Carida

[Ambrose Veshok]

Fog and haze, lightness and pain, were what met the opening eyes of the soft pale skinned clone of Ambrose Veshok. His mind was a blur of fogged memories as if seen through an aged unwashed bar glass. The room about him swum with a haze as he tried to blink the quickly drying bacta mixture from his eyes to take in the state-of-the-art durasteel gray and white medical room he found himself in; albeit, naked. The blinding glow of the overhead light made him wince in pain.

 

Struggling, the naked being tried to sit up, only to realize that both of his wrists were secured, via magnetized cuffs to the bedframe itself. This confused the storm trooper, [i}What happened this time?[/i] he questioned himself somewhat shocked. It had been some time since he had last gone on a bender bad enough to not have the slightest remembrance at what he had done the night before. The last time he had done that had been back on Ryloth with a few cases of imported Corellian Whiskey. Well, at least that he could remember, everything seemed rather fuzzy at the moment and something….something was just, well, off.

 

Lying there, eyes closed against the blinding light from above, Ambrose pondered. How had he gotten here? Why? How long of a bender had he been on? As he lay there with his minding turning, he realized that he was having trouble remembering anything much beyond his promotion to lieutenant.

 

Yes, his promotion, that had to be it. Apparently he and the boys had gone out and gone on quite a wild ride for him to wind up stark naked strapped to a bed in what appeared to be an Imperial medical facility. Heck! He could not even remember what planet he was on!!

 

Opening his eyes a crack at the sound of footsteps, Ambrose saw a standard med-droid shuffling into the room. ”Excellent. You are awake.” The 21-B droned. ”We were concerned that the flash training had not taken properly on such a defective stormtrooper.”

 

”Defective??” Ambrose queried, the annoyance in his voice at the droid not masked in the slightest. Wait a second! ”Flash training?” he snapped, ”whadda you mean by FLASH training? The kriff did I do?! Why am I even here?! GET. ME. OFF. THIS. BED. NOW!” he bellowed as he began to thrash on the bed, trying in vain to pull himself free, consumed by anger fueled by complete confusion at the situation.

 

The trooper continued to struggle, kicking his feet, trying to gain some sort of momentum to do something with, a lapse in judgment by those who had tried to secure his clone body. Meanwhile, the med-droid stayed safely out of reach and with the quick click of several buttons introduced a calming agent to the IV running down Ambrose’ arm.

 

Within minutes, he began to calm, his eyelids feeling heavy and drooping. ”That really was…..quite the party….” he sighed as he passed back into unconsciousness, unable to hear the swoosh of the door as someone else entered the bay.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Cold sterile slits of light glared down through the trooper’s half cracked eyelids as they jolted open wrenching him from a dreamless unconsciousness back into the startling reality accompanied by a brief flicker of his fresh nerves reacting in pain to a flick of pain on the side of his face. ”…ehhhuh?” he garbled in confusion as he slowly forced his eyes open at the sound of a familiar voice.

 

As his eyes adjusted to the glaring lights in the med bay, a smile played across his smooth skinned face, ”Heya kid. Glad to see a friendly face.” he said cheerfully at he recognized the former slave girl he had helped liberate on Nal Hutta. ”Whatcha doing here?” he queried, ”Any idea what this is all about?” he continued rattling his bonds that held him to the bed, still unaware of the events that had led up to his death above Cloud City or the destruction and deaths of his entire team. For the moment, the realization that he was a clone and had his memories reapplied via flash training far from his thoughts as he basked in the relief of a familiar friendly face and concentrated on the problem at hand.

