This ship don't stop there anymore. [Sarge]

[Hazel Scheler]

A low, derisive snort followed the man's initial response. Hazel suppressed a short-lived notion to argue with the man about what he thought he knew about her - something she might've set loose back in the day. But if she didn't believe anything, wholly and truly, she didn't believe she was young enough for stupid, pointless arguments anymore.

"I believe," the woman said after a deep breath, moving her natural hand over the top of the empty tumbler, "that one glass was enough, thanks." Echos of a certain blond Sith still played through her mind every now and then. Something something... you can't keep drinking yourself stupid when things get bad.

Sweet and sour memories that always seemed nice to think of on the onset but managed to leave a frown on her face and a bad taste in her mouth. Not that Hazel had ever tasted any amount of regret and liked it.

"Do your wishes normally come true?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He nodded, not put off in the slightest. The Whyren's was set back on his liquor table, and he capped it before going back to his seat. Sinking, once more, into it's cushioned leather, he drew in a deep breath at her question. There was a visible moment where he considered being a smartass, but in the end, she'd managed to surprise him. The question hadn't been anticipated. In fact, he'd never assume anyone would ask that of him. His head tilts to one side, studying her, and after a slow blink he smiles.

"Sometimes." He admits, "But, in the end, most wishes are a monkey's paw, are they not?"

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I wish," Hazel stifled a chuckle, single-orbed gaze shifting down as she thumbed the rim of the glass, "I knew what that meant."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"An old story. The lesson is to be careful what you wish for." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and the thin set of his lips was followed by a hint of a downward cast to his eyes. "Basically, a man is given - or purchases, I forget - a mummified monkey paw which can grant three wishes.

Each wish is granted, but only with consequence. The only one I remember is that he wishes for his son to come back to life, after he's been dead for more than a week. Of course, by this point, the man realizes that whatever is on the other side of the door, knocking to be let in, will not actually be his son. He doesn't open it, and instead, wishes his son back to the grave." He shrugs, "I don't know why that's always stuck with me, but it has."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Certainly not a story she'd ever heard growing up on Panatha, but such was the separation of culture and heritage. Not that she had any idea where this man was from or, even, who he really was, but this wasn't a fact that bothered her. There were plenty of tales that crossed the boundaries and boarders of nations and star systems.

Be careful what you wish for.

A lesson she was sure she learned at a young age but the years and centuries spent in cryostasis had done its damage on her memories. Only the strongest ones really remained. The ones that drove her to work the front lines until she was infirm.

Hazel gave a frowning nod, "Monkey's Paw... hm. Well, now I know what it means. Maybe I'll catch a bit of your sometimes. Would be a nice change from my never." Metallic fingers drummed on the armrest, the woman licked her lips and made the harrowing effort of getting back to her feet.

"Thanks for the drink," she trudged over to his liquor table and set the empty tumbler down, absent any visible location to put it otherwise, "and the chat ... and the help. It's all very friendly of you."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He remained seated as she rose, the alcohol not affecting her any more than her depression already was. "I don't think I've ever been accused of being friendly before." He remarks dryly, "Then again, no one typically accuses the hermit of being friendly." He gave her a smile that said she was likely in the same boat, if only because she often kept to herself as much as he did. "Should you ever need a hand, let me know."

Most people never took him up on that. But one had. That had been fun.

"I'm just a shout away."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I calls-em-likes-I-sees-em," she tipped a cybernetic pointer finger his way, a mild smirk mingling somewhere in her expression beneath the banded eyepatch, "got two hands though, just need a dog."

