Quarantine

[sparrow]

A thick haze hung in the air as she made her way down the empty hallway. Her boots on the tiled floor were the only sound. The walls seemed to flicker as she moved, from the smooth metal of the Citadel on Kaas, to the dark reddish stone of the Korriban temple.

She looked down at her body. Two arms, both of flesh and blood. Raising one hand, she ran a finger along the smooth, unblemished skin of her right cheek. A dream, then. Or I’m dead.

The walls flickered again, seeming to emanate a faint whispering sound. The Chorus… your voice… join. She tried to move, but her body was frozen in place. The shadows on the wall seemed to shift and change shape, forming themselves into the shape of Archeri. The haze gathered in front of her, swirling and solidifying into the form of the Archeri conductor, which now loomed over her.

A rising sense of pain began swelling in her stomach, and as she looked down, she could see the wound that had appeared, blood seaping out in unnatural patterns, forming dark red stains on her clothes. The blood flowed, congealing around the wound, transforming before her eyes into dark chitinous plates that began to spread over her body. Unable to move, there was nothing she could do watch helplessly…

Zarene gasped as her eyes shot open. She was lying down in a dark unlit room, on what felt like a hard hospital bed. She tried to push herself up, but was quickly defeated by a wave of soreness that washed over her. That, and the sudden imbalance, as she suddenly noticed that her mechanical right arm was missing, leaving only the metal socket interface that was fused to her shoulder. What the…? So all she would do was lie back down.

She shifted her head slightly to glance down at her stomach. Her lower torso was wrapped in bandages, stained with dry blood, but with no sign of chitinous transformation. That was a relief at least.

Her head still felt sore and hazy, which combined with the lack of light made it difficult for her to make out what else was there in the room with her. There was a sound of movement, from a blurry humanoid shape nearby. She squinted to try and bring her vision into focus to see who it was.

Imago.

“Where are we? Where’s my arm?” she muttered, as she turned her head back to stare at the ceiling. “We made it out? For a moment, I though Invictus was leaving us there to die…”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Imago cracked open his eyes, moving his jaw soundlessly. His tongue felt like an old piece of leather in his mouth, dry and uncooperative. With difficulty, he swallowed and tried to sit up. Left for dead? Not true ... But not entirely false, either. They were definitely somewhere in the same neighborhood. He remembered now, disorientation fading like a fleeting high. A mission for the Empress, one that would finally prove his worth. And not just to her – this would have been nothing like all that other work, the sort of things that would never see the light of day. It was all ruined, now. The other two had gone on without them. With the samples. The Sith cared about results and damn anyone that would let glory slip from their fingers … Fingers, arm. Missing arm? ”Zarene?” Imago made a more serious effort to get up, groaning as the movement tugged on his sutures and rustled a Life Day tree’s worth of hanging bags and plastic tubing. The room was unusually dim. He supposed it must be the middle of the night. Imago swung his feet out of bed, enduring a wave of dizzy nausea as he started at the tile floor. ”What the hell? … His feet and hands were bound up in bluish sacks, cool and moist. Imago pulled one off, staring in disgust at the gel it left behind. Suspended within it were flecks and pieces of dead skin. Beneath, burns in the process of healing; varicolored and hairless but thankfully not tight. He shoved it back on. Less surprising but just as uncomfortable was the patient gown, evidently the only stitch of clothing at hand. He began to remove sensor pads and tubes one by one, some vastly more unpleasant than others. The machines chorused their shrill disapproval until he thought to unplug them. Still, no frowning nurse appeared. ”Yeah, we sure did. But it was a close thing. We’re on Nar Shaddaa now, some kind of mercenary boutique for cybernetics and uh, some less practical things. Best I could do at the time. The others continued on to the drop off.” He would have killed someone for a cold glass of water. A curtained doorway probably led to a little bathroom. The fixtures were probably sonic. ”Our things must be locked away somewhere in this place.” A stupid reassurance, he knew that as he said it. ”I guess we should probably lie. About who we are.” Also a little stupid. He frowned at Zarene in a dissatisfied way. Each step squished unpleasantly between his toes.

