Toys in the Attic

[Darth Caecus]

Arkania, Underground Secret Facility
internal security footage

"What does this make it, a round dozen Charles? Don't get me wrong, the fact that you think we need this many is...."

"Flattering?"

The petite figure turned to the taller man, studying him silently for a moment. They stood before a bank of machines, pristine and new, the best that money could buy. Each crèche held an identical face, her face, waiting in quiet repose. In some ways it was eerie. To anyone else, it might have been.

"I was going to say 'thorough', actually. Six here. Five in the new facility your pet scientist Sasha is keeping on Gap Nine. One active. I've been impressed with her work, despite my initial misgivings. Alright then, you have my official buy in. You may keep this very impressive facility that I have paid for and..... all of these copies."

Charles Veers sketched a mock bow, a tight lipped smile on his face. His own visage was reflected over and over in the new chrome of the high tech lab machinery, the pair's faces echoed ad infinitum in the cold, sterile room. They were building eternity here, and that fact was not lost on either of them.

"Madame Director flatters me with her praise," he purred, and she shot him a look but otherwise said nothing. She never knew how to read him, how he would act at any given time. Every thing about the man was a mask, every tiny action, every word carefully considered. She knew him because she knew herself. But he was better at this act than she was.

And they both recognized it.

She didn't trust him. But they functioned together like a well oiled machine to keep the Empire running smoothly. And in other ways. Love? Hardly. But some things didn't need love.

It was inevitable that he noticed her stiffness and annoyance, and he laughed, closing the distance between them and taking her hand in his.

"Come now my dear," he whispered, leaning in against her ear. "There's no one here but us."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Xyra Sizhan's lips. He was right of course. There were just more of her than there was of him. She didn't know exactly what that meant in his mind, but internally it made her chuckle.

"Dance with me," he murmured as she turned to him.

"No," she said with a laugh that was anything but pleasant. "You dance with me."

*****


Dozens of clones were created by ISB Director Xyra Sizhran and Charles Veers over a period of two years. They were created for two reasons. For Xyra, they were her back up- people who knew everything she did and who could be counted upon to act solely in her best interest and enact her plans within plans without hesitation or mistake. They could function within the complicated Xanatos Gambits she had balancing delicately at every moment, and she utilized them ruthlessly. For Charles, they were an ace in the hole. If Xyra, the lynch pin in a precarious Empire, were to fall (and her actions brought her in to danger again and again), he could activate one of her clones to take her place. The Empire need never be without her. But something went wrong. Charles, after all, was also just a man. At some point, both failed to resurface. For all of their plotting, for all of the sacrifices both were willing to make for their empire, they both failed where it mattered most.

They were mortal.


*****

Arkania, present day

Charles Veers had hidden his private installation well. Generations of Imperial scientists and then simply treasure hunters had overlooked it.

Until now.

Some hint, some blip in the records, some piece of the puzzle finally fit together. An information broker and a mercenary (hired just in case, because there was always a just in case), investigating this long abandoned Imperial facility, were the first footsteps heard here in centuries. The first breath to stir the air since the last time Charles Veers had awakened one of his charges. While the facility on Gap Nine was eventually reclaimed by the jungle and fell to rot and ruin, the one on Arkania, the center of Imperial Science so long ago, was nearly frozen in time.

Some things, of course, couldn't help but change.

Banks of equipment, state of the art and new centuries ago were now broken and covered with a thick layer of dust. A few errant lights flickered here and there throughout the ghost facility. Not enough to light the way, but enough to remind those now treading the silent halls that electricity still flowed from somewhere. Enough that some of the doors were still locked.

Behind one of those locked doors, was a bay of clone crèches. As centuries had passed, one by one, they had failed, each one expiring without every truly knowing life. But the very last crèche in the row, beneath an inch thick layer of dust, still glowed from within.

A green light flashed.

[member="Jonathon Patches"]
[member="Cait Falcor"]

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait Falcor
Arkania - Friggid Craphole Imperial Ruins

Dirt crunched under Cait's boots as she picked her way carefully through the uneven 'flooring' of the ruins. She had one gloved hand on a nearby wall, the other clung to her carbine. Despite the fogging breath escaping her nostrils there was still sweat beading down the back of her neck.

"Careful here, its rough footing through this bit" she called back to her Charge, a bitingly sarcastic man she knew only as "Flynn Rider". Who he was and what he wanted in this decaying ruin she couldn't even begin to guess at. It wasn't really her job to ask.

***

There was no doubt that, whatever this place was, it had seen better days. They'd been in the ruins for almost four days now - making camp in what looked to have been a DFAC*. To her surprise, Rider had managed to find vacuum sealed Caf in a sealed store-room. She didn't want to think on how old it was, she just knew the steaming black liquid had had some real punch. Whoever had ran this place had the good stuff.