[Ambrose Veshok]

”CLONED?!?” Ambrose bellowed, in shock, much louder than he had intended. Sure, he had known that the Remnant had kept DNA files on some of their soldiers; even those few from the old Empire and it’s rather volatilely violent Stormtrooper Corps. How had this happened to him though? Wasn’t he better than this? ”HOW THE MOTHER KRIFFING CRAF KRIFFING KRIFF DID I DIE?!?! WASN’T I JUST PROMOTED?!?!” he demanded as he bewilderingly looked down at his naked chest in shock. It sure felt like him, how could he just be a clone with his own memories flash printed? Is memories of his last mission to Bespin a complete blank given that his body had been disintegrated on a molecular level – apparently it is hard to recover memories from a mind that no longer existed beyond its base elements.

 

”Something isn’t right.” he griped as his mind tried to deny what he was being told, ”You gotta get me outta here little sister.” he implored as he struggled, trying to pull his wrists free from their bonds and only managing to chafe his soft fresh skin. ”I’ve gotta find the boys. They’ll know what is….”

 

The naked trooper fell silent as the door to the medbay swooshed open and two unidentified being stepped in. Suddenly he was quite aware of his situation. ”Any chance you can grab that blanket there?” he hissed at Emma nodding towards a hospital sheet folded atop a hoovercart laden with hospital supplies along the wall.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose Veshok lay still as the girl he had helped rescue from Nal Hutta covered him with a blanket and then miraculously willingly released the cuffs holding him to the bed. ”Preemptive? Arrest?” he mouthed each word as a question. What happened? Wait…. ”BESPIN?! What was I doing on Bespin?! I’m a snow trooper for kriff’s sake!!”

 

Sitting up, he threw the blanket off and swung around, his bare feet padding to the cold durasteel floor as he stood, knocking the ex-slave girl to the floor. Looking around, he did not see any standard Imperial weaponry; but he did see a tray of operating tools that could interconnect to droid appendages during surgery. Lurching forward on his none-to-familiar cloned legs, like a drunken Rodian after a three day bender, he collided with the table with a crash, sending tools skittering across the floor.

 

Grasping a rather wicked looking spike-like tool, he turned at the sound of the doors swooshing open.

In ran two Imperial Army soldiers who had been stationed outside. ”He’s loose!” one of the guards shouted as they pointed their blasters at the naked cloned stormtrooper.

 

”HANDS!! DROP IT!” shouted the other, flicking the barrel of his weapon at the spiked instrument in Ambrose’ hand.

 

Blinking hard, Lt. Ambrose Veshok took in the sudden threat. He had not thought this through. Of course there were guards outside. He was apparently under arrest after all. ”I didn’t do anything! Let me go!” he bellowed in desperation as his years of training that had been compressed into flash training modules and uploaded into his new mind intermingled with the stress of the situation – the empire to whom he had been absolutely loyal seeming to betray him. In his maddened state, he did the only thing he could think of, his mind not processing fully; focusing now on survival.

 

As Emmaline slowly started to get back up, shouting something incoherent, Ambrose grabbed her by the neck, pulling her up into his chest, a human shield between himself and the two armed soldiers standing between him and the answers he knew were outside this room. Get back! Get back! he snarled as he held his muscled sticky clone arm around Emmaline’s neck gesturing at the troopers with the spiked weapon in his other. ”Just leave me alone! Stepping forward with each step, sure to keep the young slave girl he had looked upon as one of his little sisters between the menacing barrels of the E-11 Blaster Rifles and his naked frame. Drawing closer, he continued to swing his makeshift weapon as he tried to circle around the duo of guards who were not giving an inch to the naked madman until he got close enough to be judged a lethal threat, at which point a single blaster shot rang out and a bolt of red energy leapt from one of the E-11’s. Instead of striking Ambrose though, as was common with so many less-than-well trained foot soldiers, the blaster barrel fired where its wielder was looking. In this case, towards the spiked weapon, driving the laser bolt deep into Emmaline’s upper chest and completely missing Ambrose’ weapon as the slave girl slumped back in dead weight in his arms.