[Fromikeable]

"... made the new filters tie into the ventilation system. No idea how they organized the network for them during installation, so if you want to change it, just make sure you don't knock it offline." With one hand on the controls of their speeder, Vance's other hand waved every few seconds as he finished his explanation. "They should be giving some pretty in-depth readouts on air quality, assuming I didn't just have half the Exchange conned. If you could code some sort of warning that'd buzz everyone once the filters fill up, that'd be our best bet." The Eye looked a bit different than when Io'an had last seen it. The interior, still lavish and elegant, had been torn up just enough to reach the building's vents. Each and every window and entrance had been gone over with a fine comb, their seals checked and reinforced. The main entrances had been converted into make-shift airlocks, the security checkpoints there doubling as disinfecting stations with chemical sprays and alarms.

Vance had been busy. He just regretted that it had come too little, too late.

Their destination, a narrow side street, popped up on the edge of the speeder's nav computer. Slowing their ride down, Vance began their descent. "Assuming you or Qiki feel well enough to try any of that. Are you sure you don't want to sit this one out?" When the call had come in from the Exchange chopshop staff that a pair of patients had come in with lightsabers, Vance had assumed he'd have to go it alone. He certainly didn't want to, of course. Assuming they weren't walking biohazards, the prospect of potentially fighting two Force-using opponents in a Nar Shaddaa's equivalent of a hospital wasn't a good one. Even with Exchange support on-call to level the playing field-

Well, Io'an's help was welcome, even if it introduced new concerns.

Pulling their speeder down into the street, Vance settled it into park. The block was quiet, likely silenced by the change in the moon's mood since the Chorus's invasion had begun. Beside them, a blinking neon sign named their destination Ortiga Improvement Boutique, a particularly tall man with a set of cybernetics across his skull waving potential customers toward the entrance on a large graphic beside. As the speeder's engines whined down, the front door of the shop jingled opened, quick footsteps outpacing the bell. A Zabrak woman in a rubber smock approached the speeder, a set of cybernetics on her hand blinking idly as she held a duo of holopads. She rapped on the passenger-side door quickly, her head on a swivel up and down the street. Opening it, Vance peered up at her.

"Are you here for your eye augmentation, mister...?"

"Arkandri. And yes, I was hoping you could make them burgundy while you're at it." The doctor seemed to relax as the response code was given, immediately handing the two holopads forward.

"They're downstairs in their own room, farthest door on the right. Both Epicanthix, mid-to-late 20's. The woman was unconscious when they came in, and they both looked like absolute hell." The doctor shuffled a hand under her lab coat before producing two lightsaber hilts, handing them over as Vance disembarked.

With one in each hand, Vance began a cursory inspection. One was curved, its fashioning exotic, almost designer. A quick peek inside the case revealed a green crystal, its color as sharp and stinging as its presence. The other was a bit more standard, its crystal blue, its presence more resolute and looming. Handing the curved hilt to Io'an to hold, Vance slipped the blue one into his pocket. "Think they were in a fight?"

"That, or they got hit by about a dozen maglev trains. Either way, they were covered head to toe in some sort of spore. Given the news..."

"You tucked them in the corner."

"I've been drawing straws with my nurse over who has to go in there to feed them."

[Rugs]

“Yea, I’m sure I can manage,” Io’an said simply as Vance settled the speeder in front of the cybernetic clinic. The Blind Eye was always a hive of some sort of activity, but it’d taken a different tenor since Lidah returned the Soothesayer to Nar Shaddaa. The casino business didn’t seem to be faring so well in the face of a looming apocalypse, and Vance had taken it upon himself to turn the place into a fortress.

He’d done well, Io’an had to admit, in the time since they’d been stowed away on the ship. But with the Archeri Plague, as people were calling it, starting to break out in pockets of Nar Shaddaa’s overcrammed refugee sectors, there was no point in staying away.

“I can knock all that out in an afternoon,” he said, climbing out of the speeder. “Faster, if Qiki’s feeling up to it.” Io’an double-checked the surgical mask covering his nose and face as they stepped onto the street. As far as they knew, the plague didn’t seem to be overly contagious from sharing the same air with an infected person — once the spores were gone — but there was no need to be careless. A few months of hasty research were hardly conclusive, and the Plague seemed to impact different people differently.