Consequently, there were - of course - several more packets of caf beans jammed into spare pockets in her ruck sack.

****

Most of today had been spent digging through ruined labs and offices in the "south wing". It, like the rest of the old base thusfar, was a lifeless husk of its former self.

At the moment, they were padding down one of the outlying corridors - it wasn't on any of the maps. But their map was old and of questionable accuracy, so there was a lot of trial and error - they'd been marking the walls to keep track of their progress. Cait shuffled over to a set of heavy durasteel double doors. She wiped off a layer of dust over the signage.

"Bank Shiv_21...Rider, does that mean anything to you?" she called back to her companion. Peering through a tiny transperi-plas port she just saw blackness.

But then, after a few seconds her eyebrows rose up in surprise. Somehow, after who knew how long, there was still power here. She could only see it faintly, somewhere in the back, but there it was - barely visible.

A faint green light, winking through the dust.

_________
*Dining Facility

[member="Zee"], [member="Jonathon Patches"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

[member="Cait Falcor"] [member="Zee"]

Patches datapad failed to bring to life the console covered in dust, which he was in typical Patches fashion, trying to hack. Any data at this facility so far was either unrecoverable or completely corrupted, and thus far had turned up nothing. He knew little of this facility, or it's true purpose. He knew of it's existence, having discovered it in a long ago abandoned record archive, but had paid little attention to it, until something had piqued his interest.

A signal... a lone signal, echoing in space with no one to receive it. It wasn't broadcast over any main channel of course, and was tough to pick up; thankfully the communications array on the Knight's Helm was second to none, and was able to pick it up.

Can't stop the signal... Everything goes somewhere, and I go everywhere.

Unfortunately, deciphering it's purpose or intent was a whole other thing. It contained no texts or form of communication he was familiar with. An activation code perhaps? He couldn't be certain. However, he was certainly going to try and find out it's purpose and the true purpose of this facility. A lost archive of data? Patches could only dream.

So that's what brought us to this point, where Patches found himself in a dark, abandoned facility with a hired gun whom he knew little about. Not an ideal situation in his books, but current circumstances didn't allow for much else. He didn't trust her, but she had come highly recommended. So long as the credits were good, and Patches didn't spend too much time staring at her from behind, his contact assured him he shouldn't have any problems.

Can't make any promises on that last condition, he mused to himself, though he dare not test it or speak it. He liked having all of his limbs firmly attached and functioning.

A sigh escaped his lips as he unhooked his datapad from the dead terminal, striking out once again, as his eyes surveyed the area for another possible point of entry. Can't stop the signal, he told himself again as a form of reassurance. Just as he was about to try dead and dusty terminal number ... number seven, was it? ... his companion seemed to find something that caught her attention.

"Bank Shiv_21... Rider, does that mean anything to you?" she asked, as she peered through a tiny port.

He took a few steps towards her and the port, reading the same signage as she had.

"Bank Shiv_21... that's the famous Bothan show tune, no?" he asked, peering over her shoulder, as he added with a wry grin, "Or was that Bank Shiv_12?"

The flashing green light did not go unnoticed, and gave Patches some semblance of hope that this had not been all in vain. Pulling out his datapad, he hooked it up to the durasteel doors access panel, trying to spark it to life and get the doors to open. A few taps on the datapad, and he was in, though there wasn't much power left in the doors. They hissed more than opened, separating a mere few inches apart.

"Huh... I was expecting that to be a bit more dramatic," he said, slightly disappointed, though he shouldn't have expected much more.

That being said, they had opened just enough to get their hands in there, and pry the doors open, as both his hands firmly grasped the right sliding door. "On three?" he said more than asked.

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait Falcor
Arkania - Creepy Hallway No. 527.3
_________________
"Or was that Bank Shiv_12?"

Cait decided to let that one slide. Rider was exactly her brand of sarcastic, and more than easy on the eyes (though she was fairly certain he knew that). Cute bought him some leeway...


He fiddled with the door some more, and then it made an anemic show of "opening"

"Huh... I was expecting that to be a bit more dramatic,"

At that she couldn't help but chuckle, while also rolling her eyes. "And here I thought the Old Empire was known for over the top bombastic grandiosity...with this example its no wonder old man Palpatine was single." Cait quipped with a wink.

"On three?" Cait knew a command when she heard one, no matter how politely delivered "Sure" she confirmed, making eye contact and nodding down three times.

The two of them lifted in their appropriate directions. The eons of dust and debris made footing difficult, but soon there was an opening large enough for Cait to wedge her torso in. Straining, she braced one of her legs on the opposite door frame and pushed off, until she could work her arms in front of her chest. Using her carbine like a barbell she pushed "up". The door had long since lost power, and Durasteel was not known for being light. Cait grunted and strained and made several other un-lady-like noises...but finally she was able to get the door open wide enough for someone to walk through.

