“Alright, boys.
Been thinking it over, here’s the plan.
First, our disposition: we’re a camouflaged recon unit operating deep in enemy territory.” Dench and Fifty-One actually straightened up at that.
“Second.
We know the evac point, and that’s basically all we know.
According to the plan, we grab ourselves a prisoner.
We need a Kaminoan.
After we snatch and question him, non-lethal, I want that clear, we head straight for the evac point.
Along the way, we grab whatever gear we can.
I’m designating this Operation Y.
Questions?” “Cap,” Nest cut in immediately, “why exactly do we need a Kaminoan?
Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to grab someone from Security, or one of the staff?
At the very least, I could try hacking a droid instead…” “Nest, you crybaby.
Have you seen even one sign posted anywhere in these corridors?
Even one?” “Um.
No.” “They’re there.
We just can’t read them, and honestly, even if we could see them clearly, we wouldn’t understand a word.
Does anyone here speak Kaminoan?
I don’t, and I doubt any of us do, since it’s not even in the training database.
I’m talking a lot today, I know.” “So how do we—” Fifty-One started, and got cut off.
“Confirmed,” Drill added, “there’s no Kaminoan language file anywhere in the database.” “Right, Nest, pull up your helmet’s auxiliary panel, step out the door, and look at it through the display.
Don’t power it on yet.
What do you see?” “Lines.
Curls.
Hm.
Cap, permission to make a suggestion?” “Go ahead, Nest.” “I say we grab our prisoner outside the school complex entirely.” “Explain.” “We can run familiar routes and sketch out the standard signage we already recognize.
Given how uniform and symmetrical the buildings are here, the naming conventions are probably identical across the board.” Right as he said it, an interactive map unfolded across my visor.
Unsettling.
Twelve floors, six levels each.
Every room laid out exactly the same.
Meaning there’d be warehouses on other levels too, some stocked, some maybe not.
“Drill, sync our helmets and cut us off the main network.
We need to hear them, not the other way around.
Push the map to everyone and set a fifteen hour countdown.
Better to arrive early.
Fifty-One, hand out stunners to everyone, then take Nest and Dench and go memorize the signage on the other levels.
Lights out.” I killed the shared channel after that.
Fifty-One nodded and took off running, the others already at work above.
“Dench, hold up, where are you off to?” “Helping.” “Who’s in charge right now?” “You are,” he said, dead certain.
Starting to understand why Master Kal likes this one.
“Then listen when I tell you something, and when I don’t tell you anything, you do nothing.
Understood?” “Yes.” I’d have facepalmed if my hand wouldn’t have just hit the visor instead.
“Tell me, Denny, where exactly did you find that interesting backpack of yours?” I sit down on a water container and nudge the second one toward him.
“Found it—” Whatever expression I made right then defies polite description.
“What do you mean, found it?
Were you just walking around and happened to trip over it?
Wait, is there more of this stuff?” “There’s more—” …
Swallowing the urge to strangle, resurrect, and strangle this brilliant, terrifying genius of a demolitions expert all over again, and picking my jaw and eyeballs back up off the floor, I ask, carefully: “Will you show me?” “Yep!” He nods like an eager puppy.
Delighted.
Right then, a call came through my helmet.
“Drill here.
Done.” A fifteen hour countdown timer appeared in the corner of my visor.
“Copy, all channels.
Drill, take Nest and Fifty-One, get up on the levels and memorize the writing.
Move.
Nest, you’re senior on that team.
Oh, almost forgot, our quarters count as north for reference.
Three floors below us, southwest, right side corridor, there’s a warehouse full of gear.
It’s a trap; I recognize the signage.
Denny and I are heading out for a bit.
We’ll regroup at base in an hour.
If you run into any Alphas, don’t engage.
Ignore any orders they give you, don’t start anything, and if there’s trouble, disengage and run.
Stay out of enclosed rooms and the big open training grounds.” Three quick “copy” replies came back, plus a slightly overeager “copy, sir” from Nest.
We head off, unhurried, in the same direction the Alphas had bolted almost forty minutes earlier.
Empty corridors here, from what I can tell, our unit’s occupying an entire level, and even after all our running around, we’ve probably only mapped a quarter of it.
Judging by the gaps and unmarked blank spaces on the layout, somewhere in the section we haven’t covered yet, there’s likely a nursery and growth tanks.
For a better look, I zoomed in on one level of the map and turned it over from every angle.
Something caught my eye.
