Luke unhooked the lightsaber from his belt. The loss of weight was sudden—he hadn't carried one of his own since Bespin.
Jade froze. She had asked for this every time they met, but now that it was real, she just stared.
"Are you serious? How?" Her voice was uncertain, her brilliant green eyes darting between Luke and the hilt.
"Apparently, Command finally agrees you are a genuine defector."
Luke tossed it. Jade snatched it from the air so hard that it almost smacked into her outstretched palm. She clung tightly to it, examining it obsessively.
Snap-hiss.
The violet blade burst into life. Illuminated by its light, Jade's face was full of wonder. She still looked like she could not believe it.
After a moment, she extinguished the blade. Luke supposed he was fortunate that she stopped short of cutting a hole in the ship during her paranoid testing.
"My other weapons?" She asked, her voice softer now.
"General Cracken decided it would be best to keep them for a while longer." Luke said apologetically as he sat down next to Jade. "They are too dangerous, he said."
"And this is not?" Jade exclaimed, her snark returning in full as she recovered from the shock. "You Rebels are insane."
"This? This is an important religious artifact with immense spiritual value." Luke grinned. "I see no weapons here."
The final chapter is out! The story is now complete.
I want Eriadu during the Tarkin era to be like 18th century Russia where the assimilationist policies of the Tarkins are enforced in really annoying ways. I'm talking a beard tax, I'm talking WAY too much Coruscanti influence on architecture, I'm talking centuries-old buildings being knocked down, I'm talking Eriaduans from the lowlands being looked down on by the Eriaduans of the mountains like the Russians of the West looked down on the Russians of the East.
I want to see the gradual disappearance of fur hats and long heavy coats in favor of Core styles. I want Jova Tarkin to be the outlier, to feel like he's the final frontier against the softness of Coruscanti life with his big beard and attunement to the natural world, and I want people of the lowlands to recognize him as a transplant, a colonizer who CHOSE to immerse himself in the dangerous landscape rather than having to adapt to it from the first time the land was settled. I want there to be pushback against Tarkin from people of all socioeconomic backgrounds who are proud of their culture, who want to remain unique, and I want some people to take that too far to a nationalist scale to the point where there are two extremes and some Eriaduans are just tired of the bullshit and want to get on with their lives.
I want culture to be an ongoing battle on Eriadu, because the Tarkin family's obsession with adopting the clothing and aesthetics of the Core is fascinating to me and I wonder what Eriadu was like before all that, ESPECIALLY before Wilhuff's parents were born, because they seem to be the most adamant about being like Coruscanti nobility.
And finally, I want to know whether Wilhuff Tarkin himself would tend more toward the older Eriaduan traditions or if he's looking toward something entirely new and different.
Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)
Warnings: None.
Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.
Word count: 3.6k
Fic notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired by Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone," :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.
Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 | Read on Ao3
To Tech, it appeared Saw had selected the more direct route, choosing to enter the Lommite mine by using its front entrance. There was enough equipment lying about that the Partisans had adequate cover in most places, though Hondo refused to follow in their footsteps.
“Let dem be de bait, a distraction ef you will,” Hondo had said. “Four heads are better dan two, but any more dan dat gets tu be a bit confusing, ah?”
The scoundrel wafted a hand dismissively.
“Et es nooo fault of ours should dey get caught. We offered dem tu work tugether, but now I will show you de correct way tu enter such a place of high security! Follow me!”
Tech had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, having infiltrated many high-security locations in the past. Of course, he had been able to view his surroundings quite clearly then, resorting to tagging along behind the bright red blob that walked off to the far left of the mountain entrance.
“Here,” Hondo pointed up. Tech squinted, attempting to make out what it was the so-called pirate was gesturing toward.
“What?” Tech asked plainly. It was already dark outside, and the clone was coming to the realization that things were about to become significantly more difficult for him—he would have to rely more and more on the somewhat inept man, not that he was in any position to be picky.
“A ventilation shaft!” Hondo relayed enthusiastically, motioning to a panel that was half his height. It was embedded into solid rock and covered by a grate that was lined with vertical slits. It was apparent its function was to clear out toxic fumes in addition to providing proper air circulation within the mine, Tech already feeling apprehensive about the entire situation, come what may.
“Do you know where this leads?” the commando asked, causing Hondo to bristle.