Temporarily spent, she collapsed to the floor - gulping in great gasps of air. Despite the arctic temperatures her forehead beaded with sweat and her breath steamed out in great gusts. After taking a few seconds to collect herself, she stood - face still red and breathing hard.

She made a "hold" motion to Rider and entered the new chamber. Her legs were wobbly from the effort, but her movements remained smooth. She swept her carbine to all four corners - the room was dead...a tomb.

"Clear" she muttered - just barely loud enough for Rider to hear.

***

As the two of them entered the room they both made the motions of "due diligence" but both were really keep their eyes on the glowing green light. Cait took right, Rider left. Cait saw half a dozen of these large tubes with dust-covered machinery and ducting and pipes. Each had a small port. The first three were empty.

The fourth held a desiccated, mummified corpse - it looked human. Cait recoiled in shock. "There were people in these!" she mentioned. Rider didn't respond - caught up in whatever he'd found on his half of the room.

The fifth and sixth also held dead humans - they all looked to be the same size. Curious Cait thought to herself.

The blinking green chamber was at the end of Rider's row. Satisfied that there were no threats along the right -

Cait turned to Rider as he approached the glowing casque..

____________

[member="Zee"], [member="Jonathon Patches"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

[member="Cait Falcor"] [member="Zee"]

"It was performance anxiety that undid Palpatine," remarked Patches, so straight faced one might thing he was serious, until he added, "Spent too much time locked away in his room playing with his lightsaber," he quipped.

They both grasped a side of the door, as it screamed in protest at being forced open; any power or form of lubrication long since lost. As Cait separated the doors in a fashion that confirmed Patches fears - yup, she could definitely damage a few limbs - if he wasn't careful, he drew his blaster, though it was more for show than anything. Anything on the other side of those doors would surely have been dead or deactivated... right?

As Cait cleared the doors and gave the clear signal, Patches soon followed suit, noting she took a moment to catch her breath. "Not a fan of open sesame?" he asked with a small grin, his eyes and blaster sweeping the room to the right.

He lacked the military precision of his counterpart perhaps, but he knew how to use the blaster should the need arise; though he doubted very much in this case it would be necessary. As they swept the room, Patches holstered his blaster, studying the pods, though his interests lay with the console that lay just beyond the last pod on his side, as it showed some early indication of possibly having life; which is more than could be said for any of the pods thus far.

The last pod in his row appeared intact, but layers of dust and dirt prevented them from seeing within it. The glass had turned cloudy from age, and all that could be confirmed was someone or something was in it; though whether it was alive couldn't really be confirmed in it's present state.

"This one appears appears well preserved," he noted, though wasn't in any rush to open it up. It wasn't what they were here for, and Patches doubted very much it was alive. He tapped the glass, much like an observer would do to a fish tank, though expected no response. A shrug soon followed, and he turned his attention to the console just past it, a brief flicker of light coming from it; presenting a brief flicker of hope with it.

Pulling out his datapad, he began trying to slice the terminal, tapping his datapad a few times just to see what kind of shape the terminal was in. "You can make yourself comfortable," he said to his counterpart, as the console sparked to life, a grin formed on his face, "might be here awhile," he added.

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait Falcor
Arkania - Spooky Room


"You can make yourself comfortable," a grin formed on his face, "might be here awhile,"

Well, you didn't need to tell Cait twice. She knew from long experience that you didn't always get the chance to rest on an Op.

While Rider fiddled with the computers, Cait set out a small cell-powered hotplate, a Naboo-Press, and a ceramic canteen. She worked for a minute or two, and before very long at all even Rider could smell the intoxicating aroma of brewing Caf as it filled the small chamber.

"It'll be ready in a little bit, help yourself" she chirped out for rider, before settling back against her Rucksack and closing her eyes. She was at best half-asleep...but any winks were better than none. While Rider did his thing there was nothing for it, but to grab a couple of Z's...


[member="Jonathon Patches"][member="Zee"]

 

[Darth Caecus]

KNOCK KNOCK

Power trickled in to the system. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than it had seen in a century. Old background protocols, long dormant, click click whirled in the bowls of the machines. It would become obvious to the user, in a few minutes, that there was some active program, doing something in the background.

But what, exactly?

Why, updating hibernating brain tissue from the most recent data dump. The fact that it had been an era since that time didn't matter at all to the machine. Some of the data was corrupted. The system wasn't equipped to handle that. Ah well. It simply went along its merry way, overwriting the data regardless, doing unknown damage in the process. The system had not been designed to go this long without a keeper. Failsafe upon failsafe had shut down, never to restart too many years ago to count. The fact that this one subroutine remained at all was improbable beyond belief.

