echo putting a filtration mask against Omega's face with a soft smile as he activated it for her. 

"Sandstorm." Tech grumbled before Stepping forward and lighting up his datapad that gave out a hologram of the route they were to follow despite not being able to see a thing. "You're going to have to stick close to me until we reach the cave system." All of the boys agreed before making sure she was in the middle of their well-organised line.  "I suggest we're going to have to hold hands or pieces of your armour - do not get separated." All of the brothers nodded, only Crosshair grumbled a bit as Wrecker held onto his shoulder with him being at the back, And crosshair held onto Echos shoulder. Echo held Omega's hand and Hunter did so too being in front, holding onto Tech's shoulder and beginning to slowly walk through the storm. You truly couldn't see anything, only the faint outline of Tech in front of him. The walk was very painful within terms of using up energy, the powerful wind was pushing against them all making every step take all that long. 

"How much longer is this going to take?" Wrecker mumbled at the back, his voice being carried by the violent winds. Hunter just sighed a little beneath his helmet, stroking Omega's hand with his thumb to give her more reassurance. 

"Not for much longer, I believe we're outside of where to be but there's a rock blocking it." Tech hummed a little, gazing at the diagram before him highlighting the entrance. "I'm going to need this rock moved, Wrecker." He just grinned and moved up the line before managing to get a sight of the rock. 

"That I can do!" As soon as those words left his lips, he lifted the rock upward into his arms with a little effort behind it before throwing it elsewhere. "There we go, simple!" Wrecker grinned, brushing his hands together to get rid of the bits of rock against his gloves. A thank you was given to Wrecker by each of the members, especially the smaller one that was accompanied with a viable beaming smile. 

"Come on then." Hunter spoke, following Tech into the tunnel that finally cleared up all of the dark dust blocking their vision, Wrecker soon joining them too. Turning on the lights by their helmets, Omega grabbed a torch that she kept within her medkit, still visibly pleased about her important job. 

"Where is the dust bucket then?" Crosshair grumbled, brushing any dust from his weapon that he had a way too big attachment for. "Better not be too long." Tech just sighed as he stated at his map again, pointing toward the red blinker. 

"We need to go down a couple of levels before finding it, it shouldn't take us long." Echo smiled at this, really not enjoying the planet in the slightest. 

"Like she said, quick and simple in and out. Let's move out." Tech nodded as he continued to walk forward, mapping the way slowly but surely before coming up to a three way tunnel system, genuinely a little unsure on which path to take. Hunter growled a little, his senses getting jumbled and muffled - grabbing his head a little. 

"Something doesn't feel right." He spoke as Omega gently held his hand, worried. 

"Are you okay Hunter?" She asked, concerned tones lacing her Kamonian thick accent. "Do you need something from the Med kit?" Hunter couldn't help but smile at her soft words of concern, almost immediately relieving his senses for a moment. 

"It's alright kid, it's probably just the winds but I'm not sure. I think somethings down there?" Echo nodded, putting a hand against Hunter's shoulder. 

"Alright, keep your blasters close and that goes for you too, Omega." She smiled and nodded, holding her blaster against her securely before gazing toward the three tunnel paths. 

"What should we do? Do you know which way to go?" Her voice was filled with curiosity, tilting her head softly. "I feel like we should take the left."

Wrecker laughed a little before nodding. 

"Yeah I agree with the kid! Sounds like a good adventure." Tech soon hummed, staring at the map and hoping for it to reveal the correct path to take. The map was mumbled though, just an x to their correct destination that was blinking rather obnoxiously at him. 

"That would be correct." He stated, finally being able to type in a little code to reveal the map further, the left tunnel blinking. "Good call, Miss Omega." He smiled toward his little sister who beamed once again toward them. They didn't need their torches as long as Omega was this happy; they swear she could brighten up the darkest of planets with her presence alone. The group began to walk down the steeper entrance, annoyed at the planet this 'simple' mission had to be on. The ground beneath them didn't feel very secure which resulted in a few stumbles and a helpful Omega pulling them back up, keeping them from falling. 

"And why would a droid be all the way down here?" Echo grumbled, swiping some more dust from his arm and some from the mechanisms that stood in place of what once was. "It's a little ridiculous don't you think?" Hunter just nodded and sighed a little, 

"The things we do for credits." They all came to an abrupt stop once Hunter held up his arm signalling for them to halt before creeping behind the corner - Omega copying his every move with all  seriousness crossed upon her face. "There are droids." His voice came out more as a snarl, his senses kicking up as he heard their footsteps far within the distant dark tunnel that they had to unfortunately walk through. 

"Droids?" Echo exclaimed, "How the hell are there clankers here?" His voice was a little high, being coated with genuine surprise. 

"I don't know but I just- I know somethings there but I can't pinprick what kind." Tech soon interjected after typing more into his data pad, humming gently. 

"This planet used to be a factory for the creation of droids, but since the Clone Wars came to an abrupt end they used it for construction of the death star. There really shouldn't be any droids down here anymore, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were any rogue ones." Echo sighed a little, his mind returning to previous battles he had been a part of throughout the clone wars he was created for, now after credits just to get by with his current team. He loved this stage of life though, even if things weren't as relaxed as he hoped sometimes. 

"Right, there shouldn't be anything to worry about." Echo responded, sharing a light smile with his brothers and little sister before Hunter signalled an all clear even if they knew a slight amount of chaos could ensue. The torches continued to light up their path, exposing loose rocks, abandoned droid pieces and various materials. It was pretty messy for a cave then again they weren't supposed to ask questions. They just had to get what they came for and be off to get their payment. A quick in and out. 

Before turning what Tech said was the final corner, Hunter pushed them all back and shushed them before peeking over. A small room was situated there, the target droid they had to save sat in the centre of the room switched off but it had droids surrounding it which were working unfortunately. 

"We've got company." His voice whispered, gently signalling Crosshair to look through his scope, activating thermal reading. 

"I see 6 targets, they're typical clankers though." He drew in a sharp breath as he examined, "Nothing too difficult." Hunter nodded before he crouched against the wall. 

"Think you can take them out?" Hunter smirked toward his brother who held his Sniper Rifle delicately, knowing his answer before he even spoke. 

"Of course I can." Crosshair grinned as he once again scanned the room before taking a blast at one of the droids - a headshot as expected. 

"What was that?" One of the droids spoke, turning around quickly. 

"Well I don't know, that's what I was going to ask you!" Another responded before being swiftly taken out. 

"Uh oh." The final replied, also being terminated along with the rest of them. Their cold bodies hit the floor with a loud thud against what appeared to be metal flooring in the cave room, the brothers moving in quickly to examine the mess. 

"Good work, cross." Wrecker beamed, slapping his brother on the back - a habit he really couldn't stop. He just got too excited but it was definitely an aspect of him they all loved, especially Omega. 

"Right, this droid is the one we're looking for." Tech hummed gazing at his data pad. "Wrecker, I'm going to need you to carry it back out with us." He began to run his scanner onto the droid before a beep of affirmation made him nod. 

"That I can do." He smiled, lifting the bigger droid above his head with ease - almost like he was picking up a light bag of feathers or something as such. 

"Right, let's move back out." Hunter informed, beginning to gather everybody back into the cramped tunnels that were getting pretty tiring at this point. "Let's get out of here so we can get our pay, I wouldn't mind another supply run because somebody keeps hogging all of our ration bars." His eyes practically threw daggers toward Wrecker who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. 

"It's not my fault I get hungrier than you!" Omega couldn't help but laugh at their bickering, holding onto her flashlight a little tighter as they walked through the same way thanks to Tech remembering, speaking about anything and everything they could think about. That was Techs talent and he loved it, filling people's minds with anything and giving them the facts which mostly became useful in one way or another. 

"There are more droids out front." Hunter spoke as they neared the entrance, "But it can't be that many again, a few strays." He mumbled, sighing and getting the blaster prepared all whilst keeping their little medic behind him just in case. 

"Ready boys?" Echo teased, knowing they could take them down within seconds. "This is gonna be underwhelming." They all shared a light laugh before reaching the surface, Cross examining through his thermal scope to spot any droids. 

"Uh, there's more than we anticipated." He spoke out, staring down at something he didn't expect. "I mean thousands more than we anticipated." 

"Thousands?" Hunter near-shouted, making it echo through the caves. "How the hell are we supposed to clear all of them out? Cross can't shoot down thousands within five minutes." Crosshair just scoffed at that, feeling like he could but just not in enough time. 

"We're gonna have to blast our way through and make a path toward the Havoc, we won't be long leaving." He mumbled, staring at his brothers as they gave him a soft nod. 

"Are you going to come out yet?" A voice groaned from outside the cave entrance before moving closer into their view. "I'm getting tired of waiting for my credits." The person who came into view held a blaster pointing it toward them whilst being accompanied by droids surrounding her, clearly on her side. 

"Who are you?" Hunter growled, pissed off their mission had been interrupted by what he could only assume to be another bounty hunter. 

"I go by Blaira, it's lovely to meet you. Now cough up the kid." It was Echos turn to intervene, anger lacing his body. 

"You don't need the kid, you don't understand what they're going to do to an innocent child." She sighed at him, keeping her blaster pointed at Hunter whilst the droids cornered the others. 

"Oh but I do. An entire Empire army depends on her, your little force sensitive clone there." She shimmied her blaster a bit to grin at the blonde hair peeking from behind Hunter's back. "And I'm thrilled to see the outcome. I'm sick of chatting - move." She shot her blaster out which caused the brothers to begin shooting too, easily dodging the droid's bullets on instinct but Hunter not being so lucky to miss Blaira's shot - swiftly shooting him into the chest. Omega pulled her brother back hiding his body behind a bigger rock down into the cave and whipping open the Med kit - shoving pressure onto his chest. 

"Hunter!" Omega shouted out toward him, "Stay with me!" Her voice was pleading and desperate, her brother's grunts of pain becoming more and more worrying. He grabbed his blaster despite the agony he was currently in, shooting a few shots toward Blaira walking toward them both. She easily kicked the blaster out of his weak grip as Omega fussed over his wound terrified at the blood. 

"It won't stop!" She cried out toward her brothers who were way too occupied at the amount of droids coming toward them all. Tech turned, shooting at Blaira who in turn shot back both missing one another. Blaira laughed as she calmly walked away 

"I'll let him die with her first. It's the least I could do." She laughed as the others continued to fend the droid's bullets off, beginning to panic and unable to think of a plan. Tech turned momentarily toward Hunter gazing at the Sight of the blood covering his chest - life beginning to leave his eyes. He rushed over, ordering the other two to continue to attempt to keep them away whilst he helped Omega tend to the wound. 

"It won't stop!" She cried, pushing more pressure against him, gazing at his face. "Stay awake!" Hunter mustered a pain filled smile, 

"Kid, it's okay." His breaths began to get shallow "I'm alright it's gonna be alright…" Tech pulled out his datapad, scanning his wound before cursing under his breath. 