Besides, it felt good to be wearing something other than a damned void suit. Some normal clothes, with his dark armorweave jacket, felt like pajamas by comparison.

”Can you feel them?” The voice whispered quietly. Io’an’s fist clenched at his side as Vance spoke to the Zabrak woman, but he didn’t try to push the voice away. He didn’t immediately resist it, as he once had.

He took hold of the Force and reached out with his too-sharp senses. I can, he thought, more to himself than the Chorus whipsering in his skull. Two presences. Dark, in their ways, but... twisted, somehow. His lips pressed together. I know that feeling.

Vance handed him a lightsaber, drawing Io’an’s attention to his immediate surroundings. As soon as the cool metal touched his fingertips, he saw a rush of images.

Some distant world, ruined and fungal. A tall man, face hidden behind an armored suit’s visor. A woman, fending off a large Archeri. A flash of wicked flame...

Io’an had realized he’d staggered to the side, bracing himself against the wall with a hand as his breath came in short, ragged gasps. It happened again... He looked at the trembling hand that clutched the curved lightsaber hilt. What was that?

“You see?” The voice almost cooed, obviously pleased. “You don’t even know your own songs, Marked One. But we will teach you, if you join your voice to ours...”

Shut up, he thought, withdrawing from the Force. It helped. Sometimes. I don’t need your help.

A dark, retreating chuckle echoed in his mind as Io’an realized the Zabrak woman was staring at him, with no small amount of concern. He stood straight, fighting down a cough, and stuffed the lightsaber into his jacket pocket.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. He motioned for Vance to lead the way. “After you.”

[sparrow]

She tried shifting her position on the hard cot, but every movement was met with soreness from her bruised body, which was not helped by the fact her balance was off thanks to the missing arm. So she returned to staring at the ceiling. She had just woken up but she wanted to fall asleep again.

The hum of the Archeri chorus was a constant buzzing at the back of her head, its whispers on the edge not loud enough that the words could be discerned, but enough that it could not be pushed out of mind entirely. She groaned in frustration.

“Lie… what did you tell them when they checked us in this place?” she finally asked. And if they were on Nar Shaddaa… “Hutts or Exchange?” Did the Hutts still have that bounty on her head? As for the Exchange, her history with the organization was complicated, to say the least.

The answer to her question was soon revealed was Imago’s movement must have triggered some sensor, causing several lights in the room to switch on. Turning her head slightly to glance at an illuminated section of the wall, Zarene could make out a poster depicting a blue-skinned Twi’lek woman with a cybernetic lekku and a smile that looked too wide to be natural, over a tagline that read “Still You, But Better! Ortiga Improvement Boutique.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” she muttered. “I’ve been here before…” Or at least another branch location of the facility. She didn’t know how many locations the place had, nor did she care. Years ago, but she could remember every detail of the place. She could still see him, a shadowy figure looming over her broken body, face hidden underneath surgical mask and goggles, voice deep and cold.

The Exchange has incurred quite the expense in procuring the parts to save your life. It’s an investment in you, one that I’m sure you will work hard to repay…

“... it’s where I got my…” Her words were interrupted by a fit of coughing that sent shockwaves of pain through her torso. She lay there for a moment, trying to recover control of her body. Could sure use some water… She tried to moisten her lips with her tongue, but it didn’t help much.

“If they’ve taken a blood sample from me, then they’ll know who I am, or will soon.”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