Did I say one?

Warmth flooded the cloning crèche. Somewhere, beneath the frosted glass, invisible to the two interlopers, a figure drew breath. It was hard to say how long it took, from the moment power trickled in to that first breath. Long minutes, surely. Though eyelids were closed, the movement of corneas could be seen beneath them, flickering like REM sleep as the ancient protocols updated the clone's memory, adding in the layer of 'new' over the existing 'old'. Now, all simply old.

She didn't know why she did it. She was barely aware that she was doing it at all. The action functioned more on the subconscious level. In truth, the clone was still dreaming, still updating.

But one hand reached up, from inside the crèche. Quietly, easy to miss except that everything else in this place was as silent as a grave came an answering

knock knock

[member="Jonathon Patches"] [member="Cait Falcor"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

@Zee @Cait Falcor


A tap of a finger here, a sliding of a finger there, followed by a few more taps with a swoosh motion mixed in for good measure. The console flickered to life - or what could be best described as "life" for an under powered console - as Patches eyes were illuminated by it's dim screen, and a bit of excitement of his own.

Unfortunately to his lack of surprise, much of the data appeared corrupted or unusable entirely. Still, there were bits and pieces to be found, some controls to be explored, and a few things hidden in layers of code that may be of use.

"Well I normally don't drink and slice," quipped Patches, at the invitation of some fresh brewed Caf, his eyes never leaving the console.

However, as the aroma began to tickle his nose for a brief moment, distracting Patches' attention from the console momentarily, he reconsidered his stance on that issue.

"But in this instance, I may make an excep..." his voice trailed off, as he thought he heard something for a moment.

Was that a knock? A bang? A tap? A thump? Or a whack?

He couldn't be certain, but wanting to make certain he wasn't haunted by the ghosts of this rundown facility, he asked the question, "Did you hear that?" he asked, his head raising from behind the console, looking around the room as if sight had some unique ability like sensing sound.

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait Falcor
Arkania - Lala Land
_______________

Cait had completely nodded off. "Lando" she might have been heard to mutter in her sleep and then a few minutes later something about "cloud city anytime" but the half-conscious mumbles lacked any context.

She sat, mostly motionless, her hands resting overtop the Carbine. Drooling only slightly.

*knock knock*

Cait jerked awake, "mruh!?" carbine snapping to her shoulder in practiced precision. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and checked the room...still dark, still spooky...still empty. Cait wiped her cheek off on the arm of her jacket.

"Did you hear that?" Cait looked to Rider - who looked equally spooked.

And nodded.

______________
[member="Jonathon Patches"][member="Zee"]

 

[Darth Caecus]

Inside the creche, the clone opened her eyes. Everything was blurry, a warm suffusion of a dull, reflected light. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision, but without any success.

What was going on? Confusion reigned for now as she tried to sort through who she was and where she was. There were no imprinted memories ready for her upon waking. She couldn't grasp them, couldn't understand the jumble that was in her mind. After all, she'd technically only been alive for a few seconds.

At that moment, she didn't even know her name.

The system had been set up so that any time a clone was awakened, either Charles or Xyra would be there to greet it and explain. But not only were neither there, the creche was still closed. As she tried to sort out the mess in her head she reached out blindly. Only this time, instead of knocking softly, she banged, hard, on the inside of the curving transparisteel.

Though cloudy, it was possible to see the shadow of her hand from the outside.

BANG BANG.

​​[member="Cait Falcor"] [member="Jonathon Patches"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

[member="Cait Falcor"] [member="Zee"]

Sithspit, I hope I don't look as spooked as her, he thought to himself. As Patches drew his blaster, scanning a room full of shadows and ghosts - at least he hoped that would be all they would fine - his eyes scanned the room searching for the source of the sound.

Patches rose from his console, he took slow steps, circling the room, trying to find the source.

"Glad to hear I am not hearing things," he said to his counterpart, as he continued his search pattern, then added for humour, "always good to know the therapy is working," he said with a grin.

As his search came up empty, a theory entered his mind that seemed a bit more crazy than founded, and would require a bit of luck. However, luck had been on his side more than a few times during his days, so he figured why not find out if luck would be on their side today. He took his blaster, and tapped a durasteel beam located in the middle of the room with his blaster, waiting to see if an answer would follow.

Anybody home?

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait Falcor
Arkania - Terror Tunnel
__________________

BANG BANG!

Cait nearly dropped her carbine, her face slowly washing a nice pale. "I thought you said this place was ancient, abandoned! What was *THAT*!" Cait unceremoniously gestured with her chin to the last (apparently) functional pod. "Sounds pretty un-fething-abandoned to me!" Cait took a second to calm herself.