"You're most certainly not fine! It's hit your heart. We can't do anything here, we need to  get you on the shuttle now!" His voice was panicked, beginning to lose his cool as he helped apply pressure searching the Med kit for anything that would help. Multiple bacta patches were scattered through it, wound cleansers, bacta sprays but nothing that could heal a bullet wound in a heart, only infirmaries could do that.  Omega's eyes were filled with panicked tears, that hopeless feeling returning but so much stronger than before. 

"Hunter." She breathed, choking back sobs. "What do I do?"  He took a shallow breath in, holding her hands with the remaining strength he had knowing he was facing certain death among his brothers. 

"Leave. Get out of here, all of you - and keep our name alive." He coughed a little, battling for his next few breaths. "I love you, brothers." He muttered, eyes starting to shut as he turned toward Omega. "I love you, Ad'ika." Once those desperate words left his mouth, his hand grew weaker and limp against Omega's causing her to scream out in inconsolable tears. He was gone and she couldn't do anything about it nor could her brothers. Tech did the only thing he could think about doing which was following his brothers final order - get them all to safety and that was something he was going to do. 

"Come, miss omega." He choked out, holding back his own tears - his brothers still defending them all from the droid's that crowded over. 

"No! We can't leave him!" Her eyes were bloodshot, clinging to Hunter and hiding against him even though he was no longer here. 

"Times up." Blaira spoke, returning to the cave entrance. "Bring me the girl and I won't have to kill anymore 'brothers'. Walking over, despite Tech's shooting, she masterfully dodged each bullet and grabbed him by his neck, throwing him aside like an eaten apple. 

"Come with me if you don't want any more brothers to die. It's Simple." She spat, moving toward her and going to grab her wrist. 

"NO!" Omega screamed, her hands moving across in a swift motion and without touching the bounty hunter and throwing her harshly against the wall. Her eyes were white once again, just as Tech had seen once before back on the unknown planet she loved. Was this the force? Her powers that were genetically coded into her giving her access to the power jedi and sith held? "Leave my family alone." The bounty hunter stood, brushing herself off. 

"Don't think I haven't taken down a Jedi before." She chuckled, removing her blasters. "I can take down a kid with the force." She smirked, pulling her blasters toward her. "Your final warning, don't make me shoot you kid. They don't care if you're dead or alive but I'd prefer you to live to see what you can be capable of." Omega stood up, the white glow from her eyes not once leaving like before - she was conscious and felt the power awaken within her. 

"No, this is your last warning." Omega spoke, protecting Hunter and Tech who had finally stood - blasters pointing toward Blaira. "Leave me and my family alone." The woman laughed, 

"I sincerely admire your confidence, kid." She began to shoot her blasters causing Tech to shoot his own at her, panicking for his little sister. 

"Omega!" He called, turning in her direction who had deflected every single bullet just by standing there and holding her hand up. Before they knew it, waves of the force wracked throughout the cave - every single battle droid turning off and exploding and knocking her back into the wall. Wrecker and Echo rushed over, 

"What was that?!" Wrecker asked, his eyes instantly catching Omega standing there with the same white eyes as before. "Omega?" 

"Hunter!" Echo called out, rushing toward the body with Tech, Wrecker and Crosshair. 

"There's nothing we could do, it hit his heart." Tech spoke, tears clouding his vision. Omega still stood, everything going blank for her once again. 

"Omega." A gentle voice spoke as she turned her focus toward the same voice from before, a jedi Knight stood before her. "I see you've tapped into your force abilities." The man smiled softly before guiding her toward Hunter who was still laying across the floor. "I understand the sorrow you must be feeling, but know you can save him." She nodded gently, holding the Jedi's hand. 

"But how? Tech said it hit his heart and there's just… There's just so much blood." He nodded before bringing them both to crouch over his body. 

"Do you trust the Force, Child?" His voice was gentle, echoing around like it was the only voice she could hear. 

"I… I do." This was all the man needed to hear before another two figures appeared, one being a woman and the others being a species she didn't recognise. 

"Then trust us and use the force with us." Softly, he guided her hands over Hunter's wound and shut his eyes with the other two Force users doing the same. "Feel the force, breathe and focus on healing him. Remember all of the times you have shared, the memories created and the passion in which you feel." She nodded softly, doing as the man told her - a beautiful white light surrounding Hunter's body, life finally returning into him. 

"It is done." The woman spoke with a light smile, "Your brother lives and so shall you." With that, they vanished before her leaving Omega with her hand over where his wound once was surrounded by her brothers who had since stopped crying. 

"What, what did you do?" Crosshair asked, staring at his brother's face who had colour returning to it. 

"I used the force. He's alive." She spoke calmly, smiling at her brother who finally opened his eyes. 

"Omega, guys!" He smiled, yawning like he just awoke from a light nap. "What happened I don't-oh yeah." His eyes were a little big as he sat up groggily, "How am I alive?" Omega began to smile before throwing herself against him. 

"She used the force." Echo responded, smiling before the others joined the hug, even crosshair did so. 

"The force? You used it, Kid?" Hunter grinned holding them all against him. "I'm glad you're all alright." He grinned softly. 

"I'm your medic! Was I a good medic?" She asked, smiling at him and her brothers who genuinely just didn't want to let go. 

"I can affirm that you were the best." Tech reassured, patting her head. "Come, we should head back. Let's get out of here." The others nodded as they helped Hunter stand feeling a little wobbly after his death experience which he was guaranteed going to use to get what he wanted for at least the foreseeable future. 

Heading back toward the ship, they all finally arrived safe and sound - knowing the bounty hunter was knocked unconscious and unable to track them any further. In fact, Hunter had shot one of his bullets at her in her unconscious state knowing she wouldn't get his family now. They were safe and together. 

All clones with advanced skills, and one little force user medic who they wouldn't give up for the world. It was them against the world, and that's how it would stay. 

[pineaberry]

Productivity

Part 1:Efficiency|Part 2:Productivity|Part 3: Competency

Efficiency is doing more with less.

Productivity is doing more with the same.

His name was Archiban Frodrick Kimble.

The man pondered this fact as he stepped out of the makeshift hospital’s refresher. He stared at the mirror grimly noting how the water hadn’t gotten warm enough to even begin to fog the glass.

He’d always been of the opinion that names were a sure way to tell how much a parent hated a kid. He considered it sound logic as he recalled how insufferable his own parents had been. If it had been up to them he’d never have left Coruscant after his studies. They would have him plan out his life like erecting a cage. It would have been a comfortable prison to be sure, but a cage nonetheless.

“Frodrick,” he scoffed.

It was the Frodrick what got to him the most.

Frodrick sounded like a man who enjoyed shuffling paperwork and hemming over ‘the economy’ and the ‘apprehensive state of things’ from behind the comfort of a borl wood desk. Frodrick would have stayed in Coruscant and ascended the echelons of high government while watching the galaxy tear itself apart from one of the planet’s copious ivory towers.

Frodrick was a ponce. Farkle that guy. He’d take Doc any day. A shiver cut off his thoughts.

“But I bet Frodrick has hot water,” he sighed before ruffling his damp hair with a towel and finishing his morning routine.

He usually didn’t mind his spartan surroundings, after all, helping those in need and five star accommodations were rarely part of the same packaged deal. However, after the fifth week without reliable plumbing, his living situation was starting to grate on him.

“Just remember, it’s for the greater good,” he muttered to himself as he gave his hair a final inspection.

It occurred to him that he did a lot of unpleasant things for the sake of the greater good. His willingness to dive into the muck to save lives had gotten him involved with crime lords, Hutts, spice traders, and more than his share of gang enforcers. There were still places in Nar Shadaa he couldn’t show his face without running the risk of getting it blasted all over the walls… and those were people he could still consider friends.

People called him reckless. Women would call him impulsive. (A significant size of said demographic would also call him a series of insults that would make a Hutt blush.) None of them really understood his motives. He went where he was needed simple as that. Be it in a rickety hovel on Rodia, or infiltrating the Imperial Medical Corps on Sullust, he sought the action because where there was fighting the inevitable civilian cost of it followed. It was why he was now on Balmorra juggling between feigned deference to the Imperials and pretending to care about whatever pointless cause the Resistance was championing this week.

Imperials allowed his unsanctioned medical outpost in the far edge of the Markaran Plains because it was convenient. Scouting parties often ran out of supplies this far away from their outposts and he was more than happy to sell them subpar medpacs or ‘gently’ expired rations. The Balmorrans allowed it because after a firefight, there was always a need for an isolated place to hole up. Doc was a practical man and he knew the moment one side decided he was expendable, it would all go up in flames. Considering how both sides seemed to be on a hair trigger, neutrality was becoming more dangerous by the day.

A cursory glance at his medical equipment revealed the sad state of affairs. His resupply was late. What little presence the Republic spared locally was holed up in Bugtown and unfortunately it also meant that the safest drop point had to be in the middle of a colicoid nest. Any number of things could have gone wrong. Speaking of which...

A handful of Balmorran Resistance fighters came barging in carrying wounded two of which, Doc knew, were already as good as dead.

“Colicoids! Imps they… they were herding them! Took the whole camp, couldn’t even sound the alarm...” stammered a young fighter looking white as a sheet, “tried to retreat and we-we ran into shock troops!”

“It was a tiny camp, not even on the maps or nothin’,” said another as they helped place a wounded man down on the medical bed.

“Imps never come this far west!”

“You only ever saw scouts around these parts!”

“They don’t have the manpower to hold the plains. They can’t!”

Doc didn’t comment as he worked on the wounded. His mind slipped into his medic mode as he categorized the patients: three critically injured, four stable, two terminal. He activated an old pair of medical droids that were being held together by hopes and wishes. The jittery contraptions were only good for working on the lighter injuries but they would ease some of the load.

Something about this bothered him. An unexpected coordinated attack had befallen a tiny camp that had until now, seemed to be too insignificant for notice. As he grappled with returning someone’s insides back into their proper place he glanced at one of the fighters.

“How many were in the camp?” he asked as he grabbed the last pack of Kolto and applied it where it would do the most good.

“Twenty… maybe thirty… we’re all that’s left. It was overkill. There was no need...”

“Okay kid, I’d love to hold your hand right now but I’m elbow deep in your buddy here. So if you don’t mind, help me out and put some pressure there… yes right there. Okay you don’t have to look but don’t let go,” Doc cut him off and recruited him as a nurse. Poor bastard was going to have to cope with some serious PTSD after this. They were too young and they seemed to get younger every time.

The kid was right, though, colicoids and shock troopers were a bit much for a camp that didn’t reach forty people. Usually when Imps tried to send a message they simply slaughtered the designated unfortunate bastards and left the bodies behind to serve as a warning. Survivors were rare unless… Doc’s eyes widened in realization.

“CLOSE THE BLAST DOORS!” he bellowed at the shell-shocked fighters near the entrance. One off them, a teenager thin as a rail rushed to the lock.

Almost on cue, an imperial probe droid zipped into view and shot the boy before destroying the locks. Like swarming insects, Imperial troopers flowed into the makeshift hospital. Their weapons were trained on the hapless resistance fighters. These weren’t the easily bribed dregs of the Empire that washed up at Doc’s door. These were regiment troops from Sobrik. No doubt fresh off a starship if their nearly spotless armor was any indication.