”Oh, you know.” Imago shifted his weight, testing himself. The pain, his tolerance for it – or lack thereof. Teth had been one thing, adrenaline and dizzying momentum that left no room for anything else. This tiny shoebox, tucked into some corner of a duracrete labyrinth, was something else far removed. Safer, for the moment, than where they’d come from. But no less uncertain. Everything seemed more or less structurally sound, at least. He sat back down, probing the itchy dressing plastered over his collarbone with his fingers, clumsy in their wrappings. Dark blood beaded up where he’d yanked out his lines. ”I don’t know? I didn’t say much. Our credit limit, which pocket the chit was in.” Overall, that gesture that would have been more useful if their equipment had been a little more anonymous. Lightsabers, military body armor … Even if their money couldn’t be traced from this end, that alone narrowed the possibilities rather dramatically. Well, so what? It wasn’t as if they’d washed up in Republic space. These should be mercenary doctors, not enemies by default. Unless. ”Is that … Bad?” In his limited experience, Lord Sagitta was so straight-faced that he wasn’t sure how to read her now. She didn’t seem to interpret this new revelation as blessed salvation. Part of him wished he was still under, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with this. Whatever the circumstances, running wasn’t an option no matter how tempting it seemed at first glance. While he might be reluctantly willing to carry on unarmed and basically naked, it was unreasonable to expect Zarene to do so without an arm. Had it been removed for repair? Imago took a moment to fortify himself, then hobbled slowly to the door. ”Hello?” He peered into the hallway. The ceiling light flickered over shabby furnishings and peeling paint. Old equipment set out in dusty stacks – he had the distinct impression that this portion of the business wasn’t usually client-facing. ”Doctor? My friend needs ...” No one was listening. Imago hesitated, then stretched out his senses for anything living at all. Zarene, of course, was closest. Two other bright presences in the Force were entirely unexpected, the background static of other lives hard to perceive by comparison. ”Crap. I think we might have a problem.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance’s gaze joined the doctor’s as she stared at Io’an. They watched him fumble and recover, the saber he’d been holding shoved into his pocket in a poor attempt to hide the latter. When he gave them both a muttered assurance, the doctor’s eyes switched over to Vance, her confidence clearly a bit shaken.

”Are you sure this is a good idea?”

”Of course.” Vance tried not to let how little he believed his own lie show as he gave Io’an’s shoulder a careful pat and lead him into the shop.

The interior was much the same as the exterior at the front. Gaudy posters depicted augmented persons of every race and profession smiling wide. A nurse sat quietly at a counter, a holoscreen beside her quietly detailing the day’s news reports. As they got to another case of the suicides at the Cerbozz Pit, she seemed to curl up a bit, a hand quickly wiping at her eye.

Vance didn’t dare offer her a word. In a world of incurable disease, abandonment, and insentient horrors, the only thing he could do for her today was deal with the two Force-users sitting in her shop.

As he opened the door to the patient rooms, Vance’s step froze for a second as a presence prodded his. It jabbed out like a hand to a hot mug, checking for temperature. Even still, Vance could place a feeling to it. It felt just like the saber he’d handed to Io’an. It prompted him to give the holopad another quick once over. While the woman’s name had come up in a previous record, the man’s had not.

”Remember; first priority is to keep them from panicking.” Strolling down the hall at a slower pace, Vance turned the corner to see a man clutching to the doorframe nearest to the end. Stopping with a respectful distance between them, Vance’s eyes scanned over the patient with curiosity.

”Good afternoon.” Placing a hand on his hip, Vance did his best to look relaxed. Or, at the very least, non-threatening. ”Welcome to Nar Shaddaa.” Doing his best to peer past the man into the room, Vance caught just a glimpse of the other patient within.

”I’m Thelonious. This is Draco.” The hallway lights flickered a few times, providing an unsteady metric of how much time he was taking to choose his words.

”... we hear you two had a rough day.”

[Rugs]

Io’an made an effort of ignoring the looks Vance had given him as they strolled deeper into clinic’s halls. He didn’t need another reminder of what effect the illness was having on him; it did a fine enough job of that on its own.

Strange visions when he touched things, bursts of strength in the Force that went beyond what he was used to... He wasn’t sure what to make of it all. A part of him enjoyed the newfound ability in the Force. If only he could tap into it without the aches and fatigue and the coughing and bleeding.

”Open yourself,” said the voice. “We can teach your song better than the howling you’ve learned from these instructors. You need only trust...”

As if, Io’an thought. Leave me alone.

The voice’s prodding gave way to silence as Io’an followed Vance down the hall. There came one of the other senses, probing out through the Force. Io’an didn’t get the feeling that it was looking for them, specifically, but once contact was made, it was too late to turn back.