 

Even in his maddened state, Ambrose realized almost immediately what had happened, and with a cry of emotion-filled anguish and rage he shoved Emmaline’s lifeless body forwards as he leapt; his body still finding its center of gravity stumbling over itself, the four collided, Emmaline’s lifeless form, the naked clone, and the two soldiers/guards. One guard was knocked back several steps while the other fell back with a clatter onto the floor.

 

In an instant, Ambrose was on top of the fallen trooper’s chest, his slung rifle holding the trooper close while Ambrose grabbed it in his hands and proceeded to beat the soldier’s face in with the rifle’s butt. Stunned at the onslaught, the second soldier quickly tried to shoulder his weapon again to take out the raging detainee. Before the soldier could get a shot off, Ambrose, the E-11 in his hand firmly planted in the cracked and bleeding face of the fallen trooper, squeezed the trigger of his commandeered weapon, dropping the second guard to the ground.

 

Standing up, the once-snow trooper wrenched the rifle off of his fallen foe/brother, wiping the blood splatter from his face as he looked down at Emmaline’s crumpled form. Sucking back tears and snot as he tried to suppress the emotions of having just seen and in all likelihood killed this innocent creature and friend, Ambrose stood there, his body quaking, as he fought to control the rage of loss and betrayal that pulsed through his newfound body.

 

Shouldering the rifle, Ambrose rushed out the hissing doors of the medbay into the corridor beyond. Quickly a cry went up from a doctor further down the hallway at the site of the naked, blood-smeared, armed man. A quick shot from the E-11 silenced the first alarming cry, but quickly more and more heads popped out of rooms to see the commotion before quickly slipping out of site as the facility began to go into lockdown.

 

With a shout of rage, Ambrose charged down the hallway, blasting away at any signs of movement, rolling around the first corner he came to into a sort of reception area, where he fired away at any who did not scamper to safety quick enough.

 

Klaxons blared, blastdoors began to lumber shut, and red lights began to pulsate along the hallways throughout the base. ”LOCK DOWN. LOCK DOWN. BE ADVISED THERE IS AN IMMINENT THREAT WITHIN THE BASE. SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY. LOCK DOWN. LOCK DOWN…..” the mechanical voice over the loudspeakers boomed.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Inky blackness and pain were the only two things that Ambrose Veshok was aware of. His mind was going a million miles an hour pondering everything and nothing, overcome with grief, rage and confusion.

 

He did not know what was going on with his body. The last thing he knew was that he was being gunned down by those he had once considered his brothers-in-arms. Now, all he knew was darkness and pain.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Ambrose had no way of knowing that his tattered and blaster-bolt riddled body had been unceremoniously hoisted from where he fell and brought into surgery where teams of the remnant’s best medical personnel worked around the clock for several days to keep his dying body alive while they performed the tedious work of carefully disconnecting the dying clone’s brain and transferring it to a vat of life giving juices, a mix of nourishing nutrients and physical preservatives. Even under the best care with the best equipment available, the surgery was a grueling process. One slip up could mean death for the dying man on the table or worse, mental scarring resulting in any manner of mental flaw or personality defect.

 

Numbed as his body was, Ambrose’s mind was still wracked with the mental anguish that he had experienced. Death would do that to a being. Something people did not seem to take into effect when cloning and reprogramming fallen soldiers over and over again.

 

And then, it happened. The doctors working did not notice any difference. The gauges did not falter. The air did not stir. In fact, to the average observer everything seemed the same. Something had, however, changed. With the snip of a pair of medical sheers, carefully disconnecting another nervous strand from the brain to the body, Ambrose’ mind snapped under the pressure of being removed and in the silent absolutely black prison of his own mind he screamed. It was a scream like none other. He had no mouth to give voice to the indescribable excruciating mental pain that he sudden felt coursing from everywhere and nowhere. He had no lungs with which to pause so the scream continued in silence a wail of pain and anguish permeating the force like Cathar nails on an aged chalkboard.