“So, it's going to be that kind of day…” he said as he tugged off his bloodied gloves in annoyance.

Doc’s experience with Imperials was that they skewed towards being rigid, hierarchical, militants with a superiority complex. If he wanted to find the leader of this little brigade, he’d just have to find the biggest most condescending asshole of the bunch.

“Seal the structure, no one enters or leaves this compound without my authorization,” an sharp voice echoed through the room.

“The elusive asshole shows himself,” he muttered as he saw troopers point their rifles at the medical beds. In a surge of anger he turned to the nearest soldier and scowled. “Hey! Point those things away from my patients!”

He was answered by a swift strike to the face with the side of a rifle. Doc stumbled back holding his nose and he had to hand it to his opponent, that was quite the eloquent counterpoint.

“Lieutenant Quinn. The bunker is secured, sir,” the soldier reported before raising his rifle to strike Doc again.

“Enough. Are you the doctor running this illicit facility?” Quinn asked somehow managing to sound both annoyed and utterly bored.

Doc blinked away enough stars from his gaze to focus on the man questioning him. He wore the usual drab gray uniform with a lieutenant insignia on his chest. He had black hair, cold blue eyes, and perfectly symmetrical features that betrayed the extensive eugenics treatment his DNA had gotten. Save for the speck of black under his left eye he could have been mistaken for a stock photo. Here he was, an Imperial Officer traipsing through the backwaters of Balmorra and the bastard had the audacity to not have a single hair out of place.

Oh yeah, he was in charge, and he knew it.

“This is an independent medical facility,” Doc said enunciating each word as though he were clarifying it to a child. The Imperial officer’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he sized up Doc’s form.

“Very well. Then in accordance with the Treaty of Coruscant article five section three, you are under arrest for harboring  and enabling terrorist activity,” he replied before glancing at a stormtrooper, “corporal, arrest the doctor and execute the traitors.”

Doc felt his stomach plummet at the words.

“What? No wait a minute! Waitaminute! WAIT!” he yelled stepping in the line of fire between the soldiers and the wounded. “Lieutenant Quinn, right? Sir, wait, please. They’re just kids. They’re stupid kids who wanted to play the Balmorran hero and got themselves mixed up in all this. Don’t… don’t kill them, there’s no honor in killing them.”

“Do not presume to tell me what is or is not honorable,” Quinn snapped with thinly veiled disgust, “I know what you are. You and your ilk enable this pitiful insurgency in clear violation of the ceasefire. You provoke the locals into revolting against Balmorra’s lawful annexation to the Empire and continue to draw out this conflict. Their blood is on your hands. Not that I would expect Republic scum to understand the basic concept of social responsibility and consequences.”

Doc bristled at the accusations but bit his tongue in the interest of saving lives.

“Alright… okay… maybe I deserved that, but don’t kill them. They’re no threat to you or the Empire. Listen, I’m a damn good doctor, I’ll go with you, hell I’ll even work off any trouble I’ve put you through after making you come all the way out here,” Doc’s mouth was running faster than his mind could keep up. There had to be something he could offer this slab of ice.

“You are wasting my time. Corporal, you have your orders,” Quinn said dismissively before turning his back on the entire scene and walking away. The soldiers locked onto the resistance fighters.

“There’s a shipment of medical supplies!” Doc blurted and Quinn suddenly stopped. The stormtroopers seemed to hesitate and looked to Quinn for guidance. Sensing the lieutenant’s interest Doc decided to work that angle. “I know you guys are running dry. I’ve a contact, Lt. Leeral at the outpost. She’s been pressing me for med kits and I’ve got them delivered this week. An entire month’s supply maybe more if you ration it right: Trauma packs, medpacks, fresh kolto, the works. Enough for a whole regiment.”

Lt. Quinn looked thoughtful and he raised his hand stopping the soldiers’ advance. Resources on the battlefield were scarce and they were indeed running on fumes. Additional supplies would be a godsend to the frontlines, but of course the man could be lying through his teeth to preserve his allies.

“You spare them and it’s all yours. I’ll take you to the drop point myself,” Doc said raising his hands as though attempting to appease a rampaging bantha. “Everyone gets what they want, nobody has to die”

Lt. Quinn pinned Doc with an ice-blue stare that chilled him to the bone. He could have handled a glare, or disdain, or even sadistic glee from the Imperial, but cold calculating nothingness? How was he supposed to read that?! It was reptilian and devoid of humanity, like looking a Krayt Dragon in the eye, or an armed droid calculating whether or not it should disembowel you.

“Corporal, take the prisoners to the outpost for processing and hold them there. I want a team of four to accompany me,” Quinn ordered before jabbing a finger at Doc, “and you. If your information proves to be worthless you will regret having lied to me.”

“Me? Lie? C’mon Lieutenant, how can you call a face this handsome a liar?” Doc retorted with a brash smile.

“I want cuffs on this idiot, right now.”

Doc sat in a holding pen that reminded him of an oversized pet carrier. His wrists were bound with durasteel cuffs, quite unnecessarily considering how he was already in a cage. Sobrik was every bit the cold, fascist place he’d imagined it to be. Though the Lieutenant had requested a map of the supplies’ location, Doc had adamantly refused to divulge any information save for the fact that it was located somewhere in the Jacent Valley. There was no point in revealing everything he knew, after all, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t take the intel and shoot him on the spot. Lt. Quinn had managed to look offended at the thought.

And so here he was, in a holding pen with nothing but his thoughts and the lock picks tucked into the inside of his boot. Doc leaned back against the bars and stared at the grated ceiling up above.

“What is a man to do?” he grinned before he deftly slipped out of his cuffs. It took only slightly more skill to open his cell door and sneak past the inexperienced guard.

Impersonating someone required confidence. If you didn’t project confidence, then no disguise could shield you.

Take Imperials for instance. Impersonating an Imp was all about stance. They walked, talked and breathed like they were bred to crush inferior beings under foot. Doc smoothed his hair back so as to streamline his look before squaring his shoulders and taking a steadying breath. He then began to storm down the streets of Sobrik as though he were being summoned for a pointless meeting and someone was going to pay dearly for wasting his precious time.

It worked…

…Right up until he took a wrong turn and ended up in a dead end surrounded by military personnel. He’d obviously stumbled into the officers’ quarters but rather than backtrack and raise suspicion, he marched himself right up to a door with only a young guard posted.

“Halt. Identification papers please.”

“Young man do you think a random stranger would simply barge into the middle of Sobrik if he didn’t have pressing business?” he snapped hoping his accent didn’t push through. “I didn’t rise through the ranks to become a major just to be questioned by a snot nosed brat!”

“I… that is… apologies sir. It’s just… your see... Lt. Quinn is very specific about protocol, sir.”

“Ah yes, the man can be an utter bore. He wouldn’t sneeze without the proper paperwork,” Doc huffed as he clasped his hands behind his back and stood at parade rest.

“And he’d submit it it triplicate,” the soldier echoed mournfully only to realize who he was addressing, “that is to say… er… sir… Lt. Quinn is not in his quarters at this time. If you leave your name I can… ah… let him know you stopped by.”

Doc raised an eyebrow. So that’s who this building belonged to. Well this was going to be more fun than he expected.

“I am well aware of Lt. Quinn’s location. I’ve only just arrive from cleaning up the mess in Marakan Plains! I wouldn’t come here donning civilian clothes if my business with him was not of the utmost secrecy,” he replied in his best emulation of Quinn’s condescending tone, “now step aside soldier unless you’d prefer to do your next assignment patrolling Bugtown!”

The young corporal looked conflicted before finally opting for the lesser of two evils and letting him through. “Yes sir. I’m sorry sir.”

Once more bravado and bold face lying won out. Doc marched inside leaving a flummoxed guard in his wake. He looked around curiously before making a beeline for the terminal. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the good Lieutenant to keep his end of the bargain, but he needed to make sure the people he was risking his life to save had made it out alive.

“Encrypted... ” Doc growled in frustration. He couldn't say he was surprised but that didn't mean it made the situation any less annoying.

He mulled over all of his known Imperial security keys but he found that the data was too well protected. A message flagged as important piqued his interest but it resisted all of his attempts to crack it. After a valiant but ultimately futile attempt, he could get no more information save for the fact that it arrived last night and it was delivered via an off-planet data courier. He’d almost be impressed by Lt. Quinn’s foresight and skill if it wasn’t such a huge pain in his ass. Without his trusty slicing gear he was left with few options. It was not an entire loss, he’d managed to skim enough data from the remaining messages to deduce his patients were still alive and being kept somewhere as collateral.

“Kriffing imps must really be hurting for supplies if they go through all this trouble just for lil ol’ me,” he muttered under his breath.

So like it or not, he was stuck here, at least until he could devise a way to ensure his patients’ safety. Doc leaned back on the chair as he mulled over the new information before catching a glimpse of Lt. Quinn’s sleeping quarters. The entire place was unnaturally spotless and pristine. Idly Doc wondered if the Imperial was actually a new form of humanoid droid.

“Well if you can’t beat them...” he sighed before springing to his feet and walking towards Quinn’s closet.

“You had one job, Jillins! One!” Quinn’s voice all but trembled with rage. “How is it you bungled such a simple straightforward task!”

“It’s not my fault, sir! He said he was a major and had a classified mission.”

“If I hear another excuse spilling out of your mouth, I will march you off the edge of Gorinth Canyon!” he snapped as he searched through his datafiles for signs of slicing.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t… I’m sorry...” Jillins stammered.

Quinn clenched his jaw as he worked furiously to identify and stem any damage or security leaks that might have sprung. Not only had his security detail allowed a Republic prisoner to escape custody, but now said prisoner was wandering around Sobrik in full military attire.

“Shall we sound the alarm, sir?” Jillins asked and it took all of Malavai’s strength not to throw a paperweight at his thick skull.

Yes of course, sound an alarm. Tell the entire city what complete and utter jackass you are. And by proxy, what an incompetent jackass I am for believing you could handle something so simple!

“He can’t have gone far...” the corporal said in an attempt to be helpful.

Quinn pinned his subordinate with an acrid glare that successfully cowed him into silence.

I am surrounded by idiots.

This was the last thing he needed. Lord Baras’ newest apprentice would be arriving any day now. Standard hyperspace flight times from Dromund Kaas to Balmorra could be anywhere from 4-7 days barring any major skirmishes. Lord Baras had given him a week’s notice, but from what he had gleaned, the Sith cared very little for accuracy or feasibility in his proposed deadlines. One week could very easily become 24 hours and he simply wasn’t ready! With his best men on the field gathering intel for Lord Baras, Quinn was having to rely on raw brawn and nitwits like Jillins.

The excursion through Markaran Plains was supposed have been simple: Locate the hospital patching up resistance members and seize any medical assets. With Imperial medical shipments three months overdue, this had been a had been a last ditch effort to restock their dwindling supplies. Planetary Command’s solution to an increasing loss of personnel was to send more troops but this level of death was unsustainable. Without reliable medical support, the Empire would never be able to cement their hold on Balmorra.