“Enside de mine, where else?” he returned, there being no shortage of attitude accompanying the Weequay’s tone. “We shall find out once we go en,” Hondo added, as if that were obvious—and perhaps it was. “Here, come closer, ef I am tu stand on your head.”
Tech’s expression was far from one of neutrality, though thankfully hidden beneath the cracked portion of his heads-up display and the remains of his battered helmet. “I believe a simple boost should suffice,” he replied dourly.
“Fine, yes, whatever.”
“And you will assist me afterward?”
Considering the previous incident of being left behind in the forest of Eriadu to fend for himself, Tech thought it appropriate to ask.
“Of course, of course, my friend.” Hondo slapped Tech across his upper back, followed by a squeeze to his shoulder. Both of these actions caused Tech to grimace in pain, though he kept silent, Hondo having already turned around to face the ventilation shaft.
“Now, stand here,” he commanded.
Tech limped forward, positioning himself beneath the grate; it would have to be swiftly removed and discarded, noiselessly, Tech not looking forward to the extra weight he would momentarily have to bear in order for this plan to work.
“It would be beneficial if I were to go first,” Tech began, Hondo being fully intact and in good health, or so he assumed—better off than he was, at any rate. “Your overall frame and proportions relative to your height indicates that you are heavy, and in my presen—”
“—heavy?!” Hondo interrupted. “Are you calling me fat?” the pirate growled, turning to give Tech an uncomfortable prod with his finger.
“Yes, let me send a blind man tu de fore. What a brilliant plan,” Hondo snapped. “Surely, you will lead us tu victory, nu doubt, and tu a ship, yes?”
Tech said nothing. While he could stand there and argue his point, he was sure it would go through one tapered ear and out the other, the Weequay as stubborn as anyone he had ever met, perhaps on par with General Skywalker, or even Crosshair. It was something he wanted to ask—how Hondo knew Jedi. Having previously mentioned the General during his conversation with Saw Gerrera, it was something Tech wished to know the answer to, though he supposed now was not the time.
“Fine,” came his terse response. “Though I ask you to be mindful of the fact I am injured and may have difficulty in taking on the brunt of your full weight for very long.”
“Nu, I thought I would linger, enjoy de view while I am up dere—how lovely de trees, de mountains,” Hondo said, sarcasm lacing his resonate voice, “Trust me, ah?”
“And where have I heard that before?” Tech questioned, returning his same energy.
“Ap-ap-ap! We have moved past all dat. Now, we move forward, onward, upward!” Hondo waited; Tech did not take the hint. “I said, ‘upward’!” the Quay pointed out, ushering Tech forward with a wave of his hands.
The clone sighed, readying himself by bending at the knees and tightening his core muscles in preparation, before cupping his hands to make a bowl for Hondo’s boot. “Ready,” he said simply, hoping the pirate would make short work of the grate barring their path.
To his surprise, there was no teetering, no dilly-dallying, no clumsiness. Hondo had his own tools at his disposal whereas Tech’s had either been lost or destroyed in the fall, this only requiring the use of a screwdriver. The pirate had many things inside his coat—up his sleeves—this just being one of them, and to Tech’s relief he did indeed make good use of his time.
A thump near Tech’s foot startled him, making the clone wonder just how close the iron grate had come to his head. It landed below with a resounding clatter against rock, Tech ready to complain, but Hondo’s weight had already lifted off him, the pirate’s voice echoing from within the narrow metal chamber up above.
“Easy es as easy does,” Hondo stated smugly. Tech stepped back to gaze up, just as the pirate’s head and helmet popped back out—it was hard for Tech to make out his face, distinguished only by the moonlight reflecting off his goggles. Then, as promised, Hondo reached out his arms for Tech to grab hold—it was his turn.
“Hurry, my friend! De sooner we get going, de sooner I can earn my most valuable reward for returning you safely, ah?”
“Hopefully, no one heard the very loud sound of metal banging against rock,” Tech said as he reached up to take hold of both the Weequay’s hands—they were soft; Tech hadn’t expected that. He had been under the impression that Weequay would be rough to the touch, thanks to their scales. Perhaps Hondo moisturized more often than others; he was rather prissy for a pirate, at least in terms of outward appearance—and for all Tech knew, he made a point to perform all manner of self-care.
And, he was strong, Hondo able to lift Tech’s some odd one hundred and eighty pounds rather easily, not to mention it included the combined weight of his armor.