"Hey, Rider, step back, alright? You've had your turn, this is me..." Cait smoothly lifted herself off the ground from a squatting position, the Carbine trained on the pod the entire time. Her off hand gently, but firmly, guided Rider to her rear, as she approached the Pod. Girl, this isn't what you signed up for said some terrified little voice in the back of her mind, but she did her best to clamp down on it - Yea, neither was Rendili...shut up.

The pod looked like the rest of the room - ancient, decrepit. Covered in dust and iconography that looked like something out of a History Holo-vid. Right above a centralized port-hole, which was frosted over, the logo of the old Galactic Empire was visible through the dust. Stark black against the otherwise unlaquered durasteel of the Pod.

Cait activated the small under-barrel torch at the front of her Carbine, not really sure what she was expecting to see. More tubing and cables came from the back of the machine - all routed through Cable Management systems into ports in the wall. The whole assembly fairly thrummed with activity - it was easily the loudest thing the room at the moment aside from perhaps Cait's pulse. The console that Rider had been working on had come alive, LEDs and panels danced with activity, but it all moved too quickly for her to make heads of, and frankly she wasn't much of a slicer.

Quickly looking to her rear, Rider had obediently remained where she could shield him, Cait returned to the task at hand. Curiosity killed the Joba Cat...and maybe the Cait too.

Cait closed the last few steps, and wiped off the frost from the small port-hole. *Knock Knock* "Hello?" she called out. She unclipped the under-barrel torch and shined it into the port-hole

...and nearly fainted.

Against literally every conceivable scenario she'd day-dreamed on the voyage here, there was a living being inside the port-hole. A nude, petite, blonde humanoid was recoiling from the light. The being was too small and disoriented to be threatening in Cait's mind.

On the turn of a cred, Cait had gone from fight-or-flight into a "never leave a comrade" behind mentality.

"Hey, I'm Cait...Cait Falcor. We're gonna get you out of there, okay?" she called into the Pod - unsure if whoever was in there could hear her, or even spoke Basic. Did they speak Basic back then? Feth if I know...

Cait turned back to Rider. "Sithspit, man there's someone ALIVE in there...we've gotta get em out, or they're gonna freeze!"


_________
[member="Jonathon Patches"] [member="Zee"]

 

[Darth Caecus]

Something was wrong with the system. Even only half awake and groggy, she knew it. Cold was leaking in from somewhere. The air was getting thick, heavy, hard to breathe. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she subconsciously catalogued the systems going wrong. (If cold was leaking in, shouldn't fresh air be too?) But it didn't seem to matter. A survival mechanism, impossible to detangle from the original (even if the creators had wanted to) was kicking in.

Her fists hit the canopy again, but this time with more force. Not that it would matter. She knew that the canopy should have been opened from the outside by now. Thrashing, she tried to sit up, but the unit was too small. It wasn't made for moving around. Just for storage.

She blinked, trying to clear the haze from her eyes as a muffled voice came through the crèche top. She could see someone, just the barest shadow, through the cloudy transparisteel.

Hey, I'm..... Falcor..... We're...... gonna..... you out.....

Falcor.

"I joined the Marines because they told me I'd be a hero. I'm guessing you press those buttons on my file and I'm dead as far as the Galaxy is concerned?"

"Never see my family again?"

She had nodded, watching him.

"No wife, two kids and a pet in the suburbs?"

She nodded.

"A billion new ways to die, every day?"

She nodded.

"When I do die, it'll probably be a cold dark room in excruciating pain and it'll be a closed casket funeral...if I even have one?"

She paused for a second...and nodded.

"Where do I sign?"


~*~ Zee, things just got interesting...I hate interesting! By the Force, Zee! Are you ok? How can I help? I've got medics... Zee...I, need to say something I probably should have said months ago. You're beautiful, I think I've always lo- Don't watch me, Zee! Watch where you're going!

​BANG

Oh, we're not mistaken Shiva. You can drop the act. Even in those clothes, you can see the way a killer walks. Death shadows you. You can't hide that. That's the point, isn't it? You saw him die. So I couldn't possibly be him, now could I? Now what? Now you come quietly... or not. It's up to you. You're under arrest. Or I can say you resisted and gun you down like a dog in the street.~*~

Jaedis....​

BANG

Her fist on the inside of the tomb hit so hard her knuckles started to bleed. The pain in her chest radiated, but it wasn't just the ghost of that long ago gunshot (no scar, not on this body no, on the other one. The other me.). The air was growing toxic in the crèche. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to breath.

"Jay?" She croaked, a familiar word on vocal chords that had never before uttered a sound. "Help."


[member="Jonathon Patches"] [member="Cait Falcor"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

[member="Zee"] [member="Cait Falcor"]

"I thought you said this place was ancient, abandoned! What was *THAT*!"