Regardless, his mission had ended up being nothing more than a costly expenditure of resources. The supposed hospital had been nothing but a sad collection of medical beds and a single bleeding-heart medic. Now more than ever they needed to not only find the medic, but the promised medical supplies. Should he fail to deliver either, the Balmorran commanders would have his hide long before Darth Baras ever lay a finger on him.

He ran a hand over his face feeling the pressure mounting behind his eyes. Not enough sleep in days, too much cheap caff and lack of a decent meal was making him irritable. He was bound to end up with an ulcer before the week was out.

Focus. Failure is not an option. Analyze the situation and act.

“I want you to go to the shuttle area and question the droid for information on anyone matching the prisoner’s appearance,” he finally said in a tone that was far calmer than he felt. Unfortunately this made Corporal Jillins hesitate and Quinn’s restraint finally snapped. “GO. NOW.”

Jillins flinched and hurried away as though he’d been scalded. It wasn’t as satisfying to Quinn as it should have been. He ran his fingers through his dark hair only as though to tear it out by the fistful in frustration. His holo communicator rang cutting through the silence and his gaze flickered with annoyance. Malavai recognized that frequency.

Enter another in a long parade of people wasting my time...

“Kent, I’ve told you, we are not going to be allocating resources to your facility for the foreseeable future,” he cut off the man before he had a chance to speak.

“I am aware. I got your ten page report on it,” Kent stated dryly, “though a simple no would have sufficed.”

“Then why do you insist on calling.”

“One of my boys just came back from Sobrik. I just thought you’d like to know there’s a Major at the Cantina regaling the place with stories and running up your tab,” the portly man on the holo replied looking utterly pleased with himself.

“What? That’s preposterous, I don’t have a tab-” Quinn froze and his expression turned positively livid before snatching up his blaster. “I’m going to kill him.”

He stormed out of his quarters with Kent’s amused laughter ringing in his ears. The outrage within him bubbled over and stifled that tiny voice that insisted they needed to take the prisoner alive.

“So there we was pinned down, easily fifty to a man. Blaster shots whizzing by our heads, and down to our last two snipers. When BOOM! Another concussion grenade and there went our snipers! There were so many dead troopers sprawled everywhere we piled them up and made barricades. Then there was another blast and I got it straight in the face. Death was callin’. So I turned to my mate Quinn and I says, ‘Quinny my lad, if I don’t make it out alive you toss my carcass on that barricade so I can keep kriffing up Pubs in the otherworld.’” Doc’s voice was tinted with his most convincing imperial accent as it echoed through the small crowd of cantina girls and soldiers.

Wars came and went but if there was one constant in the universe it was that nothing beat a good Cantina. Hell even Imperials became downright likeable once they had a few pints in them. Toss in a good story and soon Doc had quite the audience. The Sunken Sarlacc Cantina was no different than the Republic Cantinas off-world, granted there was a distinct lack of non-human faces on THIS side of the counter.

“You’re so brave,” a cute little Twi’lek cooed as she snuggled closer to Doc and brought him a fresh drink.

“I am, aren’t I? Heart of gold, you girls have. That goes double, in your case, beautiful,” he grinned nodding at a zabrak dancer with dark crimson skin. “Gotta tell you, luvs, after a long day protecting the Empire, it’s nice to come back and be reminded wot we’re fighting for.”

He’d settled in a private lounge usually reserved for visiting dignitaries which had not been cheap, but thankfully Lt. Quinn had excellent credit and a clear tab to boot. If Doc were a sensible man he would not be pressing his luck, then again no one could ever accuse Doc of being anything resembling sensible.

“Well then after that scrap, Quinn and I were thick as thieves we was,” he grinned as he looped an arm around the dancer and smirked, “got a scar from that and I just might show you if you play your cards right.”

The lounge door slammed open an enraged lieutenant on the warpath loomed in the doorway.

“YOU.”

“Ah! There he is now! Quinny m’lad, grab a pint! Ladies, make him feel welcome!” Doc chirped happily and raised his glass.

The gathered soldiers cheered his arrival and follow suit, some even clapped Quinn on the shoulder as they stumbled out and back to their barracks for the night. A few more mumbled things along the line of ‘you’re alright Quinn’ followed invariably by ‘no matter what everybody says’.

Quinn blinked in confusion as their reactions threw him for a loop. Despite a decade of service on Balmorra, he was not well-known and those who did know him were more likely to raise their glasses to throw their contents in his direction rather than… well whatever this was.

He scowled as he pushed away a scantily dressed alien female as though he were being confronted by walking sewage. He reacted as though the very idea of her existence to be an affront to decency itself. Quinn then approached the medic and seized his arm in an iron grip before pinning him with an angry glare.

“You are coming with me this instant,” he hissed under his breath.

“Aw, Quinny mate, you just got here,” Doc whined as he was dragged to his feet. He rolled his eyes at his captor. “Oh alright, if I can’t tempt you with pretty girls I suppose I can let you have your way with me. Take me to your dungeon!”

Quinn sputtered as though horrified beyond words as the cantina dancers tittered gleefully.

“You’re so pretty when you blush...” Doc smirked only to be confronted by the full brunt of Quinn’s closed fist. The medic stumbled back stunned but not entirely surprised.

“Don’t make me shoot you. No, better still, please do. Please give me an excuse to upgrade the decor with your splattered brains,” Quinn snapped as his grip grew tighter with each word.

Doc flexed his jaw a bit before answering.

“Okay, first: Wow, you are high strung. If anyone needed some downtime it’s you. Second: You are cutting off the circulation to my-OW OKAY! OKAY! I’M UP! I’M WALKING!” Doc yelped as he was pulled along like an errant child caught playing hooky. Once they were out of the cantina Quinn slammed him against the nearest wall and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“I cannot believe you had the gall to impersonate an imperial officer,” Quinn seethed.

“Oof, I didn’t like the accomodations you provided.”

“Obviously I made a mistake. I’ll make sure to find a suitable ditch to dispose of your body this time,” Quinn all but growled as he forced Doc to face him.

“Aw, don’t be like that. You know I hate it when we fight.”

“Am I going to have to gag you to get you to shut up?!” Quinn snarled in Doc’s face as he slammed him back against the wall.

“You know, I love it when we roleplay, honey, but maybe wait until we’re in private?” Doc’s head tilted to one side and he made a show of staring at someone behind Quinn.

Malavai turned to see a soldier patrolling the street staring at the both of them. He knew exactly how it looked: two officers stumbling out of the Cantina early in the evening... one of them pinning the other against the wall… the other spewing smutty nonsense...

Emperor preserve me.

“Stop gawking and do your job,” he snapped at the soldier before turning to Doc who was stifling his laughter. “I hope you enjoyed your little excursion because you won’t be setting foot outside in a very long time.”

“Oh Lieutenant, I’ve been so baaaad...”

Malavai clenched his jaw and all but dragged the drunken prisoner through the streets of Sobrik. That had to be it. He was definitely drunk. That was why threats were not working. That had to be the reason.

“I should have just shot you and saved myself the trouble,” Quinn muttered under his breath.

“You keep saying that but something tells me that if you could have, you would have,” Doc replied with a smirk, “seems to me like you need me alive. Either that or you’re just REALLY incompetent.”

“Would you care to test that theory?” Quinn asked as he drew his blaster.

“See, there you go again being rude to me. I respond to positive reinforcement and all these threats are doing nothing for my nervous disposition. You haven’t even asked my name!” Doc accused him as he stared defiantly down the barrel of the blaster.

“If it made any difference-” Quinn’s retort was cut off by the wail of sirens.

“What is it? What are those sirens?” Doc asked as he saw his captor look around warily before checking his ammo clip.

Quinn cast his talking burden with a grim look before sparing him a single word as explanation.

“Colicoids.”

“What? In here? But isn’t this an Imperial City?” Doc asked as he was shoved towards the nearest building emblazoned with an Imperial crest, “Don’t you have those huge guns? And a force shield!”

“If you’re that insistent on it, you’re welcome to explain to them when they catch us now walk faster!”

As the sirens continued to wail, Quinn’s security clearance got them into the building which turned out to be an vacated hangar. There were off-duty soldiers there already forming a battle plan in the upper levels. Quinn noticed an empty cargo container no doubt used for shipping fragile items. With a smirk and promptly shoved his prisoner into it.

“Hey! HEY! You can’t just lock me up in a box! IT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE AIR-HOLES!”

“Sit down, shut up, and maybe you won’t use up all your oxygen,” Quinn snapped before slamming the lid closed and locking it tight.

“Quinn! C’mon man! Don’t leave me in here! It stinks like an old mattress! I can’t even stand up! Quinn! Quinn! ARGH! YOU ARE THE WORST KIDNAPPER EVER!”

Now that had been properly satisfying. If it weren’t for their imminent doom, Malavai might have even laughed. He climbed up the staircase to the second level and joined the soldiers. They, like him, were preparing to defend the hangar should it become necessary or to join the fight should they receive a direct order to do so. Hopefully the breach would be contained before it got to that.

I loathe Balmorra.

[starwrite-er]

Poster Boy [Chapter 24] - Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: merry christmas lol, and if you don’t celebrate christmas, i hope you have a good day regardless!

Tag List: @firefeatherx @plethora-of-things @britishteahater @umbrellabrass @purple-skeleton @winchesterandpie @the-creative-lie @i-alrightokaycool @definitely-nota-fangirl @purelittleblueberry @gemmielii

 A pipe bursts, and the shrill whistle of escaping gas interrupts my thoughts.

 “Help me with this, quick!” Rey calls, darting over to the leak.

 “What’s going on?” Finn asks, following her. The girl hauls aside a grate as the ship starts beeping urgently.

 “It’s the motivator. Grab me a harris wrench, check in there.” She says, sticking her head out of the alcove and pointing to a toolbox.

 “How bad is it?” Finn asks, rifling through the box.

 “If we want to live, not good.” Comes Rey’s answer.

 “They’re hunting for us now. We’ve gotta get out of this system.” Finn says, not having much success in finding the wrench.

 “BB-8 said the location of the Resistance base is ‘need to know’,” Rey tells us. “If I’m taking you there, I need to know.”

 At this point, I pull myself together and join Finn in looking for the harris wrench. The man looks nervously at BB-8, tossing Rey the wrench as he eventually finds it. I shake my head as I listen to Finn explain his situation and beg BB-8 to tell Rey the location of our base.

 “Pilex driver, hurry,” Rey says, poking her head back up. “So, where’s your base?”

 BB-8 looks at Finn in what could only be described as disbelief, before looking to me for advice. I sigh, and answer the question. “The Ileenium system.”

 “The Ileenium system?” Rey repeats, clearly not pleased with the remote location.

 “Yep, the Ileenium system, that’s the one,” Finn tosses Rey another tool. “Get us there as fast as you can.”

 As Rey ducks back down, Finn gives BB-8 and I a thumbs up, one which the astromech returns, utilising it’s lighter.

 “I’ll drop you four at the Ponemah Terminal,” The Jakku native offers a compromise. “I need the bonding tape, hurry!”

