The hallway buzzed with the sound of a faulty circuit. An inconsistent squealing noise that grated the ears of all who could hear it. They’d gone far in the week since the battle of Mandalore but there was still so much to do, the least of which was fixing a faulty circuit.
After the battle, the Union and its allies had been left with nowhere to stay but their ships, few of which were equipped to handle long term habitation. Even now, sleeping quarters off ship were limited and the various building projects were slow going. Venku Bralor, an instrumental piece in the settling of the planet, made his way down the hall. He’d have to fix that circuit.
A bare hand, devoid of vambrace and crushgaunt opened the sole door at the end of the hallway. Inside was filled the beeps and whirs and flashing lights of machinery. The door closed behind him, leaving Venku in a tech packed room lit by four blessedly consistent floodlights. None of this held his attention. He was here for work, and that meant setting down roots and organizing his people, including those held under the thumb of the sith and the demagolka known as
Lirka Ka
. His purpose sat in the center of the room, occupying a fold out durasteel chair that stood before a matching table.
Metal screeched as Venku pulled out the second chair and plopped down. The scrap of junk creaked and groaned and shifted ever so slightly beneath his weight. The table didn’t look much better, in fact he was almost surprised that it could hold the heavy piece of tech that sat on it. Across from him sat Aerith, a cybernetic human and a former prisoner of Lirka Ka. She was the reason he was here. That, and every other volunteer was busy with more important tasks.
“Are you ready?” The question was a formality and they both knew it. This had to happen whether they were ready or not.
Already, clawed fingers flipped switches and pressed buttons. Today they would retrieve any information on those darjetti mando’ade and the horrors done to them from the cyborg’s memory banks. He had no illusions it would be pleasant, but it was necessary, and this would be more accurate than asking for a recounting. He of all people knew that witnesses were unreliable and memory often warped around moments of trauma.
After the battle, the Union and its allies had been left with nowhere to stay but their ships, few of which were equipped to handle long term habitation. Even now, sleeping quarters off ship were limited and the various building projects were slow going. Venku Bralor, an instrumental piece in the settling of the planet, made his way down the hall. He’d have to fix that circuit.
A bare hand, devoid of vambrace and crushgaunt opened the sole door at the end of the hallway. Inside was filled the beeps and whirs and flashing lights of machinery. The door closed behind him, leaving Venku in a tech packed room lit by four blessedly consistent floodlights. None of this held his attention. He was here for work, and that meant setting down roots and organizing his people, including those held under the thumb of the sith and the demagolka known as
Lirka Ka
. His purpose sat in the center of the room, occupying a fold out durasteel chair that stood before a matching table. Metal screeched as Venku pulled out the second chair and plopped down. The scrap of junk creaked and groaned and shifted ever so slightly beneath his weight. The table didn’t look much better, in fact he was almost surprised that it could hold the heavy piece of tech that sat on it. Across from him sat Aerith, a cybernetic human and a former prisoner of Lirka Ka. She was the reason he was here. That, and every other volunteer was busy with more important tasks.
“Are you ready?” The question was a formality and they both knew it. This had to happen whether they were ready or not.
Already, clawed fingers flipped switches and pressed buttons. Today they would retrieve any information on those darjetti mando’ade and the horrors done to them from the cyborg’s memory banks. He had no illusions it would be pleasant, but it was necessary, and this would be more accurate than asking for a recounting. He of all people knew that witnesses were unreliable and memory often warped around moments of trauma.