Dogs made everything right, or so she liked to think. Hazel drew the same hand to her head and gave a casual salut as she made her way out, "Until next time, Preach."

~~~~

"So ... I need a hand."

An indeterminate amount of time later, judged only in vague feeling of perhaps months, a curious holo-message arrived to Sarge Potteiger's inbox. Hazel looking about as haggard and gaunt as she ever had, served an ironic sneer before lifting up her cybernetic arm. Or, at the very least, what was left of it. Everything from an inch below the elbow joint was missing and there were scorch marks up the side of the remainder that looked terribly like lightsaber slashes.

A thin brow bobbed in mirth, "thought you might get a chuckle out of that one. How often does one literally need a hand?"

She paused to consider this, "Twice for me now. Probably above average. Anyway...you mentioned someone before that was good with cybernetics. Couldn't remember who, hoping your memory is better than mine."

Another pause, this one as she looked back over her shoulder after a lound noise, "Times up. Egris out."

The message ended.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Her message had elicited a snort. It took him almost half a day to realize he'd left her with the offer of another hand, and in that, she earned both a second snort and a smile. Truly, a bounty of expression. Regardless, the reply was more succinct. No video, just a location and a comm frequency - a frequency that would connect her to his ranking 'right hand' in the system.

Which system? Sullust, of course.

He would make good on his promise, but he couldn't very well bring a state of the art hospital to her - not where she traveled. So it wouldn't take much for her to realize she was heading to the Cardea Medical Station in orbit over Sullust. It had been one a point of pride for the Pyre, and it now served the Galactic Alliance as both university and hospital. He'd be there awaiting her arrival, unless, of course, she did not wish to venture that deep into Alliance territory. Not that he'd blame her if she didn't.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel didn't have much problem with traveling through Alliance space. She'd taken enough jobs with them over the years that they had the Egris and her own ID on file. Didn't make getting through security checkpoints any faster, but she supposed there had to be a constant in life somewhere.

What was a major galactic entity without it's bureaucratic systems, after all.

"Last time I came through here I got puked on by a green baby," Hazel said to a very strange looking cactus plant sitting on her command console in a flat base full of sand, "let's hope the cybernetics wing isn't anywhere near the maternity ward."

The cactus gave a wheezing throb, issuing a plume of pollen from several speckled blooms.

The Egris banked into the space lanes en route to Cardea Medical Station and pulled into the lower docks after clearing the main security checkpoint. As the freighter came to a rumbling stop, shuddering under the grasp of the docking clamps, the captain of the ship heaved herself up from her seat and shrugged off down the hall. She made a quick stop in the cargo bay to check on her current payload: a very strange looking shuttle that for one reason or another gave her the willies. Still right where she left it, secured in place, waiting to get good and lost at the nethers of uncharted space.

Hazel frowned at it, feeling the resurgence of an ebbing headache she'd had ever since taking that damn thing into her ship. Stomach churning, she sealed it in and departed, hobbling as bad as she had before. Had she been wearing her armor she might've looked like a Merc returning from a bad gig - instead she looked far more akin to a pirate that may have wandered into the wrong port. Ignoring the looks with a thin-lipped scowl, Hazel limped into the nearest lift to ride it to the main hall.

The other passengers in the lift gave her a wide berth.

Did she smell? She couldn't tell beyond the overpowering odor of oil, grease, sweat, burned flesh, and a lingering aroma of the arcane. It wasn't exactly an appealing sort of thing.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Captain Hastings marched along the vast corridors of the docking bays. Armored as Sarge often was, he cut a swathe through the crowds through a mixture of awe, fear, and sheer bulk. His forest green armor was adorned simply, with a lion's head etched into the right shoulderguard and the Omega symbol etched into his breastplate. The angel's pinions erupting from his helmet were a small note of vanity, but they were counteracted by the sharp crimson gleaming from his helmet lenses.

The Lord Inquisitor had bade him greet the new arrival, and he was not above a simple fetch errand. There was much he owed to his Lord, and much less he'd rather do than get some insight into the company he kept. So when he stood before the lift, he did his best to ignore his curiosity and bring up the information on the mercenary coming to receive a new cybernetic. He'd been afforded that much information, but the surprise of seeing them for the first time was a bit of fun he allowed himself.

His right hand rested on the pommel of an alchemized sword - he knew the Light Side version of it had it's own name, but whatever they termed it, it was still alchemy - and he drew in a deep breath, blink-closing a few notifications that popped up in his peripheral vision.

When the lift opened, any attention arrested by Hazel was overshadowed by the forest green behemoth standing before them. "My Lady." He offers, bowing faintly at the waist with a whine of servos, as polite as his cultured upbringing on Naboo made him be. "Welcome aboard Cardea. I trust your journey was safer than your last mission." His voice was harshened by static, but there was the distinct clipped vowels of the nobility hidden behind the distortion of his vocabulator.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Had she not previously encountered the locomotive-human-suit she might've startled at the sudden appearance of one just on the other side of hissing lift doors. A single, hazel eye blinked upwards at the thing, briefly taking in the details from lion head to winged skull emblem. She didn't need to hear the garbeled voice to know, for certain, that this was not Preacher, but it made little difference to her.