 “What about you?” Finn questions, confused by Rey’s words.

 “I’ve gotta get back to Jakku.” She answers as though it was obvious, giving the man a look.

 “Back to Jak- why does everyone wanna go back to Jakku?” Finn complains loudly, waving the wrong roll of tape around. I watch, almost amused as the two bicker.

 “If we don’t patch this up the propulsion tank will overflow and flood the ship with poisonous gas!” Rey yells, pointing at the roll of bonding tape.

 “Hey, Rey, you’re a pilot, you can go anywhere. That’s what pilots do. Why go back?” Finn says, glancing at me, and I nod in agreement. He turns back to his friend. “You got a family? You got a boyfriend? A cute boyfriend?”

 “None of your business, that’s why.” Rey retorts, the leak finally stopped. Before anything else on the topic can be said, the power of the ship suddenly shuts off, dowsing us in the red dim of the emergency lights.

 “That can’t be good.” Finn mutters.

 “No, it can’t be.” I second the notion. I run to the cockpit of the ship, Finn and Rey close behind me, and start flipping switches and pressing buttons.

 “Someone’s locked onto us,” Rey says, mimicking my actions. “All controls are overridden.”

 The ship clangs. Finn climbs up onto the seats, peering out of the freighter as we’re bathed in a red light.

 “See anything?” Rey asks.

 “Oh, no,” Finn murmurs as our ship is swallowed by a much larger one. “It’s the First Order.”

 “What do we do? There must be something.” Rey says.

 “You said poisonous gas.” Finn mentions, turning to the girl.

 “I fixed that.” She responds.

 “Can you unfix it?” I question, catching onto Finn’s plan. Rey gets up, running to the grate, grabbing a gas mask as she goes. We follow suit, clambering into the compact area below the floor of the ship.

 “Do you think this will work on the Stormtroopers?” Rey asks, fiddling with her prior work, the ship humming as power returns.

 “Yeah. Their masks filter out smoke, not toxins.” Finn answer. Huh, useful info.

 “Hurry.” I urge, peering out from the grate at the entrance to the ship, heavy footsteps approaching. I duck back down mere moments before the door slides open.

 As we put on the masks, we listen to the low conversation being had, words being answered with soft, inhuman groans. I wince as a tool slips from Rey’s hand, clattering against the metal. It goes silent above us.

 Suddenly, the grate is hauled away, revealing our hiding place. Alongside a Wookiee stands an old man, blaster pointed in our direction. “Where are the others? Where’s the pilot?”

 “We’re the pilots.” I answer, gesturing to Rey and myself.

 “You?” The man questions as his friend growls in disbelief.

 I glare up at him, yanking down my mask to ensure he hears me clearly. “Hey, I can fly an X-Wing better than you could ever dream, old man.”

 “No, it’s true. We’re the only ones on board.” Rey interjects, getting me to shut up.

 The Wookiee growls again, and Finn gives it a look. “You can understand that thing?”

 “And ‘that thing’ can understand you too, so watch it. Come on out of there,” The man orders, and we oblige. “Where’d you get this ship?”

 “The Niima Outpost.” Rey answers.

 “Jakku? That junkyard?” The old man questions, to which Finn readily agrees with his criticism of the planet. “Told you we should have double-checked the Western Reaches. Who had it? Ducain?”

 “We stole it, from Unkar Plutt.” Rey says quickly. “He stole it from the Irving Boys, who stole it from Ducain.”

 “Who stole it from me!” The man understandably doesn’t sound happy about the situation. “Well, you tell him that Han Solo just stole back the Millennium Falcon, for good.”

 I feel my stomach drop at his words, feeling like an utter idiot as he walks away. I’m a Commander in the Resistance; I should be able to recognise Leia Organa’s husband.

 “This is the Millennium Falcon? You’re Han Solo?” Rey does little to prevent the excitement seeping into her voice.

 “I used to be.” Is Han’s short answer.

 “Han Solo? The Rebellion General?” Finn questions.

 “No, the smuggler.” Rey says.

 “Wasn’t he a war hero?”

 “Yeah, and he’s also my boss’s husband.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. BB-09 chirps, laughing at me.

 “This is the ship that made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs?” Rey continues to gush.

 “Twelve!” Han shouts the correction, and I start off in the direction he was headed, almost smacking into him as he walks back out of the cockpit. “Hey, some moof-milker put a compressor on the ignition line.”

 “Unkar Plutt did,” Rey says. “I thought it was a mistake too, puts too much-“

 “-stress on the hyperdrive,” Han finishes. He pauses for a moment. “Chewie, throw them in a pod, we’ll drop them off at the nearest inhabited planet.”

 “Um, excuse me, but no,” I huff. “Listen, old man, I’ve had a rough day-“

 “-We’ve all had rough days.” Han cuts in, and I glare.

 “It’s true. She just found out her boyfriend - husband? I don’t know - died, and she needs to complete his mission.” Finn defends me, and something flashes in Han’s eyes. At this moment, I hardly see the point in correcting the boy on my relationship with Poe, and I don’t want to delve back into the grief of it all right now

 “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.” Han offers, but he doesn’t slow down.

 “We need your help.” Rey chimes in.

 “My help?” Han looks at us in disbelief.

 “This droid needs to get back to the Resistance base as soon as possible,” I continue, losing my patience. “You should be helping us because not only was this mission set by General Leia Organa herself, but this droid is also carrying a map to Luke Skywalker.”

 This is enough to make Han stop, considering our words.

 “You are the Han Solo that fought with the Rebellion,” Finn says, his voice soft. The man turns slowly to face us. “You knew him.”

 “Yeah, I knew him. I knew Luke,” A faint smile appears on Han’s face as he reminisces. 

 For a second, it’s quiet, but the moment is cut short by a dull thudding. “Oh, don’t tell me a Rathtar’s got loose.” 

Han takes off running in the other direction as Finn makes a sound of horror. “Wait, did you just say Rathtars? Hey, you’re not hauling Rathtars on this freighter, are you?”

 “I’m hauling Rathtars,” Outside the Falcon, Han checks a security feed. “Oh, great. It’s the Guavian Death Gang, must have tracked us from Nantoon.”

 “Well, this is just making my job so much easier.” I mutter, words dripping with sarcasm.

 “What’s a Rathtar?” Rey asks as we move further into the large ship.

 “They’re big and they’re dangerous.” Is all Han needs to say.

 “You ever heard of the Trillian Massacre?” Finn questions.

 “No.” Is Rey’s innocent answer.

 “Good.” I say, hand resting on my blaster.

 “I got three of them going to King Prana.” Han fills us in.

 “Three? How’d you get them on board?” Finn enquires.

 “Used to have a bigger crew.” Han doesn’t need to expand on his answer, the Wookiee growling in emphasis.

 The older man leads us to a hatch, opening it up to reveal tunnels just below the floor, and gestures for us to get in. “Get below and stay there until I say so, and don’t even think about taking the Falcon.”

 “What about BB-8 and ‘09?” I immediately say.

 “They stay with me until I get rid of the gang, then you can have them back and be on your way.” It’s not what I want to hear, but I reluctantly agree anyway.

 “What about the Rathtars? Where are you keeping them?” A thunk on the door behind us answers Finn’s question, and the three of us quickly head below deck.

 We watch as Han’s shadow moves away, listening as a stranger starts accusing him. “Can you see them?” Rey whispers as we crawl in the direction of the voices. As the two above us continue to debate, we pause, catching sight of them through the grate

 “They have blasters.” I murmur.

 “A lot of them.” Finn and Rey say in unison, looking directly up at the enemy group.

 The Guavian Death Gang continues to argue with Han about owed money, bringing up some ‘Kanjiklub’, and right on cue, the sound of a door sliding open echoes through the corridor. As the new-comers start speaking to Han in a foreign dialect, we start crawling towards them.

 I stop dead in my tracks as I hear what the Guavian Death Gang leader has to say next. “Those BB Units - the First Order is looking for one just like them,” The man pauses, and I’m really hating how the day has turned out. “And three fugitives.” Finn and Rey halt, looking at each other worriedly.

 “First I’ve heard of it.” Han says, trying to play it off, and I’m grateful. The three of us below the floor start speed crawling, until Rey makes us stop, coming across some controls.

 “If we close the blast doors in that corridor, we can trap both gangs.” She whispers her plan to us.

 “We can close them from here?” Finn questions.

 “Resetting the fuses should do it.” She answers, messing with those in front of her, the lights on each one turning red.

 The ship goes dark, and from deep inside sounds a guttural call. My heart drops. “Oh, no.”

 “‘Oh, no’ what?” Finn gives us a look.

 “Wrong fuses.” Rey states. It doesn’t take a genius to realise which doors she’s messed with.

 Above us, the shouts of the gangs turns into cries for help, the ship rumbling as the Rathtars screech. The three of us start speed-crawling, truly regretting our actions here today. We come across another hatch and scramble out as roars echo throughout the ship.

 “What do they look like?” Rey asks as we sprint down corridors. Her question needs no verbal answer as one is presented before us as we round a corner. For a moment, we watch in horror as the creature devours the gang members it has in its grasp.

 “They look like that.” Finn says, pulling Rey away from the scene as we run. Why in the galaxy could King Prana want these?

 We continue to dart down corridors, narrowly escaping the beasts until a tentacle wraps itself around Finn, dragging him away as we scream his name. We run after him, but when I make a move to grab my blaster, I find that at some point I must have dropped it. I curse as we lose sight of Finn.

 Rey continues to call his name, and we can hear him faintly calling for her. Following the noise, however, brings us to a display console. Rey, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, taps something in on the keypad, waiting for an opportune moment and slamming down a button. Elsewhere on the ship, a door slams shut, severing the appendage that held Finn.

 We find him and, out of breath and adrenaline pumping, he tries to tell us what happened. Rey humbly passes it off as luck, and we’re once again running.

 In a stroke of good fortune, we stumble into the hangar, Han, the Wookiee, and both droids already there. “You, close the door behind us! You, take care of Chewie!” We’re ordered by the older man.

 We rush into the Falcon, Han and Rey headed to the cockpit as Finn and I attempt to tend to the injured Wookiee. Something thumps against the ship, and my reaction to catching a glimpse of a Rathtar attempting to eat the cockpit is probably inadequate, but at this point I just want to be done with the situation.

 “Hang on back there!” Han yells to us as the ship begins to rise. Finn shouts back a reassurance, digging through a box of supplies.

 The ship jolts forward, the familiar jump to hyperspace having never been so reassuring. In the cockpit, alarms beep and lights flash. Beside me, Finn struggles to bandage the Wookiee - Chewie, Han called him. Chewbacca? - and I take a moment to slump back and try to regain my senses. Han and Finn continue to yell, Chewie roars when BB-8 rolls over to try and help, and the alarms continue to blare. This isn’t the way I saw this mission going.

 Suddenly, the systems stabilise, and it goes quiet except for Chewbacca’s complaints to Han. Finn leans on a table, accidentally activating an old looking game. Rey leaves the cockpit, joining us.

 “So, fugitives, huh?” Han questions, hands on hips.