 

Unbeknownst to any in the operating room, Ambrose continued his scream through the rest of the surgery, even as his brain was removed and unceremoniously carefully plopped into the vat of juices and whisked away at the instruction of ISB Agent Aleksandra.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

As soon as he was in the secured bunker’s top secret medical facility the process was reversed. This time, however, his brain was not being transplanted into another body of flesh, bone, and blood; instead, it was meticulously being wired into the hollowed out interior of a massive Phase III Dark Trooper exosuit/droid. This time; however, the juices within the transparisteel bowl allowed the millions of synapses to fire transporting their signals and messages to the control module atop the bowl that they were now wiring into the suit. His mind was now floating, awash in the amber liquid.

 

The droids operated differently than the medical team that had removed Ambrose’ brain. They cared less, but their motions were even more meticulous. There would be no mistakes as they wired him in. The process would still take several days to successfully complete; but when they were complete the hope was that the first of many super soldiers of their top secret Empire-era experiments would be completed and functional; a new face of fear and conquest on the battlefield.

 

First, they needed to complete the surgery without a hitch.

 

And still, Ambrose silently screamed, his body disconnected from his mind and all the world around him. Lost in the dark with only his deepest fears to comfort him. Here there be dragons.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Darkness, complete and utter darkness, surrounded by the silent ripples in the force as the brain in a jar screamed in pure physiological agony. His body was gone as were his senses. The mind that contained what was left of Ambrose Veshok was trapped alone, completely and entirely alone.

 

Who knows how much time had passed; but quite suddenly, Ambrose was not so alone, With an electronic flicker he could suddenly see. For a brief moment static fuzz, clouded his vision until it cleared. Ambrose could see, but in a way that he had never been able to see before. The full color spectrum was at his disposal, infrared, ultraviolet, and everything in between. The mechanical viewscreens that now piped direct stimulation to his brain via the vat of charged juices it now sat in, nestled safely within the very core of the hulking armored Phase III Dark Trooper, showed the once-trooper the cramped clandestine medical facility abustle with several droids.

 

Ambrose could feel power coursing through his body, but is this my body? Something was not right. Ambrose could not feel the warm air on his skin; yet still, he could tell it was warm; 89.7 degrees to be precise. how do I know this?

 

As the power completed surging through his form, A mechanized sound erupted from the vocoder of the only mechanized being in the room. It was a cry of unmistakable pain, suffering, anguish, and anger.

 

”GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

The pain and anguish of what had happened; of the blaster bolts that ripped into his flesh and blood still seemed to pulsate through his body. This combined with the feelings of completely being alone and the loss of Emma would be too much for many beings to bear; however, if that were not enough, Ambrose had to try and grasp what happened to his mind and body being disconnected. Not that he realized what had happened yet. All he knew was that he had been completely detached a single soul afloat in the nothingness.

 

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

 

The non-ceasing cry continue, while Ambrose’ mind was notified by a seemingly intrusive, but natural though: ’WEAPON SYSTEMS ONLINE. ARSENAL 100%’

 

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

 

As he cried out, Ambrose’ mechanical head swung left and right as he tried to grasp what was going on, the servos whirring effortless. As his eyes crossed over the two Imperials standing high above overseeing the operating suite, he registered both of them as potential hostiles. He had done so without even pondering it. Their weapons, E-11s, were set to kill and they appeared uneasy as the sight of him.

 

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

 

Without a thought, Ambrose could feel a plate within his right forearm/wrist opening as two blaster cannon rose up and locked into place. Raising his arm towards the two Imperials above, he let loose a barrage of heavy blaster fire, sending the upper halves of both troopers into the air, totally disintegrating their legs and the catwalk below them in a rain of fiery explosions and metallic shrapnel.

 

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

 

Turning to search the room, he took a step, his magnetized metallic floor falling to the floor with a loud CLANK that echoed through the room, almost drowned out by the falling debris and remnant explosion.