Not as if he'd be installing the new hand himself.

Hazel made a face at being greeted with such a title.

"Captain'll do. I'm not nobility," there were fairly strict cultural stigmas attached to being addressed beyond one's actual station from the old days of Panatha upbringing. Hazel may have come from a family of warriors, but they held no standings beyond that. Lived to serve, not to govern.

"But thanks for the welcome. The security checkpoints are always a harrowing adventure," she stepped out of the lift to the relief of its fellow passengers and strode out into what appeared to be a foyer ... reception hall of sorts. Her natural hand moved to her hip, her other arm hung halved and useless at her other side, "never know when they're gonna yank me aside for a search. I swear it's like they flip a coin or something."

Much to her luck, this time, they hadn't deigned to do so. Hazel had no idea what sort of cargo she was hauling around, but they might have. Being an Epicanthix had its advantages, though she might've been more aware of what the ship was doing to her body if she could sense it with her mind.

"You my guide?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Ah," he remarks, seemingly unconcerned by the verbal misstep, "I am Captain Hastings, and yes, I will be your guide." Of a sort. Cardea might be almost a decade old at this point - more? - but it was still top of the line, and was lovingly maintained by both a fleet of droids and just about everyone who worked there. Hastings had known Sarge for a long time, and it was easy to see where his obsession with Cira had come from; the woman inspired loyalty and pride like nothing he'd ever seen.

Even with the Protectorate folded, and the Pyre back to being a mercenary outfit, they still labored lovingly over the endowments their former Lady had given to them.

Turning to regard Hazel for a moment, he surmised that she'd likely have made a good induction into their ranks; if she hadn't been, he imagined the Inquisitor had his reasons. But as they passed through yet more [subtle] security, they were both left alone. Hastings wasn't an uncommon sight here, and most seemed fond of his presence, but not everyone here saw a bulldozer on legs with regularity, and it was those individuals that gave them a wider berth than was necessary.

Then again, he did have a 'one-handed' sword at his hip that anyone else would need to use two handed.

"There will be no searching." He says, with all the finality of a guillotine descent. "It has been forbidden."

And they continued to walk, heading into the section of station that was more obviously a hospital than the docking ring.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel suspected that Guide was a bit below his paygrade, but so far as she could tell he wasn't fussed over the task of getting her where she needed to be. The gesture was appreciated regardless - it likely would have taken her thrice as long to get there what with the limp, the unfamiliarity of the locale, and the general stink of her present outlaw-like presentation. It didn't quite fit in with the clean cut lines and polished floors of the Cardea. Impressive, but a little too clean for her.

Not enough space dust.

"That right?" the woman cracked a half grin upwards at the armor as she followed several paces behind, characteristic limp in accompanaignment, "Tell the big guy upstairs he's doing that thing where he pulls too many favors again. I can't keep up with his rich sleeves."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He didn't slow down for her - but she seemed to be keeping up alright, limp or not. Turning his head to regard the woman again, those red lenses offered nothing of what lay beneath. After a long pause, his head turned forward again, and his reply echoed from his helmet vocabulator. "I can assure you, it was no favor." There was a long pause once more, as if that was the end of the conversation, and then, finally, he displayed a sense of humor.

"You tell the two legged AT-AT that you're going to stop and search it." And with that, he pushed open a door, and turned down a hall that looked just like every other one in the medical wing. Staff and droids fluttered about, but there appeared to be no emergencies anywhere near them, and so they were likely in a wing dedicated to more transient out-patient procedures.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Back in my hayday I would call that a challenge," Hazel chuckled, sputtered, and broke into such a strong coughing fit she had to pause. Bracing herself with her elbow against the nearest wall, the Mercenary wheezed and coughed for several moments, covering her mouth with her forearm. Upon finally catching her breath and straightening, she found the splatter of what appeared to be darkened, muddied and viscous blood. It smelled of infection to her, to a Force Sensitive it would have smelled of corruption.

She cleared her throat and wiped her arm on her shirt before moving to continue on.

"Anymore I don't think I'd stand a chance."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He paused, eyeing her spit, and he frowned deeply behind his helmet. There was a sound of muted clicking, and she'd likely realize he'd messaged someone over his in-built communicator. "That is most assuredly corruption." He remarks. He wasn't Force Sensitive, but he had spent the vast majority of his adult life hunting Sith for a job, and it didn't take an oncologist to tell you a tumor was a tumor. "I am not sure how much help we can give you, save the arm."

With that, he settled one massive, forest green gauntlet on her shoulder and steered her down the corridor again, this time making sure she kept up with his pace. "I am surprised the Inquisitor wasn't aware. Then again, he does afford his friends more privacy than most."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The Merc side-eyed the walking tank. Corruption?