 “The First Order wants the map. Finn is with the Resistance; so is Y/N. She’s a Commander,” Rey explains. Finn looks away, guilty. “I’m just a scavenger.”

 “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Han nods at BB-8. The astromech turns to me for advice, displaying the map when I give encouragement.

 The blue hologram fills the room, surrounding us all. “This map’s not complete, it’s just a piece,” Han says, observing it. “Ever since Luke disappeared, people’ve been looking for him.”

 “Why did he leave?” Rey asks. Rumours always circulated on base, and I had heard a number of different reasons.

 “He was training a new generation of Jedi. One boy, an apprentice, turned against him, destroyed it all,” Han tells us. It’s almost strange, finally knowing the truth. I stay quiet. “Luke felt responsible. He just walked away from everything.”

 “Do you know what happened to him?” Finn asks.

 “A lot of rumours, stories,” Han says. “People that knew him best thought he went looking for the first Jedi temple.

 “The Jedi were real?” Rey speaks up, moving closer.

 “I used to wonder about that myself, thought it was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. A magical power holding together good and evil, the dark side and the light?” Han admits, before turning to look at us. “Crazy thing is... it’s true. The Force, the Jedi, all of it. It’s all true.”

 The moment of awe is interrupted by a beeping from the ship.

 “You want my help? You’re getting it,” Han tells us, and I can’t help feeling relieved. “We’re gonna see an old friend, she’ll get you and your droids home. This is our stop.”

[spacetubers]

Cosmogyral: Prologue

-For those who can’t access AO3 ❤

(adj.) whirling around the universe.

Milky way, Year XXXX

All his life, Mark Fischbach dreamed of traversing the stars under the Galactic Alliance. The general peace had given rise to many systems banding together to survive in harmony, and Mark wanted to be part of that. A difference, he wanted to make a difference; he wanted to be a part of this peaceful era. 

With that dream in mind, and a fast tracked initiation into the Star Corps, he stands one atmosphere away from doing that. Being the youngest captain to control a vessel in the Corps should be a great honor...

But something doesn't seem right; his crew, disapproved from all sides, agrees.

The universe just got a whole lot darker. The objective, a tad clearer.

T he glass expanse overlooked the city of Los Angeles, with the midnight rush flying just beyond the protective barrier. Neon lights, glinting off the metallic skyline, cast a sheen into the office and beyond. A shadow moved, and its owner sighed, eyes darting to the paperwork on his desk; the words glared back at him through a pounding headache.

The floors below were probably still cleaning up the night’s festivities; something he ducked out of early to avoid the conversation. It was, however, a good christening , despite the obvious tensions in the room. Fucking Euro-Division; they could have avoided that tension easily.

A sharp sting made him groan in annoyance, wrinkled hands rising to rub under sandy curls; nails coagulating with the infused gel. It was something new, he called; some imported Faunix nonsense. The substance was sent flying out of their fingers soon after. He could deal with the smell for now; it was better than the headache.

For a moment, he wondered where the pain originated from, but the sheer possibilities stemmed back to one man. He rubbed his temples, muttering. “Hnng Rea, activate night mode, please.”

There was a short silence, before the metallic whirring behind him signaled the change in lighting. “Right away, Admiral Ellis.” The overhead lights dimmed to a more somber mood, and the whirring stopped with a small ding.

More silence.

“Are you satisfied with this alternation?” The sleek, artificial voice queried with a warm tone; it almost sounded concerned. “Would you like me to call for some medication, Admiral?”

“Send it in after I’ve had my meeting.” The ding of a registered request followed soon after, so he added. “Speaking of which...Has Captain Fischbach-”

“Captain Fischbach is currently in the South Wing.” The Interface Module responded immediately, ignoring the slight delay in their charge’s words. “His estimated time of arrival is 7 minutes and thirty six seconds.”

There was a pause. “Admiral?”

The groan that followed held enough emotion for a dignified response. “Actually, send the medication now.” The shuffling papers held the instant punctuation. His eyes flickered past the various reports; the names were already memorized, and the level of compatibility assessed. If there was one thing he knew, then it would be the names displayed. “It’s going to be a long conversation.”

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy...Well,not exactly, but the eminem reference was appreciated. His stride was confident, and his arms were swinging loosely with each step, so he only had his face to think about.

Nice try, Slim Shady.

Mark Fischbach tucked that thought away for another mental conversation, ignoring the questioning glances he got as he passed. They didn’t need to know where the smile originated from, anyway. Besides, it wasn’t the first time the recently promoted Captain held such an expression; they should be used to it by now.

However, Mark knew he was nervous. He hadn’t been nervous the day he joined the Corps, despite many cadets dropping out a week into the program. He’d curbed his anxiety through each exam session with a reassuring smile and extensive work. Hell, he’d psyched himself for weeks before he accepted the promotion offer.

Why the hell was he biting his tongue? “...What if they made a mistake?” The whisper came out involuntarily. If only he had someone to empty his fears onto before he entered the room. In fact, the missing presence of Tim didn’t help the situation at all; Mark practically had that droid by his side in everything he did. “I don’t know...Nevermind.” Nervous as all hell, that's for sure.

Admiral Ellis never called anyone in for meetings these days, considering there were mere hours before the christening of a new starship. Considering the small factoid that he was the new captain of the ship, the meeting was nervewrecking. The door loomed ahead, Starcorp insignia etched into the metal.

Mark knocked. “You may proceed, Captain Fischbach.” Mark jumped. “...My apologies. I am REA: Admiral Ellis’ new Assistance Module.”

The captain furrowed his brow in confusion, “I thought there was another AI-”

“Due to unforeseen infiltration, the module was terminated.” The door slid open, and the voice dinged once more. “Admiral Ellis is expecting you; don’t keep him waiting.” The module clicked off.

“Come on in Mark.”

“Evening, Sir.” Mark cleared his throat as he stepped into the office, registering the door closing behind him; his hands, going to his sides, kept the respectful stance. “You wanted to see me?”

The Admiral seemed to watch him for a few moments, eyes darting to the papers on the table, before the sides of his mouth curled. The nervousness left his body with that very expression. “...At ease, Captain. Please, take a seat.” Mark fulfilled the request with a strained smile. “I just wanted to discuss some things my favourite student before you hit the road tomorrow...You can breathe now.”

“I’m...breathing.”

Mark's exhale of relief- and a rather amusing mutter - caused a booming laugh to echo through the room. “That’s better! Can’t have you dying before you even breach this solar system.” The Admiral's laugh dissolved into a fond chuckle. “Can we?”

“Well...That would suck ass.” Mark offered a small smile. “Tyler would kick me back to life.”

“I am sure Lieutenant Scheid would do just that. He is in charge of your crew’s security, after all.” The tone was suggestive, which brought a more sombre tone to the conversation.

Mark ignored it for a moment, testing the waters. "He could just use a defibrillator as well. Shocking, I know"

The Admiral watched the smile dissipate. “Doctor Bisognin would patch you right up, though I'm sure one of the others could have done it just as well...”

Silence.

Mark frowned, leaning forward in his seat; his elbows, grazing the table, retracted. “What are you trying to say? Are we really here for this?” The exasperated tone reverberated through the room, hanging heavily by its epicentre. “...I choose my crew. You approved it.”

The admiral sighed. “Mark...You know your choices have caused a 'ruckus' among the Corps. You haven’t even made an approved choice on your science officer, let alone your helmsman, and now your inner circle is a mismatched group of-”

"Sir."

"-A metaphorical bomb bound to explode. It makes no sense!"

“Admiral...I just want to know why we’re still on about this.” The response held an edge to it, Mark’s frown  was increasing. “Ethan is fully capable of directing the ship until we reach the outpost, then we can sign on our missing bridge members. Just because they’re not exactly what was decided-”

“I’m on about this because you’re not taking the sheer chaos you may cause!” The retort took Mark by surprise. The captain leaned away from the table, while the lecture continued. “First Officer McLoughlin, Lieutenant Nestor....Kjellburg. I understand your inclusion of Doctor Bisognin-”

“Commander Kjellburg.”

More silence.

"Don’t you dare…”

“With all due respect, Sir,” Mark's words, dripping with disapproval, left his lips. “Felix has a title.”

“I refuse to call him anything of the sort.” Mark got up at those words, turning towards the door. The action was immediately followed by a chair screeching. “Fischbach, sit down. Fischbach! Violating the orders of an admiral-”

“I have to get ready for launch, Sir. We leave in less than eight hours.” With each word, Mark’s anger grew and his patience waned, but his stride remained the same. “My crew needs me.”

“Your crew...Mark please. You need to listen to the voice of reason. You can't surround yourself with a crew like that; we can-”

The patience left with a whirl of his body. “The voice of reason, huh?” Mark’s smile held no humor, “The same voice that got me to join the Academy? Or perhaps the voice that managed to impress the Corps into being the youngest captain in their history?” He shook his head, hands running through black hair. Only a few weeks ago, it had been a scarlet hue. “I know my friends, and I trust them with all of my very being. The fact that-”

“Mark, please...Come sit down.”

Silence.

Mark inhaled, closing his eyes. “Look, Sir, I know I’m making very risky decisions, but they feel right. They feel justified! It’s not the easiest route, nor is it the accepted route, but it’s a route I’m willing to take. They’re my crew, and I am their captain. You can’t expect me to change myself to suit others; we’re going to do great things together, and I want it to go my way; for the Alliance, for everyone...”

The silence that followed was bloated, uncomfortable. Disappointed.

"For the Alliance, huh?"

He waited for more words, for any hint of disapproval. The words he’d heard from almost every higher up since his promotion, and the sneers he’d heard once the crew-list was announced. Some were encouraging, while most were pure amusement, but the intent was clear. This was never going to slide; they were waiting for a bigger mistake. Mark’s thoughts, whirling together, almost blocked the sound of the door opening with a curt farewell from REA. He opened his eyes in shock, but stepped through with slight reluctance. Could he really leave this relationship on such an estranged note? “Sir?”

“You’re right...I’ve tried my best.” The sigh was filled with pity, and Mark had to turn around to view the resigned face through the door, staring down at the papers. “You have no idea what you have brought upon yourself, Captain. Are you sure you are willing to destroy everything...and possibly everyone...you love?”

“I-” Mark was cut off by the chuckle that followed, and a final shuffle of papers.

“Don’t answer.” Admiral Ellis, holding up a hand, shook his head, looking away from the door. “You don’t owe me the answer...Godspeed.”

The door closed with a click.

"So you're saying that he called you over...just to tell you to kick most of us out?"

"Exactly."

Weaving through the city skyline, the standard issue hovercar thrummed happily; the auto-pilot system held no qualms to being this overworked. Mark, sitting in one of two seats, regarded the suited being with a neutral gaze. The being in question picked at a set of scarlet scales under his collar. The main species on Solax had many human-like characteristics, but the hardened scales must be itchy in earth's varied environment. There was no use in using contacts to hide the eyes either, but Mark had gotten used to the warm gaze. "Well, at least you can confirm that he's a little shady, huh? At least he hosts good parties; is it me, or do all potential villains host good parties?"