“Fascinating,” Tech muttered as he found himself at the lip of the entrance to the shaft, Hondo falling backward onto his bottom as he pulled the clone more than halfway inside.
“What es fascinating,” Hondo commented, “es how heavy you are when you are so very, very skinny, my friend.”
“Generally, individuals with larger skeletons and greater muscle mass tend to weigh more than those of shorter stature. Since muscle is denser than fat, increased muscle mass contributes to a higher overall weight.”
Hondo sighed and pressed his thumb and forefinger to either side of his forehead.
“Furthermore, the armor I am wearing is approximately eighty-eight pounds, distributed across my body through twenty different form-fitting plastoid-alloy plat—”
“—Iiiiii am sorry I said anyting,” Hondo interjected, cutting Tech off mid-sentence.
“You are stronger than you appear,” Tech said bluntly, catching the pirate off guard. There was a pause of a few seconds before his mind caught up to Tech’s admission, a frown overtaking his swarthy face.
“Du you take me for some weakling because I choose tu care for my appearance? As my mother always told me, ‘Son, looks can be deceiving—dat es why we dress our best. Nu one suspects de person who turns heads. Everyone looks, but never right under deir noses.’”
“I was simply making an observation.”
“Well now, observe yourself all de way enside!” Hondo scolded, Tech’s legs still visible should anyone happen to walk past.
“Perhaps if you moved,” Tech shot back.
Hondo scoffed dramatically and turned around; Tech was faced with his rearend. Thankfully, it was covered by the tail end of his crimson coat.
Fortunately, the space was large enough to accommodate them—albeit one at a time in a single-file line. Tech was glad—for once—that he couldn’t clearly make out what was in front of him, as both men crawled on their hands and knees down the length of the shaft.
“Dough et does not take a rocket scientist tu figure dis out,” Hondo called back, “once we are enside de mine, we shall sneaky-sneak and find a place tu—”
“—I thought you said, and I quote, “Hondo does not sneak,” Tech reminded him, referring to a previous conversation where Hondo had said exactly that.
“Bah! Du you always pay attention so closely?” Then, Hondo thought better of it. “Du not answer dat—de point es, we find a place tu hide, den we shall scope out all de possibilities, picking de fastest, most expensive ship.”
“And if Saw has the same idea in mind?”
“Let me worry about dat,” Hondo returned. Tech did not enjoy the mischievous lilt that accompanied Hondo’s less-than-adequate explanation; he wondered if the pirate would intentionally do him harm just to get ahead. A self-labeled scoundrel, so far his morals had been questionable.
The rest of their short trip was spent in blessed silence—for the most part—though the pirate ahead of him had taken to humming some song or another. Tech wondered if Hondo had ever been totally and completely quiet a day in his life. Of course, Tech was used to chaos and many voices occupying his personal space, what with millions of brothers back on Kamino, and his squad in particular being perhaps the rowdiest of all. Wrecker alone was easily the cause of most of his distractions.
Within moments, Hondo, in his attempt at being stealthy, hissed out a strained “we are here,” Tech having stopped his forward crawl seconds from running straight into the pirates backside.
Sighing in relief mixed with annoyance, Tech decided to give the pirate another round of unsolicited advice. “This time, do not drop the grate so loudly onto the ground.”
Hondo was already at work, only having two screws left to go. “Shall I have you du dis? Would you like tu take over?”
“Yes,” Tech replied.
“Tuu bad,” came Hondo’s answer, though he acted as Tech had wished, lowering the grate slowly, and carefully downward, so that all he heard was a rather small plop as it landed in the dirt below.
Then, Hondo peeked out, assessing the situation. There were many adits from which he was sure the lommite had been harvested—corridors branching out from the main access point, which was the large, central room he was currently investigating. The surrounding rock was reinforced with bolts and shotcrete where the tunnels had been dug. Ventilation shafts—each the same height as theirs—lined the walls across and diagonally from their own.
They were empty, of course; it seemed no one else had the bright idea to crawl through them. Though from this vantage, Hondo was able to lay eyes on both Saw and his man, crouched behind what looked to be a durasteel support of some kind.
“De coast es clear,” Hondo announced, though many laborer droids and workers trundled about, just not in the Weequay’s direct line of sight. “Aldough, Saw es just across de way, hiding,” Hondo smirked. “And I am sure his plan es no better dan ours.”