Patches shrugged sheepishly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he responded, "I've been known to exaggerate from time to time..." he said with a slight grin. Though in truth, he didn't expect there to be anything other than old files here.


Sithspit... why does there always have to be hitch! he thought to himself. He wasn't about to argue when she wanted to take lead, and if he hadn't been so spooked at the moment, he would have made a joke about her guiding him to her rear; however, the strange sounds had put the both of them a little on edge, and he didn't feel this was the time. So as she neared the pod, from which the sounds appeared to be coming from, it was one of those rare moments where Patches had no words. Silence is golden, he mused to himself. He just wished whatever was in that pod would do the same.

Unfortunately that didn't appear the case, as Cait neared it, and felt compelled to introduce herself. "Oh really? We are on a first name basis with the ghost now?" he asked from behind, not so willing to share his name.

However, as Cait turned to Patches and informed him that their "ghost" was in fact a person, his eyes widened for a few moments, at the realisation that they were not alone. He lept to action, dashing to the console that had suddenly come to life - well, half of it at least - as the person within it began banging louder and louder.

"Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng!" he exclaimed, as he began tapping the console, as protocols and alarms began going off, "Why can't it EVER just be easy," he said, as one of the lines on the pod blew off, no doubt the pod occupants oxygen supply. PERFECT, he thought to himself, as a red siren light over the pod began circulating. His fingers tapped the console frantically.

Sub command alpha... pod integrity at 12%... oxygen levels falling... CO2 rising... vital signs dropping...

The increasingly loud banging coming from the pod, coupled with some sirens and a wild, flailing hose was not helping matters. He hit the pod releases, of which only a third popped off.

"Of course it would do that," he remarked. Furiously tapping the screen, searching for an override or subroutine he was missing. A few more seconds passed, as Patches found the safety protocols, and disengaged them all. A few more latches on the pod popped off, as Patches threw up his hands in disbelief, slamming his right fist into the console. A few seconds afterwards, the remaining latches popped off, and the pod began to open up, as he let out a sigh of relief.

Of course, had he known what that pod contained... he probably would have been engaging it, not disengaging...

 

[Darth Caecus]

Frigid but breathable air came flooding in to the pod. She gasped, the cold searing her throat and lungs, but she drank the air in great, sucking breaths. The black nibbling at the edges of her vision receded, though her vision was still blurry, her thoughts still jumbled as she tried to scramble out of the pod. Weak and disoriented, she felt strong hands on her arms, helping her.

Almost as soon as she hit the metal floor of the lab she started shivering. Scuttling backward she came up sharply against the base of the crèche, her bare back pressed against the pod she'd spent her entire life in.

Though her vision was blurry still, she already knew that too many things were desperately wrong. The gelid air, the darkness when she knew, somehow, that the lab should be bright. The grit of dust and dirt beneath her skin when the floor should be clean and sterile. The dead, stale smell of the air.

Jay- no, Jay is dead, she suddenly remembered, he can't possibly be here. Unless.....

She looked around, a little frantic, trying to find *something* familiar, something the way it was supposed to be. But nothing fit.

"Wh-where's Ch-Charles?" She asked, her teeth starting to chatter. She asked for the only person she could think of who was supposed to be there, who her memories were telling her to look for. "Wh-o are y-you? Wh-what-t hap-pened?"

​She had just woken up, after centuries in stasis. Clones weren't meant to decant over that incredible timeframe. She was trying, desperately, to fit what she was seeing in to the memories of what ought to be.

And coming up empty handed.

[member="Cait Falcor"] [member="Jonathon Patches"]

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait Falcor
Arkanis - Freaking the frak out
___________________________

If, in Cait's mind, things were tense at the realization that there was somehow a cold-brewed Human(ish) waiting for them in this decrepit ruin - then they really went into overdrive when the Alarms started blaring.

She returned to the pod, tapping on the glass "We're coming, I swear! Hang on!" Cait called out. Then the pod let out an ear-splitting HISSSSSSSSS as some feed or the other broke, a hose snapping loose of its O-Ring and venting - Cait presumed - breathable O2 into the chamber...and not into the Pod.

"Rider, hurry up she's running out of time!"

Sithspit how Can I help?!

She looked at the Console, Rider furiously typing in commands, his efforts repeatedly greeted with error screens and little droid icons telling him "nuh uh uhh, you didn't use the magic word!" Rider threw his hands up in apparent frustration - but got back to it a second later.

A voice in her mind suggested She'll need help when she gets out of there.

Damnit man, I'm a Soldier not a Doctor!

She's naked, on a Fething Tundra planet and hasn't eaten in centuries...You need an MD to have a blanket and something for her to Metabolize on hand?