 

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

 

Scanning the room, he saw a female with red hair turn to rush from the room. Raising his left arm, Ambrose felt two more blaster cannons lock into place as he effortless aimed both at the door the female disappeared through and let loose another barrage of highly energized blasts of red, sending chunks of durasteel and duracrete into the air as fire erupted from burst fuel lines and electrical lines crackled.

 

 

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose continued to scream his suffering clearly audible even by mechanized standards. Even when a voice spoke directly to him via some yet undiscovered internal comm system it hardly gave him pause. Of course he could hear the voice, but what did it matter? Everything he knew was gone. Kriff even his body, his very being, was gone, yet somehow he had been transplanted into this tin suit. What did it matter? He continued to rage, sending trays of medical equipment ricocheting into walls and leaving large phrik-empowered dents in the durasteel tables.

 

Suddenly, though, he had a moment of clarity, brought on by a seething sheen of absolute hatred at the words he heard translated through the auditory sensors of the mechanized device he was trapped in. In that moment, he stopped his breathless scream of pain, as he brought both deployed sets of wrist mounted laser cannons to bear on the much smaller ISB agent who dared make such threats to him, to one they had just stolen everything from. Leveling the blasters of his monstrous arms within mere feet of the red-haired female he fired, or attempted to; but something was refusing to allow his mind to will the action to take place. It was not a mental block, something mechanical. Defective. Couldn’t even give me a properly functioning droid.

 

And so there he stood, cannons leveled, unsure of what to do next. Trying to find the will to speak and yet also unsure if he could even speak. The scream of pain had since mingled with the mental anguish and although his auditory sensors had picked up his cry, that which was left of Ambrose Veshok had not registered that the cry had been his own. How he desired to kill this woman before him. To embrace the ways of the old Empire and cut down any who stood in his way of fulfilling his orders. To kill and strike fear in doing so.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose stood there, unmoving, as he watched the life-preserving medico droid assault the woman who had threatened the body of his now dead friend. White hot rage burned throughout his mind; the only thing that was currently keeping in check the screaming anguish that sought to escape from his synapses and burn along the circuits that were now as much his own as they were foreign to him and escape his mechanized vocabulator in a cry that needed no translation.

 

Turning his head slightly, the hidden phrik-based servos whirring with pure mechanical proficiency he looked over the much smaller droid. His sensors were not indicating that he presented a threat; unlike what he had innately calculated the now unconscious hopefully dead human woman lying on the ground next to the medical bot.

 

Ambrose did not yet grasp how to speak. The primalness of his screaming something innate that had transferred to the mechanized form seamlessly had not caught up to the conscious part of his body. He could not respond; yet somehow the tank of a mechanized man nodded in agreement with the spindly droid’s proposal. How is that thing speaking to me? I cannot hear him through my auditory sensors. I have auditory sensors!!! he pondered in confusion and amazement at the cognitive discovery of such a trait that most organics the galaxy over took for granted.

 

As his head scanned the room, he saw no further threats; at least none that he could immediately identify. With that, his deployed weaponry began to fold back into their hidden slots on his body and he was able to brutally gesture at the door that Agent Aleksandra had come through and shake his head. He knew all too well how The Empire worked. There would be, more likely than not, a rather unpleasant surprise waiting on the other side of that door.

 

Surveying the room, his eyes came to rest on the jagged edges that remained of the catwalk he had blasted not even seconds ago. Without a word, he reached over and grasped the 2-1B’s bucket-esque head in one massive hand, easily hoisting the droid off of its feet. With a trio of clanging clomping steps, each footfall sucking to the durasteel floor with his magnetized feet he made it to the wall and then with little thought began to walk up the durasteel wall itself, kicking several flimsily wall-mounted display screens out of his way as he moved.

 

Onwards and upwards he went. The mechanized medic was his only friend in the world at the moment until he could figure out what was going on. It did not take him long and they were at the catwalk, or more specifically, what was left of it still swaying back and forth, bits of flash-fried blood coating each end for several meters.