“Does that really matter?” Tech asked, exasperated.
“Et does!” Hondo retorted brusquely. “Ef ours es better, he will have wished we worked tugether.”
Tech remained silent, refusing to continue this particular bit of conversation, though he was well aware they had no plan at all except for whatever this Weequay came up with at the spur of the moment, presumably flying by the seat of his pants.
Hondo allowed himself to refocus, scanning the equipment that was nestled closer to the mine’s narrow corridors, his eyes sweeping back across the hangar bay and toward the front. There were only two ships—an HT-2200 medium sized freighter designed by the Corellian Engineering Cooperation, and something that very obviously belonged to the Empire, white-clad troopers lingering beside it as they watched several poor workers load cargo into its spacious payload.
“Some bad news, my friend,” Hondo turned his head to peer over his shoulder. “De Empire es indeed here.”
“That is no surprise,” Tech stated.
“Hm,” Hondo hummed, pulling himself back inside the ventilation shaft. “We need a distraction—someting dat will draw dem away from de ships en order for us tu sneak on board.”
“And what do you suggest?” Tech asked, though he had his own ideas—ones he was fairly certain the pirate wouldn’t care to hear.
Hondo smiled rather exaggeratedly, pulling what looked to be a rock out of his pocket. He bounced it once in his palm, before holding it up between two fingers for Tech to get a better look.
“A … rock?” the clone questioned, perplexed.
“A rock dat we throw.”
Tech sighed a sigh that signified just how disappointed he was with the Weequay’s response, the clone’s shoulders drooping noticeably in a way that was almost comical. “I hope you are not serious.”
“Saw tries tu steal our ship; I throw dis rock—bring attention tu his whereabouts—den voila! Everyone es looking at dem, and not at us.”
“That is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard.”
“Es it?” Hondo’s nostrils flared with indignance. “And du you have a better one?”
“I do, though I am unable to execute it to the best of my ability.”
“And what es et, pray tell?”
“I assume in a place like this there are ASP-series labor droids wandering about.”
Hondo peered backward and glanced around—indeed there were, though he kept quiet.
“It is not uncommon for ASP droids to be used in gladiatorial combat.”
Hondo knew this well, as one ASP droid had fought in the sparring pits on Florrum, modified to have a flamethrower among other accoutrements, such as steel-shredding servos.
“If I were to reprogram one, altering its primary function to one that favored barbarism, I could persuade it to attack Imperial soldiers—or at least cause a disruption that would, in turn, allow us to steal a ship and escape.”
Hondo narrowed his eyes. “Welllll, tuu bad you are blind—let us make haste! Saw es on de move!”
Tech could not help the expression that overtook his face, though again, it was a good thing Hondo was unable to see it, the clone watching as the pirate dropped quietly down below, leaving him alone in the shaft.
Tech took a deep breath—more to regulate his increasingly negative emotions than anything else. He trusted the pirate to remain alert and climbed out behind him, fully expecting they would rush to find a hiding spot rather than dawdle out in the open. Additionally, Tech assumed Hondo had double-checked their surroundings. But then, the pirate’s heavily accented voice interrupted Tech’s thoughts—he was speaking to someone, and not to him.
The clone stiffened, turning slowly to face whatever new calamity was about to befall them. A mining laborer of some apparent authority stood nearby, arms akimbo, a datapad clutched tightly in his hand.
“We are maintenance workers, testing de tunnels—uh, de ventilation shafts,” he heard Hondo lie. “Very dirty, so many cobwebs. De vents … dey are not venting,” he said unconvincingly, the man’s brows furrowing as his gaze drifted toward Tech.
“You don’t look like no maintenance workers I’ve ever seen, and I’m the foreman. I know every single human, droid, in this outfit—and you ain’t one of them.”
“We are … new. Empire. De Empire hired us,” Hondo continued. “Dey never tell anyone anyting, ah? So lazy when et comes tu red tape…”
The pirate chuckled nervously.
“That why he’s dressed like that?” the foreman asked, gesturing toward Tech who was wearing armor.
The clone could not believe it. A span of no more than ten seconds had passed, yet they had already been caught.
“Yes! Very dangerous en dere. We both have helmets, as you can see.”
“Keve!” the man shouted, “Keve! Go get one of them Imps! Got a question for ‘em!”