Mark caught the grin before he groaned. "Let's not call him a villain just yet, Wade. He's just doing his job...There must be a reason he's like that." Eyes darting away from the scales to rest on the nearest hologram, Mark continued. "Besides...You're as shady as he is right now, Mr I just hacked into Corps property to help my smuggling friend."

The Sol gasped, rolling his eyes. "When you say it like that...It almost makes me feel bad." The two shared a smirk. "Besides, I don't even know who you're bringing aboard. The only thing Bob told me was that they're part of the main team...Why can't I know?"

"...It's complicated." Mark sighed, shaking his head slightly. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell anyone, but rather a necessity to make sure everything worked out.  That was one of the reasons he let Bob in on the plan, for one, which helped ease the situation ever-so-slightly; it also allowed for a quicker recruiting of Wade. All he had to do was dupe the Corps.

Easier said than done.

The hovercar shuddered slightly, swaying with the sudden change in course as the base coding was overridden. Wade, holding onto a railing as the sudden jolt, gave a sheepish smile. "It was a very sudden job..."

Mark laughed, and settled in for the ride.

It didn't take that long; the pickup location was just a few moments from the city centre, yet far enough to divert suspicion. If the plan worked, they'd be in and up in ten minutes; it was virtually full-proof.

Mark just hoped that Professor Nelson held true to her word.

Professor Amy Nelson- real name unknown -had the missing Kalustrian princess with her, after all.

They had met by chance; Mark had been running some errands when he spotted the two trying to hail one of the many taxis in the area. Despite the rain, the kalustrians didn't seem to have an umbrella on them, so he presumed they were tourists. Out of the good will of his heart, Mark had offered them a ride to wherever they were going.

That was the most interesting- and shocking- four hours of his life.

(Which included waffles, but that was besides the point)

"Y-you're actually her? P-Princess Kathyrn..."

"Well...I guess so. It's not a big deal."

"Big deal?! Kalustra is literally hunting you down!"

"...And?"

The hovercar docked.

"Aand we're here." Wade, proclaiming the obvious, finally let go of the railing. With a quick look at his friend, the Sol went to check the hovercar controls. "Go do whatever shady things you need to do."

"Well thanks, Wade." The swish of the door opening caught Mark's attention, opening to the entrance to n apartment block. The brick faced exterior and small front garden were too familiar to forget; he'd spent many an afternoon conversing inside the walls. If someone had told him those starry eyed, dream-like propositions would have come to fruition, he would have laughed.

But they were doing this, so backing out now was futile.

Mark took a deep breath, and stepped out of the vehicle. "Ten minutes. We'll be back."

[unstable-reality]

The Space Between Echoes: Chapter One

On the eve of the Battle of Yavin, Jyn and Cassian are sent to scout out a new location for Alliance headquarters. They grow closer.

But as for the mission, well... It doesn't go quite as planned.

I’m playing fast and loose with Star Wars canon/lore with this; aiming more for the spirit rather than the word.

[AO3]

“It’s my right to be involved.”

She stood in the war room, leaning over the table, hands wrapped around its edge. The air buzzed with the sound of comlinks, of operators relaying instructions and confirming receipts. Half her face was bathed in the blue and green light of a nearby readout, and through its glow she perceived the rest of the space -- dark edges limned with emerald.

Across from her, General Draven draped his forearms over the back of a chair. Mon Mothma stood beside him, hands linked. It was surreal, to think that the last time Jyn had been party to such a scene, she’d been a prisoner, a bargaining chip. She was in a much better position, this time around.

Not that it was making a lick of difference.

“I’m sorry,” Mothma said. “I understand why you want to be a part of it, but that operation simply hasn’t a role for you.”

Draven straightened and took a step. “You aren’t a fighter pilot, Erso. You’re a thief.”

Her body grew stiff. “Oh, is that all I am? Still?” She lifted her chin.

“Not all, no; but still? Yes,” he responded. “It’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? It’s why you were able to accomplish what you did on Scarif. You scout. You case. You infiltrate.”

She narrowed her eyes. Only a few days had passed. Her injuries had not required full or even partial submersion; topical care had sufficed, and since being cleared, she’d wandered about in something of a daze. The initial rush of victory had given way to listlessness. She knew exactly where it came from, but she’d never been good at facing that sort of thing. She yearned for a distraction. She yearned to get back into the fight, to get out there and finish the task that had been given to her, that was made for her, that represented everything that moral duty alone could never get her to acknowledge.

The men and women around her, the strangers who now all seemed to know her intimately, could be a bit much. She’d been alone and drifting for so many years. But they were eager, as eager as she was, and she found herself feeding off their energy. The news about Alderaan only made them more impatient. And it made her burn, with fervor, to take her father’s sacrifice and transform it into something worthwhile.

When Mothma had summoned her, she’d hoped it meant the time had come. Now, it looked as if that might not be the case. It looked an awful lot like they might just sideline her, despite her history, despite what she’d done.

What would that mean for her? Would there be any reasons left for her to stay? Most of them were gone.

Most.

Mothma glanced at Draven and took a breath. “In light of recent events, we believe that the Empire will soon know the location of this base. We need to begin planning an evacuation. That requires the identification of a fallback position.”

Jyn frowned. “You don’t already have one?”

“There are several possibilities, but we need to make certain they’re still beneath the Empire’s attention before making a selection.”

She breathed, slow. Her gaze moved to the table. In its inert state, it was a simple star map, with the dark expanse of space carved into concentric circles. She had an inkling of where they were headed with this, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

There was a pause long enough to make it obvious that the general wasn’t completely on board with his own proposal. “We would like you to formally join Alliance Intelligence.” His jaw tightened as he said it. “For your first assignment, you’d be deployed as a long-range scout, traveling to potential base locations and reporting back to us on their viability.”

The colors on the readout changed, becoming orange, red. Draven’s features shifted; in this light, he looked more gaunt. More tired. She didn’t want to do it. It made sense, if she thought about it. She was more suited to that sort of work and, well, she wasn’t a fighter pilot, and all of her training and soldiering had fallen into the “guerilla” category.

But it was her right.

“There must be something else,” she said. “I stayed with you to stop the planet killer, to convince you to stop it. I want to be here when it burns.” She rocked on the balls of her feet. “Set me up as an operator if you have to, but don’t send me away.”

“It’s not sending you away; it’s sending you where you’ll be the most useful.”

“I can be useful against the Death Star.” Only a fraction of her believed it.

“No. You can’t.” Draven sighed and shook his head. “Feel free to take it up with General Dodonna if you’d like; he’ll tell you the same thing. If you want to be a part of this fight, then this is what’s on the table, take it or leave it.”

She closed her eyes. Thought of her father. Thought of Saw. Causes were slippery things; she’d learned that from the latter.

Mothma cleared her throat. “It’s worth mentioning that you’d be Captain Andor’s partner on this mission.” The corner of her lips quirked upwards, and she shifted her weight. “He specifically requested you.”

Jyn blinked. She felt a tightening in her core, a tugging that was at once gentle and fierce.

Well. Her father had believed in the Rebellion, right? She could honor him, still, by working to keep it afloat.

She could honor other things, as well.

She closed a fist around her kyber crystal.

“Fine. When do we start?”

Cassian looked exhausted.

It took a fair bit out of a person, convalescing in a bacta tank, and he’d spent 16 hours floating in the one on base. He’d slept for a full solar day afterwards. She knew, because she’d asked after him, often enough that the medical droids had started being curt with her.

Their irritation had reminded her of K-2.

They moved through the interior of the temple, packs slung over their shoulders. It was always busy, always bustling, but at this moment, at this hour, activity had died down just enough for them to be able to comfortably walk abreast. She felt an urge to reach for his hand. She ignored it.

“No matter what they’ve told us, this is partly about loyalty,” he said. His gait had a hitch to it. Bacta couldn’t fix everything. “I disobeyed, and so did you; there can’t not be consequences for that. But they also can’t deny what we’ve done for them.” He shrugged. “So, this is what we get.”

“I take it you’re not thrilled with this, either.”

“No. I’d rather be here. Like you.” He shot her a glance. “But I also know that this is needed. And it’s better than nothing.”

They’d been briefed a few hours before, not long after she’d accepted the assignment. The sight of him, the first proper one she’d had since he’d been taken away from her after Scarif, had warmed her, had secured her in her decision. There were a handful of worlds, selected over months and years by various operatives. Cassian had been among those who’d cultivated contacts in the systems around them. His rank, combined with the breadth of his network, made him an obvious choice for the mission. But there were others who could have done it, and it wouldn’t have been remiss for the Alliance to have chosen them, particularly under the current circumstances.

They’d hadn’t, however. They’d decided that he was their man, and she wasn’t about to leave him when he wanted her. Not after he’d refused to leave her.

The corridor they travelled turned sharply right, and then opened onto the hangar bay. Several hundred feet of clay-colored cement lay before them, terminating in a darkness that clawed its way upward, to the tops of trees, to a jagged skyline that framed the purple-black of night sky, the pinprick glow of stars. Rebels hurried between ships, hopping over and around cables, shouting to one another, waving in sign. Some sat, or stood in circles. The air was filled with chatter.

Cassian dipped his head toward hers. “We could get lucky, of course. I’ve highlighted our best bets. If one of them pans out, we may be able to get back here in time for the show.” A cluster of laughter erupted to their right. “But I don’t have too much hope for that.” He leaned close. “Is that going to be a problem for you?” His breath tickled her ear.

“A little.” More than a little, really. “I wanna see that kriffing thing go down.”

“I know.” His fingers wrapped, briefly, around her upper arm. “Believe me, I know.”

He led her across the hangar, toward a wedge-shaped ship that was a handful of meters smaller than a U-wing. Ground personnel hovered about it. The hatch lay forward of its exhaust and just to the right of an upward slope, which evened out at the cockpit. She’d seen only a few such ships in her day. It had always been under illicit circumstances.

“Are we going to be smuggling on the side?”

He smiled at her. He hadn’t smiled much, if at all, when she’d first met him. “Some people transport goods legitimately, Jyn.”

She strongly doubted that “some people” would include him, if he’d ever had to bring in a haul. “If you say so.”

They boarded and made their way to the cabin; it had been divided into separate sections by thin, after-market plasteel walls -- a cheap, ad-hoc modification. Jyn chose a bunk, dropped her pack, shoved it underneath. Retrieved her blaster (if they were boarded...). Paused to think. She could hear Cassian moving about in the compartment to her right. Her stomach flipped; she took a deep breath, pursed her lips, let it out, slowly. Smiled, just a bit.

She thought of the moment they’d shared on Scarif, in the turbolift, and wondered.

The cockpit was a squat trapezoid; the seats were tucked close together, and lay barely half a meter from the door. When she entered, Cassian was already there, settled into the pilot’s seat, head tilted back, running through calculations. The engine hummed, and the comlink was a well of noise, singing with lilting tones, static, half-formed instructions. The channel was open. He lifted the headphones and settled them over his ears, didn’t bother to pull down the mic.

“Anyone who should know already does.”