“I got it,” he said. “They could be allies.” If the mishmash of images thrown against his mind upon touching the lightsaber were any indication, they didn’t seem to be friends of the Archeri, at least. “Or at least, not enemies,” he muttered.

But strange things were happening since the Archeri Chorus’ arrival at the Galaxy’s edge. Io’an couldn’t rule out that not all was as it seemed.

Vance stopped after rounding a corner. Io’an pulled abruptly out of his own thoughts, stopped behind him. A head peered out one of the rooms before him. He could feel the Force surrounding the man, and not weakly, like one of the newly-made Force-sensitives that seemed to be popping up everywhere with the Plague breaking out across Nar Shaddaa.

He had a handsome face, thought Io’an suspected they would both rather him be in just about anything other than a clinic gown. As Vance introduced them by their code names, Io’an peeked into the room to see a woman. He couldn’t get a good look at her though, with the tall man blocking the way.

The darkness tainting their presences was more noticeable now, up close. So too was the Archeri stain that he’d become all too familiar with.

Io’an’s eyes drifted back to the man, watching intently as Vance finished the introduction. “We’re not enemies if that helps,” he said. “We were just as surprised as you must be.” He coughed suddenly, placing a hand over the surgical mask out of habit. “We came to have a chat. We might be able to help you, if you’ll let us.”

[sparrow]

“Bad? Maybe…” Her feelings regarding her history with the place were… mixed at best. True, her life had been saved, although not all of it. And the Exchange always exacted its price.

The place was eerily quiet. No medical staff had appeared, not even a droid. No collectors either. Strange…

Shifting her body on the narrow bed, she lowered her legs to the ground to try and stand. If no one was coming, then she wasn’t going to stay lying down until she died to thirst. And there was still the matter of finding arm. And some clothes… one thing at a time.

She recoiled quickly as the ball of her bare foot touched the tiled floor. Cold! But her balance had already shifted past the point of return, so the cold would have to be endured. Her legs trembled slightly as she propped her elbow against the edge of a table to keep her balance, careful not to strain her torso and the wound, while her hand gripped the front of her medical gown. She wondered when the last time she had eaten was, and if doing so now was more likely to give her energy or cause her to throw up.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught her attention, heralding the arrival of the two men that appeared in the hallway. Her view of them was partially blocked by Imago in the doorway, but she could make a tall, broad-shouldered one, with long curly hair and beard, and another that was shorter, more slender. The bearded one introduced themselves, and they spoke with a friendly tone, but Zarene could not help but narrow her eyes in suspicion.

They didn’t look like hospital staff, or the billing department. They looked like enforcers, and even in her slightly foggy state, she could feel the presence of the Force in both of them. And charity on Nar Shaddaa? That was always something in short supply. You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something…

Another cough, another stab of pain through her stomach. Imago could do the talking for now.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Maybe? Imago winced, feeling stranded and vulnerable on open ground. Perhaps it didn’t matter. In their present condition, he wouldn’t have given the two of them good odds against a pack of surly grandmas with sturdy handbags. These strangers looked a fair bit more dangerous than all that. Young men, perhaps somewhere in the neighborhood of his own age – though the blonde’s pointed ears threw that into question. The thick lines of the tattoo on his neck froze Imago’s attention for an awkward span of silence; he felt strangely as though he’d seen it somewhere before. ”’Rough day?’” He repeated, brow creasing. Surely it had been longer than that. This twilight, windowless place felt timeless in a most disconcerting way. Some lizard part of his mind, perhaps, grasping for a proper day-night cycle. ”I guess.” One of them wore a mask. Did they know? That stolen ship, he really should have done something about the navcomputer … No. Then they would both be wearing them. Yet this wasn’t a random robbery; they had nothing left to steal. And if it was something worse, the strangers probably wouldn’t be talking quite so much. Who wasted time charming a soon-to-be corpse? ”I'm sorry, was there a problem with our credit? I’m sure we can work something out – if you’ll just let me make a few calls ...” He trailed off as the mysterious Force adepts offered names, reassurances. Behind him, he heard Zarene moving around, albeit slowly. Imago flicked a brief glance in her direction. She didn’t seem to be setting up any kind of secret ambush. ”I’m Micah. She’s …” He hesitated a moment, then kept going without supplying a name for Zarene. If these people already knew her – or thought that they did, anyway – it was probably wiser to avoid giving away conflicting information. ”What, exactly, did you want to chat about? “Are we prisoners?”