“Dere es nooo need for that, my friend. We will just be on our way—tu de next shaft. Over dere.” A pause, then Hondo’s eyes widened, one hand lifting so that he could point.
“You, dere! What are you duing?! Are dey … trying tu steal dat ship?!” the Weequay asked, feigning shock and surprise—somewhat poorly—as he looked toward Saw, who was making a beeline straight to the freighter that should have been in Hondo’s possession, not his!
If Tech were not so on edge, he would be tempted to give the sorry excuse for a pirate a piece of his mind, beside himself at the absurdity of the situation. The foreman, however, did turn, looking in the direction of Saw Gerrera, his lone man rushing alongside him toward the HT-2200. Until this point, they had been darting between cargo crates and varied machinery quite successfully, but that was all about to come to an end.
The look Saw gave Hondo was murderous.
“Hey! Someone stop them!” the foreman yelled. But in that moment, Hondo and Tech both knew the chance of commandeering a ship was zero. Still, that didn’t mean there were no other ways of escaping—Hondo grabbed hold of Tech’s wrist and tugged him along.
“Quickly! While he es distracted!”
“What are you—”
The foreman paused in the middle of the room, turning to glance back at the pirate and Tech, then back toward Saw and his partner. “Useless—HEY!”
The two Imperial soldiers snapped their heads around and readied their weapons. It seemed they had spotted the red coat of the pirate and the former Republic soldier before noticing the two men dashing up the boarding ramp just to their right. It was ludicrous, really, though Tech had to admit the coat that Hondo wore may as well have been a giant target.
“Stop right there!” one of the TKs shouted.
“Du not stop!” Hondo shouted back, dragging Tech toward a row of speeders set off to the side of the cargo bay entrance. He towed him to one, took up the front, and slammed his hand down on the starting mechanism—the vehicle roared to life.
Tech struggled to climb aboard behind him, just as the troopers began to open fire. He barely had time to register what was happening before Hondo was inadvertently hitting him in the face, adjusting his long coat.
“We need back up!” Tech heard one say. Bolts whizzed by his head as Hondo released the speeder’s clutch, then engaged the repulsor so that they lifted off the ground.
“Dat did not go according tu plan,” Hondo said, activating the bike’s thrusters.
“What plan? That was not a plan! We had no plan!” Tech yelled over the thunder of the engines and the pew pew of laser fire.
“Eh, maybe shoot dem, ah?” Hondo offered, steering the bike clear of other obstacles so that he could test the throttle—the bike jerked forward, nearly causing Tech to topple off.
“Pay attention to where you are going!”
Just then, the HT-2200 began to lift off the ground, the TK troopers drawn by the sudden change in air pressure as a warm wind descended upon them. The foreman was still yelling in the background, angrily waving his datapad at the two men now vacating the hangar aboard the stolen ship.
Tech was losing his patience. He was beginning to wonder if he would just be better off on his own. He struggled to comprehend how things could have turned out so poorly, not wanting to admit that he was most likely still alive thanks to this infuriating Weequay pirate.
“Now what is it that you suggest we do?”
Hondo tsked as he leaned forward, squeezing the handlebars. “I would suggest holding on tight, my friend, ef I were you.”
“Do not be rash! Only experienced drivers—”
Hondo laughed over him, to Tech’s chagrin.
“Experience?! Hondo has experience! Du not worry your big head! I survive every time, and I know how to drive a speeder! I have only crashed, ah, a handful of times.”
“That is not in the least bit comforting!”
Without further ado, Hondo increased the power output of the speeder’s thrusters as he pressed down on the altitude controls, gaining height. He banked right, exiting the hangar and vanishing into the surrounding darkness of Eriadu—just as Tech’s life flashed before his eyes.
The last thing he witnessed before dashing full speed ahead into the forest was Saw’s ship disappearing above a dense layer of fog, though to Tech, it was nothing more than a glowing dot on the horizon.
Do you think the Bad Batch ever thought about going back to Eriadu to get (whatever's left of) Tech's body so they can lay him to rest properly...because I do
Chapter 34 of An End Has A Start is up, officially making this fic my longest one yet (if we are counting by chapters)! I really worked hard to get this done by the weekend because I was putting it off for a while because I was so nervous about misrepresenting Eriadu wooops... This is only the first chapter taking place on Eriadu so more to come! Enjoy!