 

Unceremoniously, more by lack of knowledge of how he could fully function than by any nefarious purpose, Ambrose flopped the 2-1B onto the swaying catwalk with a crash before using both of his hands to grasp the railing and swing himself aboard.

 

Scooping up the medical droid, he thundered towards the doorway where the catwalk entered the oversight of the medical bay.

 

Crashing through the door into an empty access walkway, he flopped Query onto the flooring once again in as many minutes before standing there and watching, waiting for the droid to do its thing. Well, he thought, time to keep your promise. You lead the way. I’ll smash anyone that gets in our way…I hope. Not that Ambrose was clairvoyant or even force sensitive but the droid had someone spoke directly to his mind. Maybe the droid could read his thoughts too? Or maybe the droid would just do something and keep its word. Besides, if it didn’t he could just vaporize the spindly little med-tech.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose's mind churned. He was suffering. If he had a body, the entire thing would be wracked with pain. As it was, however, it was just his mind. it was filled with confusion and suffering. Even if consciously he could see that his mind had somehow been transplanted, subconsciously he was struggling to grasp what was going on. Much akin to when someone loses a limb and his or her mind still goes to itch it.

 

The translucent map that popped into his view showed the trooper's mind a direct route out of the facility.

 

[i[He had promised![/i]

 

Yet still, he could not register that the droid presented any sort of threat.

 

Careful? You want me to be careful?

 

With that he reached forward and grasped the droid's head again, firmly, and with no concern for the droid's exterior appearance. For that matter, he did not care much for the droid's internal servos either; but it had promised.

 

Hefting the droid up off of its feet, he strode forward his magnetized feet slapping the flooring with every step. Stealthy he was not.

 

Diverting from the preordained path, Ambrose touted the droid along the back pathways within the Imperial Facility to the medical bay where he had been imprisoned. Once they got close enough, Ambrose forced open a doorway into the now empty medical ward. Apparently it had been cordoned off after the incident and patients carted off to other wards whilst they awaited the arrival of Imperial Security Investigators.

 

Dragging the droid down the hallway, he unceremoniously threw the 2-1B towards the still open door where he assumed the two dead troopers and the lifeless body of Emmaline still lay; having not taken into account the passing of days since the incident in which the troopers had murdered Emmaline and tried to kill him.

 

Undoubtedly they had maybe minutes before security forces responded to their blatant breach; but that was not something Ambrose cared about at the moment. He had one thought: Save what was left of his friend. The droid promised.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose stood completely still, even more still than he could have as a well trained operative of the emperor, an agent of war and terror. Now, he was perfectly still. perfection within a machine? A confusing glimpse of a thought to say the least. At least, Ambrose could tell that he was standing still. That was progress he supposed. Most of his actions thus far had seemed to come from some instinctual place within his mind or the droid exosuit than from any conscious effort.

 

Facial features were not something anyone ever thought a Phase III Dark Trooper would need, and thus Ambrose' mechanized blank stare was just that, only much more menacing given his complete ambiance.

 

The droid seemed to think that Emma was still alive. Is she alive? Could it be so? If so we must rescue her! His thoughts quickened at the glimmer of hope only to be dashed when he understood what the medico droid was saying. Of course she was dead; but the droid did promise...

 

Reaching forward with one arm he wrenched the door off the hinges into the bay where the carnage and murder of his little friend had taken place. With his other arm folded close he directed his closed fist at Query as the twin blaster cannons whirred back up out of his arm into motion. Even without words the threat would hopefully be clear enough.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose watched, unsure what the droid was doing, but when he saw the capsule internally burst into flames he felt assured that the medical machine had at the very least tried to keep his word.