...I hate when I make sense

The internal dialogue now concluded Cait sprang to her ruck-sack and started digging. She didn't have to go far - every proper soldier had some kind of blanket - in this case it was a lined Poncho, but it would have to do.

Next she went to the ceramic mug, full of caf, and emptied some into her canteen. She poured in a lot of Sugar and emptied her vial of Rylothian Half-and-Half.

Ugh, she better be worth the good stuff...but she's gonna need the Fat.

As her preparations came to a conclusion, Cait spared a glance at Rider, despite the climate, he was sweating - brow furrowed in focus. A small flash of relief crossed his face and he triumphantly hit the <Enter> command. The computer bleeped back a plaintive "Roger Roger" before going dark.

The Pod FINALLY ceased its endless wailing and the final grouping of seals popped free. The "door" shuddered upward in a movement that was almost certainly not as smooth as it had been intended to be - it was plenty dramatic all the same, as Cait realized she was holding her breath.

A shuddering woman stumbled out of the pod, her lips blue and eye's unfocused. Her muscles had been unused for centuries and now, finally called to action were still unsure of how to muscle - her movements were jerky and unsure, but somehow she still managed to keep her footing for several steps.

She muttered something about a "Charles" before more or less collapsing.

Cait surged forward, to catch her - easily supporting the woman's diminutive weight and gently brought her to the ground. Cait unceremoniously wrapped the small woman in the lined poncho "Hey, hey hey hey - stay with me...we've got you now." Cait was checking the woman's eye's for activity. They were all over the place, but they were also responsive. "Here, have some of this...it'll warm you up." she added, offering the Caf.

While the woman sipped at the Caf, Cait looked up at Rider and smiled "You did good" before turning her attention back to the woman.

"I'm Cait Falcor, and we're gonna figure this out together, okay?"

[member="Zee"], [member="Jonathon Patches"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

There are choices we make in our lives that have a profound effect on them. Sometimes it's as simple as deciding what to eat, whom to do business with, or whether to live above or below the law. Should you have gone left or right in that dog fight. Should you cross that Sith if it means helping a Jedi (the answer in Patches book, is always a resounding no). Sometimes it's a simple matter of looking both ways before crossing the street.

In this instance, in Patches case in particular, it was deciding to go to this barren rock, uncover some lost treasure, artifact, or at the top of priority list, information. He didn't have to follow up on that dead, repeating signal that lead to nowhere, but he did. They didn't have to enter this room - there were a number of perfectly other seemingly dead and empty rooms - but they did. They didn't have to open that pod when they heard the tappings from inside, but they did.

Actions have consequences, they always do. In all the haste and drama that had transpired, Patches never really got a good look into the cryo pod. Had he, things might have gone very differently. But alas, fate wasn't so kind to our favourite, big haired scoundrel. When she first exited the pod all naked and... naked, this was the first time Patches had really given her a look over. It started from her feet, and continued getting better as his eyes travelled north.

This brief moment of euphoria though, was quite short lived, once his eyes settled on the features of her face. Oh, there was nothing wrong with the face of course. It was a very pleasant face to look at. No doubt, many kinds of folks would have very nice things to say about said face. However, to Patches, this face was more familiar to him than most. So anything that may have looked like a smug grin of satisfaction at opening the pod, saving a poor beings life, or even just admiring the view, quickly dissolved to... well... this...

As he realised not only that they had perhaps saved a life today... but the realisation of whom exactly the life was that they were saving.

Patches, you FAY-FAY duh PEE-yen...

Reflexes were soon to follow, as he quickly drew his blaster, and kept it trained on the "helpless" survivor.

You are so going to the special place in hell for this one...

[member="Cait Falcor"] [member="Zee"]

 

[Cait Falcor]

Cait "Shaz just got real" Falcor
Arkanis - Clone-Mart, Spill in Aisle 7
_______________________________________

Cait became aware of the blaster directed at the small woman in the blanket, and then a lot of things happened very quickly.

***

Prior to this moment in time, the dynamic between Rider and Cait could be best described as Professionally Flirtatious. Cait had kept to herself on the voyage here - this was one of her first gigs as a Freelancer. She needed to have a good reputation, but Rider was exactly Cait's brand of Sarcastic, he was cute a button - that hair - and if Cait was being honest with herself, it had been a minute. She was very much looking forward to locking her S-Foils into Attack Position when the Op was over and she'd gotten paid - and her Professional Relationship with Rider was over (for the time being).

***

All of that changed in the blink of an eye.

Her client was pointing a live weapon at a naked, scared, delirious, seconds-old woman who hadn't had time to do anything in this 'verse but drink some overly sweet Caf. There were *obviously* great chasms of information about this situation that Cait was well-aware she lacked. She did not care, a "book-definition" helpless person had been drawn on. That was not a thing she was prepared to allow to happen.