No, that didn't make any sense at all.

"Dunno what you're on about, Captain. I've got a cybernetic lung replacement," the woman lifted her natural hand to knock on the metallic ribs at the left side of her chest, "might've taken some damage as well. It tends to leak fluids when it takes too many hits. Haven't had it checked in a while."

A long while. She'd have to see what sort of arm replacement she'd be looking at here, could be her new benefactor could afford her some further fixings.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

There was heavy silence for a few moments, and the muted clicks of more communication. A pair of heavy doors were opened by a scan of a device inlaid into the Captain's vambrace, and he ushered her into what appeared to be a surgical prep room. Gesturing for her to sit on the exam table in front of them, he reached up, removing his helmet with a hiss of released pressure. Setting it aside near tray of syringes, he turns to regard her. Black hair shaved close to a bullet shape head rested above a pair of eyes the same green as his armor, and he studied her with thin lips set into a look of displeasure.

"You will be given a comprehensive exam. Once we've ascertained the full extent of your...." His brow furrowed ever so slightly, the action a mirror of the sort one would expect from Preacher, "...injuries, we will move on from there."

At that, a small droid floated forward, scanning devices lowering from the ceiling like the legs of an oppressively large spider. With one hand on the hilt of his sword, he took up a position near the door, studying her intently.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

This was a familiar site.

The lab, not the man. She didn't recognize him personally, but he had the same sort of gruff look about him she'd come to expect from Preacher. It wasn't off-putting and the Merc stepped forward to the table without complaint. Took some effort to lift herself up on it with only one arm, but as like in most things she made-do and managed.

The spider-like mechanical appendages descended and began their work.

"Do you have all day?" Hazel quipped with a fleeting smirk as she pulled the headwrap from her face to reveal the damaged cybernetic eye and charred synthflesh beneath. Mixed with the lingering scars of darkside lightning seared across her countenance (they'd finally stopped emitting an angry red glow three years ago) she wasn't looking too fresh.

The diagnostics and scans began pouring in.

Full left arm. KDY origins. Integrity 14% Inoperable.
Partial shoulder and rigcage reconstruction. KDY origins. Inegrity 87%
Left lung replacement. KDY origins. Integrity 92% Fully operable.
Right leg from mid-thigh down. KDY origins. Integrity 63% Moderate damage to internal servos and joint mechanics.
Right eye: full replacement with far-infrared, ultraviolet, and nightvision settings. Custom tech, origins unknown. Integrity 37% Inoperable.
Right ear: full replacement of eardrum and cosmetic reconstruction with internal cybernetic implants for enhanced listening capabilities, language translator and internal comm link. Custom tech, origins unknown. Integrity 29% Inoperable.
Minor skull, jaw and cheekbone reconstruction. Custom, origins unknown. Integrity 78%.

Aside from the torn ACL of her natural knee and and the indication of arthritis in what natural joints she had left, some scrapes, bruises, a general sense of malnourishment and apparent sleep deprivation, Hazel's health wasn't as terrible as it could have been. Not counting the disease of corruption seeping through her veins, she was fit as a fiddle.

Hazel gave a grunt as she glanced at the holoscreens where the readouts scrolled through and gestured to herself, "Been in worse shape. Just here for a new arm, Captain. My client's paying."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Your client?" He asks, with a hint of a smirk. "I'm unfamiliar with 'your client.'" He didn't seem to respond to any of the information the droid was bringing up, but then again, he didn't have to. With the sort of timing that could only be purposeful, another mag-lev on legs strode over the threshold to the drumbeat of wide boots and the hiss of the doors sliding closed at his back. His armor was brilliant, sterile white, with the universal symbol of a medic emblazoned in brilliant scarlet over his breastplate.

He regarded the Captain, and then raised a brow. "Ah, Errand Boy." He greets, "A pleasure to see you, as always."

This man's helmet was hung at his waist, and his hair was long and untamed - and a vivid shade of orange. Eyes of stormcloud grey regarded Hazel, and Hastings snorted at the new arrival before gesturing with the sweep of a hand. "This is our apothecary - Reerak. He's as big of a pain in the ass as one would expect."

Reerak smiled with a little too much teeth. "He likes it." He confides, not quite winking and not quite selling the bonhomie. He seemed far more interested in her health, however, and there was a faint widening of the eyes at the amount of 'replacement' stuffed into her. For a normal person, this was 'full disability pension' levels of broken. "Have you tried not getting shot?" He asks, giving her a sideways look, but otherwise keeping the stoicism common among Preacher and his compatriots.

A holodisplay rose from a projector in the floor like the raising of a curtain, and he moved a gauntlet over the air, pulling apart a representation of her body that flashed angry red in a few too many places. On the underside of his right gauntlet were a variety of syringes, vials and, perhaps unexpectedly, a large drill. Closing the display after a quick study by pressing his palms together in a pantomime of shutting a book, he regarded her with what could only be termed newfound interest.

"We'll replace what's broken... but..." He moved forward, as though ready to just starting putting sensors on her. "...as for that corruption..." His gestured vaguely with his fingers, "...that's a bit trickier. Where'd you get that? Not at KDY, I hope."