[Fromikeable]

”You’re not prisoners. Just strangers.” Vance motioned to Io’an, particularly to his mask. ”Normally you’d be much more welcome, but as of late, strangers have proven to be a lot more problematic than we’d prefer.” The Selonian woman stuck to Vance’s mind like a brand, her eery voice and mannerisms unnerving even in retrospect. Nevermind the fact that she had turned Ylva into the Archeri-worshipping Force-slinging nutjob she now was. That woman had arrived on Nar Shaddaa without the faintest of warnings. By the time the Hutts and the Exchange had noticed her, she had already infected a small cadre of helpers, set up an entire warehouse, and gotten far enough with both to employ distributors as big as Mr. Mauve.

Throw in all the news of the perfectly-attuned helping to sabotage planets, and a little skepticism was healthy.

”We just want to chat about what you want to do now that you’re here, especially having been exposed to the Chorus.” Vance’s eyes flicked to Io’an’s for a second before slipping a hand into his own pocket, withdrawing Zarene’s lightsaber to hold up for display.

”Assuming your answer isn’t insane, we’ll give you these back to start. Especially since your friend has had previous business with the Exchange.” Leaning a bit, Vance did his best to peek past “Micah” into the room, speaking up a bit. ”For the record, Zarene, I don’t think those old debts mean much these days. Neither of you need to worry about them going forward.” Vance didn’t hold any real stock in the life-debt projects of Compeers past, and the chance to make a gesture of good faith far outweighed any actual profit that might’ve come from collecting the debt itself.

With any luck, they could secure the grand favor of getting two more Force-users defending the Eye when the Archeri finally arrived. That was worth a thousand lifetimes of credits.

[Rugs]

Prisoners? A half-smile tugged at the corner of Io’an’s mouth — for all the good that did, hidden beneath the mask as it was. He tried to imagine himself ordering someone into captivity, and for the life of himself, just couldn’t see it.

But he understood Micah’s concern.

Strange, he thought, tilting his head just slightly. Io’an could sense no lie when Micah presented his name, but it felt just off. He couldn’t begin to place his finger on why.

A mask, perhaps, he concluded. Was that so strange, on the Smuggler’s Moon, of all places? Are you any different, Draco?

He let Vance do much of the talking, though he was surprised to see him draw the lightsaber so quickly. With some trepidation, he stuck his hand into his coat pocket, where wary fingers picked at the lightsaber resting within. He winced slightly, in spite of himself, as he took it in hand. This time there was no surge of memories of strange worlds, nor overwhelming tide of visions to buffer and batter his mind.

Just a presence, faintly reminiscent of the tall man standing before them.

Io’an’s gaze lingerd on Micah as Vance addressed Zarene and her past debts. “We have yours as well,” he said simply.

“How...” he stammered, to cough loudly and feeling briefly unsure of his question. Was he supposed to just say aloud what he’d seen when his fingers first touched the lightsaber? “How did you get here?”

He paused, wondering if that perhaps sounded more confrontational than he intended.

“Not many people have survived run-ins with the Archeri.”

[sparrow]

Their first words were… not quite what she had expected. But still, Zarene remained wary. Words were easy, but at the end of the day, only actions counted. What you want to do now that you’re here? What a curious question…

“Get my arm back,” she muttered, “Some clothes… soon as we’re good to fly, we’ll be out of your way in no time at all…”

The whispers of the Chorus in her head began rising in volume, increasing to an incessant muttering. Your voice is hurt… wounded… only through the Chorus can you be made whole…

There are those who resist… the worthy shall sing… the unworthy shall fall… fall… fall… FALL!

A sudden stabbing pain in her forehead caused her to wince. Her elbow slipped off the edge of the table, and she landed on the cold floor with a loud thump. Oww…Dammit… Now this is just bloody embarrassing…. If it was not apparent before, it seemed that they were at the mercy of these two, Thelonius and Draco. What was their game?