With her left arm, Cait lowered the ~50kg woman to the ground - it was not gentle, but she didn't drop her. Simultaneously, her right arm brought her blaster-carbine up into its usual place, notched into the cuff of her shoulder and bore upon Rider's clavicle. As all of this was happening, she was pivoting on the toes of her feet and coming up out of a squatting position.

Maybe 2 seconds had transpired, she was on her feet, squared up directly between the woman and Rider's weapon, a blaster carbine pointed directly at the center of his chest and whining with power as it clearly was coming off of safety - even Cait wouldn't miss this shot.

Here eyes were immovable durasteel, as she stared directly into Rider's.

"You want to rethink that, real fething quick. Lower that or I will end you so fast your momma is gonna second guess whether or not you were just a day dream."

At that the Carbine vibrated gently in her hand to let her know it was done charging.

[member="Jonathon Patches"], [member="Zee"]

 

[Darth Caecus]

She gripped the canteen with both hands, huddling inside the poncho. Everything was shaking so much that it was hard to get the opening to her lips, but she managed. The caf was hot, rich and sweet. Something in the back of her head was identifying it as something she was familiar with. But in reality she'd never tasted anything before. The flavor and mouthfeel filled her with the first indication of something grounding that she'd ever experienced. The feeling of the new clashed almost painfully with memories informing her that no, this is old. She felt the heat radiate through her core and she gripped the canteen harder, as if it could help in any other way.

Everything after that happened too quickly for the fugue state of her mind and the weakened state of her body to keep up with. Weapons drawn-trained. A figure (Cait Falcor. Falcor?) between her and the blurred man. She was familiar (too familiar) with the unbearable itch of being drawn on. She had taken her share of wounds at the hands of those who wished her dead. And at the hands of those who did not.

The woman looked up, squinting, trying to will her eyes to function properly. Her vision was clearly, achingly slowly. Not fast enough. Her earlier confusion with the name Falcor was poured in to the sensation of having a gun trained on her. The fractures memory made the only connections it possibly could in that instant.

She remembered standing alone in the streets of Taris, faced with a half dozen figures in armor. One possessed a familiar voice. And it cut her like a knife.

She clutched the lined poncho tightly at the base of her throat. It took a false start, but she stood fully, using the pod behind her for support. Even with the support, she shook, weak and disoriented.

"Are you here to finish the job, Spectre?" She asked, her voice raw, unused to speech. But surprisingly calm. "Because you'll never have a better chance."

She blinked, looking at that darkened form around her protector (no, it's a woman, Cait, yes, not Jay). And finally registered the difference in height. In hair colour. Her vision was slowly clearing, but even without full acuity she realized that this man was not Spectre. But.

"No, you're not- d-do I know you? I think I should know you."

The fractured memories chugged away furiously, but couldn't lay hands on the face of Jonathan Patches. Somewhere, in the fragments it was there, but too piecemeal to do anything with. While she came up empty on the face, the name, any clear connection to specific memories, feelings were harder to break. They were too primal.

What was there? Respect. Secrets. Amusement. A smirk (Who's smirk?).

[member="Jonathon Patches"] [member="Cait Falcor"]

 

[Jonathon Patches]

In another circumstance, at another time, perhaps Patches reflexes would have been a bit better. Maybe he wouldn't have let Cait close the gap so quickly, or at least put up a bit more resistance. However, in Patches state of shock with a slight hint of disbelieve, this was not that case. So it was in one moment, that he went from firmly having his blaster trained on their new arrival to having a blaster firmly planted into his chest.

Not the first time, regretfully, that he found himself in this situation, the all too familiar of a safety being removed and a weapon charging reminding him of similar scenarios. He didn't recall many with a half naked third party in the room, though there was that one time on Velusia, he thought to himself.

So it came as no surprise - to Patches at least - when he didn't find himself very phased at his current predicament. He did what any normal person would do, and straightened out the palm of his hand, letting the blaster swing forward on his finger, as he slowly lowered it into his holster.

On the contrary, he was a bit too at ease for most people in his predicament, as he quipped "You know... when I pictured you making a move on me... I somehow imagined it going a little differently," as he flashed a sheepish grin.

It was then that slightly less dressed one, asked a curious question... one that only raised Patches suspicions further, though he didn't let it show, as he canted his head to the side, and asked "What did you call me?"

The scantily clad one than asked another question, one in which Patches wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"No, I don't..." a lie... or was it, as he added, "sorry... I thought you were someone else," he said, addressing both her and Cait this time.

Of course, with a blaster firmly planted on his chest, he wasn't going to be asking or answering any more questions; at least until given permission to do so.

[member="Zee"] [member="Cait Falcor"]