There, two breaks in the corridor pattern, symmetrical, one on each level.
That’s an exit route.
Guarded, presumably.
Can’t just walk out through the drainage either, this whole planet’s ocean, there’s no sewer system to speak of.
More likely everything routes through desalination processing tanks.
Fight our way through?
That’d cause a real mess.
This whole delay getting to that platform is starting to bother me more than it should.
Something about all this feels off.
Can’t put my finger on what exactly.
Beyond the stunners, we’re going to need all kinds of odds and ends.
Comlinks or tactical datapads would help a lot, though I have no idea where to even start looking for the former, and the latter get built directly into standard-issue armor as part of the kit, which is another point in favor of finding some.
Not to mention basic multitools.
Even back in my old life I always carried some cheap knockoff multitool loaded with files, blades, and pliers, on top of the standard knife.
Nothing like that built into this armor design, though.
Just a combat vibroblade and that’s it.
Belt pouches for grenades and ammo.
Everything else gets stashed in packs.
Meaning out here, isolated from the main force, they’re clearly not used to operating solo like this.
Or they’ve just fallen out of the habit.
Not going to change that, but I’m definitely putting together my own personal kit, since it’s not actually against the rules, I checked.
When I brought it up earlier, Master Kal seemed genuinely puzzled by the question, something like, why would you need that?
The Republic provides everything you need, and if it doesn’t provide it, you probably don’t need it.
Easy for him to say.
His armor’s practically bursting with custom gear.
Oh.
Where exactly are we?
“Dench?” “Hm?” “Where are we right now?” “In the hallway.” “Right.
Which one, specifically?” Not exactly ready to admit I’d zoned out and stopped tracking our route.
“Here,” he said, and a marker blinked onto my map.
Good enough.
“Been meaning to ask.
How’d you even find this spot in the first place?” “I was bored,” he said, with an expression so flat it apparently explained everything.
“And when was this?” “About two months back.” Noticing my interest, he kept going.
“There’s a ventilation hatch in our old quarters, under my bunk.
I popped it open.
Plenty of room to crawl through if you stay low.
Smells bad sometimes though.” “How’d you even get it open?” Not that I actually cared much, but if this guy had some kind of homemade multitool on him too…
“With a knife.
Made it out of a spoon.
Want to see it?” The grin that came with that offer.
“Later,” I said, backing off that one for now.
Eventually we reached a small side door tucked away from the main corridor, and behind it we found, a laundry room.
The sharp smell of grease and oil hit me immediately.
A gift from the universe.
Even a quick look turned up fabric undersuits for wearing beneath armor, several tactical packs big enough to fit our containers easily, and standard clone armor, soaking in something.
Closer inspection killed the mood fast.
We weren’t walking away with five complete sets.
Not even close.
Several pieces were damaged.
Nothing critical, but we don’t have the tools or the time to fix any of it.
Keep searching?
Doubt we’d get this lucky twice in one day.
Worse, none of the armor had batteries installed.
Then noise picked up in the next room, and Dench and I dove behind a bin of dirty laundry like a couple of startled fish.
The thin bulkhead slid open and a droid rolled in.
Just a standard cleaning unit, the kind I’d seen dozens of around the parade ground toward the end of training.
Dull, boxy little vacuum units with weak manipulator arms for light lifting.
It didn’t register us at all, just steered around the obstacle.
Relief.
I stood back up, told Dench to keep an eye on the droid, and opened the channel.
“All units, this is One-Thirty-Four.” “Nest,” came the reply.
“Drill,” another.
“Fifty-One, busy, running into problems.” Then silence from that end.
“Alright, wrap up the signage run, grab the map data, get the stunners and food, and get over here.” I pushed them a marker with our location.
If they’d found it too, they weren’t the only smart ones around.
Right then, some commotion pulled my attention toward the bulkhead where Dench had gone to check on the droid.
I’d have stayed alert and moved to investigate regardless, but then something thudded softly on the other side.
Damn it all.
Without thinking, I’m up and moving, slap my palm against the door release, squeeze through the gap as it slides open, drop into full combat awareness, and freeze dead still the moment I clear the threshold.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I register that my ribs, still not fully healed, are aching.
And in that instant, two things become immediately clear.
We don’t have time to keep scavenging junk, and we just hit the jackpot.
And a third thing: I am never, under any circumstances, for any reason, going to argue with Dench again.
What I was looking at, honestly, was almost impressive.
com/Hezzario