 

Leave? Yes, we should go. But first…

 

Ambrose raised the already armed weapons in his arm and fired several blasts at the flaming preservation tube. Sidestepping once, Ambrose’ shoulder mounted missile tubes appeared and he sent a single missile whooshing into the room where it detonated against the tube sending bits of flaming everything throughout the room and sending a gust of air cacophoning out of the doorway with a ringing of explosions.

 

Turning he once against hefted Query by his head again and made his way back to the doorway to the myriad of walkways behind the scenes that crisscrossed behind the scenes of the sprawling Imperial facility.

 

Somehow managing to avoid any other patrols or glory seeking agents, the mighty machine and it’s control center, a brain in a jar, and his newfound mechanized comrade, burst through an access door out into the blinding glacial wasteland that surrounded the secret facility.

 

Setting the spindly-legged medical droid down, Ambrose tilted his body forward and pivoted slightly at the hip to look directly into the droid’s eyes as if to say, Now what genius?

[Ambrose Veshok]

If Phrik could tense with fearful anticipation it most certainly would have when the duo approached the storm troopers guarding the standard Imperial Lambda class shuttle. Even in his pain scorched mind, he was impressed by how the lowly medical droid seemed to manipulate his two comrades.

 

In a matter of minutes they were aboard the shuttle and the droid was asking him for an authorization code. Doesn’t this thing realize that there is no way my designation code could authorize something like this? he queried silently. Unsure of what else to do, he somehow managed to lean over and with his massive fingers tried to punch in his designation code 1-8-7-1-2-6. His effort was met by an angry mechanized honking and stereotypical red flashing light. Wrong. I knew it!

 

Staring at the screen he realized his mistake.

 

1-5-7-1-3-3

 

As amazing as his massive exosuit was. Fine motor skills were things that Ambrose did not quite have a grasp on in his heavy hulking form. That number was decidedly wrong! Blasted little keypads!

 

Very carefully Ambrose tried to enter the code again

 

…̧

̡1

҉…͢

8

͘…̶

7̵

̵…

4

…̨

Ba͜c͠ksp̵ác̴e

̧…

1

…

̕2̸

͞…

9

…

͘Backs̶pa͢ce

̵…

̧S͜u͘b̡m̀i͏t.͢

 

 

The next few moments felt like an eternity before the angry red light blinked to green. Somehow his code was still active. What Ambrose did not realize was that his special authorization for actions on Bespin was still active, for now. Without any more input from either mechanized men the ship's motors hummed to life as energy flooded coils and superheated gas charged. Across the screen flashed the following:

 

R̙E̼͈̳̠̟T͚͔͍̗̩̤͚U̙̞̗̥̖͙R̙̞̺̩̝̙N̲̞͎̞̠I̦̜̮͉N̩̪̤̝͔G͕͍̯͈̙͚̟͍͇ ̰͓͉͎̬̙̤T̺̲̰̺̲̘̗̝O̘̥̜̺̫̻ͅ ̞̠̼͍͍͈Ḽ͙͖̞A̳͓̖͖̗̠̳S̫T̪̰̰̼̹̱ ͇̩K͎͇͍̠N̗̬̤̝O̱͔W̹͙̦͖͓N͔͚͎̬̦̠̼̞ ͚͔̘͓͍̹ͅH̖̩Y̪̪̲̖͖̘͍͚P̰̳̱̝̥̼̘̳̯E̤̖̣͙̫͇͍R̻͕͓̝̻̻̘S̪̝̲̰͍̼̘P͙̭̣͖̰A̬C̯E̯̜̦͕͇̙͙̠ ̭̣̺͎̞͚C͎O̳̞O̟̱R̘͉D̳̪I̳͇͎̹N͖̭͇̪A̙̼̩͈T͓͈̙̮͈͖E̮̟̰̲͖̱̞̪S͍̜.͚̙̟͔͉:̹͊̓ͩ͛̋͐̓̓ ̣̤͇͉̪͕̫̯̂̆͒̓̇ͨḲ͕̣̣̞̠̩ͥͨ̐ͮ̄̈̈ͪ͛ͅȖ̝̲̮͔ͩ̾͂͛͂̇A̝̟̫͔̠͉̭̲ͬ̓͌ͫ͌ͅT̟͚̰̘͚ͨ̌͌ͮ̄