She sat beside him. A half-realized notion, a sense that something was not quite right, teetered on the edge of her thoughts.

“We’re heading to Derso first,” he said. “It’s the most hospitable of our options.”

The engine’s hum galloped up a steep crescendo, became a roar. She gripped the arms of her seat.

It was always grueling to leave a world’s atmosphere. The thrust, the force of it, pushed one back, back, tried to bury. And the initial transition to light-speed improved upon that sensation. It felt, to her, as if her flesh was aiming to break free of her bones, as if her body desired nothing more than to stay in the space that it was leaving behind, while her spirit longed to sunder itself from it. There were equations, drawn up by people far smarter than she, that explained exactly what it was she was experiencing. But she didn’t see the point in knowing something if the knowing didn’t impact the doing.

“You all right?”

“Fine.” It had ended, in any case.

“Good.”

The stars had become a cascade of light, a stream of vibrant blue-white. The ship had become a gentle lullaby, consistent, true, lulling. Her body had caught up with her soul, but her stomach clenched with an unnameable anxiety.

“They’re naming a squadron after him.”

Jyn furrowed her brow. Cassian hadn’t spoken since they’d pulled away. “What’s that?”

“Bodhi.” His eyes met hers. “Rogue Squadron. It’s his.”

“Oh. Right.” Listlessness. “I’d heard about that.” She looked down. He’d known her father. He’d brought the task to her. He’d been very brave, braver than she had been or could ever be, surely. “I’m glad. He deserves it.” Deserved a hell of a lot more, if she had any say.

“Yes. He does.”

His hand brushed hers. Her fingers curled upwards and, for a moment, became linked with his.

That’s when she realized what was wrong: there was no droid with them.

“So,” she said. She was fidgety. “Where are we going if this place doesn’t work out?”

Their hands separated. He looked at her for a moment, considering, then pushed himself forwards and up, retrieved a sheet of flimsiplast from the inner pocket of his jacket. Handed it to her. On it was a list of systems, each bearing a mark to its left. “If it turns out we can’t use Derso, we have a few decent alternatives.” He leaned over her, and his scent and the heat of his body invaded her space. She breathed in. Her back arched. “But these I’d like to avoid, if we can help it.” His finger slid, paused, three times.

“I’ve heard of Borga.” Swamp planet. “Can’t blame you for not wanting to go there.” Wet and stinking and nigh impossible to properly land on and suitable only as, from what she’d been told, a last resort for the desperate. “What’s wrong with the other two?”

“Edelis is in a heavy volcanic period,” he replied. “And Hoth...” He paused. “Hoth is a frozen wasteland.”

She eyed him. The obvious question hung on her lips: you’re from Fest, aren’t you? But, of course, she wasn’t supposed to know that, and although he likely wouldn’t be surprised that she’d found it out, it was doubtful he’d appreciate the admission. Their brand of trust relied, at least in part, on them maintaining the polite fiction that they weren’t actually the people they were.

She dropped the flimsi onto the console, drew up her leg, settled her heel onto the edge of her seat. In the first year after Saw had left her, she’d picked up work as a farmhand. She’d needed credits, and lodging, and food, all of it badly enough to answer the first posting she’d come across. Her employers’ dwelling had sat at the crest of a gentle slope, half-submerged in the earth, surrounded by yellowing condensers. On an overcast day, when the air had been thick with moisture, and a near-constant breeze had sliced through her tunic, she’d looked over the space and felt her stomach lurch and her throat close. She hadn’t taken a farm job since.

“You like Yavin 4, don’t you.”

Silence, for a moment.

“Sure, I like it well enough,” he said. “It’s certainly not the worst place I’ve lived.” His forehead creased, and his eyes danced over her face. “Why?”

Because it’s nearly the opposite of what you want to avoid. “It suits you.”

He snorted. “It suits me? And what is that supposed to mean?”

Instead of replying, she rejoined their hands.

[coruscantexpat]

Bonds Unbroken - Chapter 8: Dorm Invasion

“Kreia?!" Meetra reached for the old woman's mind, grasping wildly with her thoughts."Who's coming? Kreia? Kreia!" Silence echoed back at her. Panic clawed its way up into her chest, shortening her breath. The Harbinger hovered ahead of her, still and imposing against the black backdrop of space. There was nothing outwardly terrifying about the ship; under other circumstances, its formidable bulk would have been of little consequence, perhaps even comforting, but now she felt the same anxiety-inducing wrongness she'd felt in the aftermath of Malachor V. Her connection to the Force was still too tenuous to confirm her unease, but Kreia and HK-50 had labeled her as the only other survivor from the Harbinger. As fond of half-truths as they were, there was little chance both of them were lying. And if that were the case, it meant that someone, or something, else had control of the Republic ship... and out of all possible points in the galaxy, had ended up exactly where she was. Calling it a coincidence would be more than generous; it would be more akin to suicidal.

"Meetra!" Atton's voice pulled her back to reality. From the volume, it seemed it wasn't the first time he'd called her name. She turned back to the communications blister, glad he couldn't see her fear through the space suit's tinted faceplate. He was watching her intently, concern flickering briefly across his features before the self-assured mask slid back into place. "You need to get back inside. Depot or dormitories, I don't care. You're not gonna save anyone if you run out of air." He paused and chuckled grimly. "Or if whoever docked that tub isn't looking to leave witnesses. Get moving, Jedi."

The jibe, more than anything, broke through her paralysis, and she let out a strangled laugh. "You're testing my patience on purpose, Rand."

He flashed a tense grin. "If it gets you to listen, I'll do it every chance I get." He turned his attention back to the terminal, calling up more information. "Looks like there's a turbolift that leads back to the administration level on that side of the facility, too. If you can unlock it, you can get back up here to me." He glanced back out at her. "Fair warning: I'll probably lose you once you get through the airlock. That explosion is still throwing up a lot of interference. So, I guess I'll just say 'good luck' now."

Meetra nodded, raising a hand in response. "Be careful, Atton." He mimicked the gesture and she turned away, shuffling forward toward the dormitory airlock. The Harbinger still loomed large ahead of her, but Atton's prodding had given her the resolve to push the fear to the back of her mind. Finding survivors had to be her first priority. If her search was fruitless, if there was no one but Atton and Kreia to save, then getting off the station was the next course of action. Neither plan had to involve the ominous vessel. At least, she hoped they didn't.

Halfway between the communications blister and the airlock, she ran into the vents Atton had warned her about. There were two, side by side, both spewing a violet gas at steady intervals. Perhaps a safety function, in the unlikely, under normal circumstances at least, event that anyone was trapped outside the facility if an emergency required the fuel to be vented. Meetra waited, timing her reaction. She wouldn't be able to cover the entire distance before the far vent expelled another burst of gas, but there was a small gap between the two that would hopefully provide some safety. As the first vent went quiet, she shuffled past it, reaching the thin safe zone before gas burst out on either side of her, so close at this distance that she could feel the heat through the space suit. She flinched, but held her ground, moving past the second vent as soon as its expulsion slowed.

Reaching the airlock, she cycled the door and stepped in, stumbling a bit as her balance reoriented to accommodate for the lack of magnetic pull from the suit's boots. She staggered forward to the inner airlock and hit the release. Behind her, the outer door slid shut and her ears popped as the pressure in the room equalized rapidly. The inner door opened and Meetra stepped forward into another long chrome and ceramic hallway. She fumbled with the seal on her helmet and it released with a rush of recycled air, and she pulled it off, popped the commlink back out, and set the helmet on the floor. Silence, sharp and biting, rushed in to fill the void, no longer held at bay by the helmet's dampening effect. She stripped out of the suit and folded it up into a small square, boots hanging off either side, and then hooked both the suit and the helmet to one of the harness' loops. Clunky if she got into a fight, but the suit could always serve a purpose later on. She unhooked the vibrosword, gripping it tightly, and made her way down the corridor.

Further in, she could faintly hear the clatter of droid appendages, but she found it hard to feel any concern. After dealing with HK-50 and seeing the Harbinger, the slow, almost bumbling mining droids seemed trivial. When she stumbled upon one, she barely paused, skirting around it as it continued skittering about without a purpose. Eventually, Meetra came upon the first corpse since the fuel depot: another female miner, her body scorched and pockmarked. A datapad lay near her outstretched hand. Meetra scooped it up and scrolled through the message, learning that the droids were not the only malfunction in the dormitories: the fire suppression system, fueled, in all the wisdom of an insane engineer, by carbonite, had activated, killing at least one of the miners and leaving the author of the datapad trapped in the corridor with the droids. She also revealed that the nearby storage room contained ion grenades, which she had been unable to retrieve due to the lockdown. Meeta replaced the pad and murmured a short apology over the woman's body before turning to the storage room. She fished another sonic mine from the pocket of her harness, attached it to the door, armed it, and retreated down the hall.

The door blew open with a sharp crack, drawing the attention of the droid Meetra had passed earlier. It clicked back down the hall, pausing briefly when it reached her, and then continued on to the door. It turned from left to right, confused, and then returned the way it came. She waited for it to pass and then slipped into the room, rifling through the lockers and plasteel canisters, turning up a few droid repair kits and a handful of ion grenades. She pocketed all of it and went back out into the hallway.

She heard the fire suppression turrets before she spotted them, the whirring of their servos as they turned from side to side cutting through the silence. They snapped toward her as she turned the corner and fired, but their blasts didn't carry past the threshold of the room they were placed in. Meetra reached for one of the mining blasters, calculating the distance between the edge of the room and the nearest droid, but she released the weapon after a moment. The Jedi had viewed most weapons besides lightsabers as beneath them, none more so than blasters, and, like most Jedi, she'd never had training in using one. Even the feel of the weapon in her palm was off, as if either it or her hand was the wrong shape. Instead, she fished a couple of ion grenades out of her harness, thumbed the safeties, and lobbed one at each turret. Her coordination was true and both grenades skidded to a stop against the casing of the turrets. Meetra ducked back around the corner, turning her face away as the grenades exploded. She waited a moment and then peeked back in. Scorch marks pocked two corners of the room and pieces of metal were scattered all across the floor; all that remained of either turret. She crossed the room and continued down the corridor, eventually arriving at a three-way intersection with a terminal against one wall.

Meetra switched the console on and selected the camera feeds from the main commands. She brought up the mess hall first, wincing when it presented her with a grisly tableau of dead miners and demolished droids. The views of the dormitories were no better. Poisonous fumes were still being pumped into both room, but she could make out the shapes of bodies beneath the deadly clouds. Her heart sank and she leaned heavily against the console, tears of frustration threatening to spill over. She couldn't shake the sense of responsibility she felt, a holdover from her lessons so many years ago. She'd always been told people depended on her for safety and security, and even though she knew now that it wasn't true, it was still a hard thing to fight. Meetra took a deep breath, centering herself as much as possible, and began to flick through screens, eventually stumbling upon the ventilation controls. Though locked, the password wasn't hard to crack, even with her mediocre skill, and she cut off the vents in both dorms. With the danger taken care off, she canceled the lockdown and the dormitory door cycled open behind her.

Full chapter available on AO3 and FFN.