 

̞̺͕̻̞ͅ

͍̦̲

̼̻͔̹̭̯̘̪ͅ.̮͔̝.̘.͍̦̯̠̹͖S̮͉͙̲̤̭̫ͅT͚̜̭̤̦Ạ̺N͎̠̬̯D͓̭̼͍B͓̬͍͙̹Y͔̲̺̲̱̪͎ͅ ̖̼F̮̟͉͚O͎̙̳R̦̺̮̻̱ ̹̺̳͍͇̬͚̫L͉̻͖͔̗ͅI̜͎F̖̗͈̳̤̹T̳̲͓̞O͕̹̼͖̜̖̗F͇͓̫͍̙̪̗̖F̳̜͈.̹̘̪̲̱.͕̯.̲̥͕̜̝̙͚̭

̩͈̲̰̠

͇̥̰͓̗̘̦

̙̘̯̣̗̘̰ͅ.̰̯̥̲͇̗̜͇.̙̰̤̝͓͉.͖͔̙͉̩͍̬̬̹.͙͕̞̝̩͖͓͉̺.̖̗̣.̲͍͉͓̰̯.͎̱ͅ.͖̤̰͕̥̱̤ͅ.͚̪̣͓̺̹̰

͓͇͎ͅ

̠̥̖

͖͖̗͔̙̲.̼̭̠̦̬̜̖.̪͙.̲̗͖̯̥L͇͓̺͎̲͕I̘̖͇̹̹͇̱ͅF͎͙T̞̙̟̪͚͎̮O̼͈̙͙͓F̲͉̝̹͖͖͉̬ͅF͔͚͓͍͎̣̼̜ ̙͖̼̤̬̠̗͈A̘̳̻̱̤̱C͕͔H̱̼̖͉I͙͈̱͓E͇͎̖̟̫̝V̲̜̺̣̮E̲͔͙̬̻D͎.ͅ.̰͔.͔̦̜̯̫ͅ

̙̜̟̗̙ͅ

̟̼̟̭̟̲̩

̹̲̙̪Ṯ̫̻̝I͕̝͈̠͔M̖͕̭͎̜̳E̗̟͈͉ ̝̮̞̖̙̱U̜ͅN̯Ț̭̲̲͙͚͔̗I̩͉L̝̮̖̦̳̲ͅͅ ̠̙̯̯̤̪̺̝̮Ḁ̭̖̬͓̫R͚̪̟̥͖̩̻R̠̰̥͙͍̺͍ͅI̙͈͍V̥̖̦̱̥̫ͅA̼͉̰͚̹͔Ḻ̗̯̪̺͇:̣̭̖̠̞͖̤ͅ ͓̤͇̪̩̮̠1͖̪D̠̬̦̙̟̖̟ ̱͕̭1̳̲̙ͅ3̬̪̬̦͙͈͖̫ͅH͕͇̭̮̦̳ ̱͎̞͈͎̬̦ͅ5̹̼͓6̻̯͎͚͓̰͓̯M̰͍ ͈͖2̥̻̗͙͔8̪̺͇̦̺͍̩̺̼S͚̦̖̩̙̜̫̖

 

Ambrose turned to look at the droid and then take in their surroundings. Thankfully the ship had sealed itself. Not that it really mattered, truth be told, he supposed. After all, he was just a machine now. The true Ambrose Veshok was dead whether in that medical facility alongside Emma or elsewhere. Emma had mentioned something about him being cloned back to life after an incident.

 

Turning to stare out the viewport at the sky already rushing past them windows he stood, a silent sentinel. Perhaps Kuat was not a bad place to go. Maybe there were answers there.