The Ones Still Standing
Posted on Fri Apr 17th, 2026 @ 12:13am by Bomoor Thort & Mentis & Thane & Reave & Kalen "Rex" Vickers & FA-1S & G2-O7 & 2-1BH "Useless"
4,580 words; about a 23 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Red Raptor, Sleheyron System, Hutt Space
Timeline: After "Acme: Depths of Fear"
The Red Raptor tore out of Sleheyron's lower skies. Fire chased it from below in uneven surges, blooming up through the wounded shell of the Undervos facility in towers of orange, white and unnatural chemicals hues, each fresh detonation throwing broken metal and burning debris across the sky as though the planet itself were trying to swat the ship back down. The freighter did not climb cleanly, though. It lurched and shuddered under the strain, one side dipping as a wave of heated air rolled against the hull, then correcting with a hard, ugly burst from the thrusters that sent a fresh vibration through the frame. Behind it, the factory continued to come apart in sections - catwalks folding, stacks rupturing, loaded gantries tipping into the inferno below - until the whole industrial mass seemed less a structure than a building and more a dying wound cut into the surface of the world.
Inside the ship, the violence of ascent made itself known through everything. The deck trembled underfoot in a ceaseless mechanical shiver. Bulkheads groaned in short, protesting bursts. Warning tones flared and vanished again beneath the wider roar of the engines, sometimes swallowed by it and sometimes rising above it with a sharpness that set the teeth on edge. The air carried too many smells at once: hot wiring, scorched metal, leaking fumes of fuel, chemical residue dragged in from the factory - and, beneath all of it, the thin metallic taint of blood. The Raptor had escaped, but not untouched. It flew with the battered insistence of an animal that had survived a trap only by leaving flesh behind in the jaws.
Below them, Sleheyron spread outward in bruised colours through breaks in the smoke: furnace districts, refinery belts, scarlet industry-light bleeding through haze, all of it shrinking by degrees as the ship forced higher. The clouds above were not clouds in any normal sense, but vast banks of polluted vapour and ash that turned the climb into a passage through soot-dark weather lit from beneath by the city's fires. The Raptor punched into them and vanished for a time inside a world of violent turbulence, buffeted hard enough that loose fittings rattled and the ship's frame answered in pained metallic judders.
Then, the worst of the atmosphere began, reluctantly, to loosen its hold. The buffeting softened first, then the roar outside thinned as the ship clawed free of the densest layers and into the high dark above the planet. Sleheyron's burning skin fell away beneath them, its industrial glow curving now along the horizon in a dim and poisonous crescent, while ahead the black of open space widened with terrible indifference. Stars emerged one by one beyond the canopy, cold, steady and untouched by what had happened below, and the Red Raptor, scarred and shaking, drove on toward them.
Inside, the ship shuddered under the strain. The inertial dampeners whined, lights flickered, and the smell of scorched metal filled the air.
Mentis gripped the edge of the cockpit console, his knuckles pale against the controls. Rex was at the helm, jaw set, eyes locked on the readouts. Reave sat low in his seat, hat brim shadowing his glowing eyes, muttering in Jawaese as he rerouted power from the aft stabilisers.
"The state of him... I can't believe you got him back at all..." Mentis finally uttered, his face would have sunk an even paler hue if it were possible, "Those droids back there won't be able to keep him alive for long though, no matter how strongly he clings to life."
His head jittered towards Rex, thoughts racing and heart still pounding in his ears, "We need somewhere with real surgeons," he stammered, clarity of mind still eluding him, "He'll need specialised equipment, prosthetics..."
Rex did not answer, as the ship bucked hard beneath them as another wave of disturbed atmosphere rolled across the hull, and his grip tightened instinctively on the controls, fingers locking into place with a stiffness that had nothing to do with training. His jaw clenched, then shifted, as though he were trying to settle something that refused to stay down. His eyes seemed to shudder, as if he was struggling to keep them open - and a breath hitched in his throat.
It forced its way through with a faint, wet edge. The chemical reek still clung to him, turning every intake into something sharp and wrong - and he had not had the Force to resist or expel it in those final minutes. He visibly swallowed against it.
"Yeah," he managed at last, though the word came thinner than it should have, stretched tight across the effort of speaking at all. "Yeah, I-" He stopped as hjs head dipped forward a fraction, shoulders tightening as something in him lurched without warning.
One hand came off the controls, bracing hard against the console. For a second, it looked like he might ride it out. Then the tremor came through him again, sharper this time, dragging a rough breath from his throat that broke halfway through.
"No- no, I can't-"
The words fell apart into a low, strained sound as he forced himself upright again, blinking hard, trying to drag the world back into alignment.
"You-" he started, already half-turning away from the controls, one hand fumbling briefly across the panel before finding nothing he trusted himself to use. "You need to take it."
There was no argument in it.
He pushed himself back from the pilot's seat with a sudden, uneven motion, one hand catching the edge of the console to steady himself as his balance dipped. The movement cost him, showing in the involuntary swallow that followed as he fought a losing battle with his own body.
"Just... keep her up," he muttered, already moving, already turning away before Mentis could properly answer. "Get us clear. I'll-"
He did not finish it. He staggered out of the cockpit with what control he had left, one hand braced against the bulkhead as he moved, the other clamped hard over his mouth as though that alone might hold everything in place until he reached the 'fresher. It did not look convincing.
For a moment, the cockpit was left with only the sound of the engines and the distant strain of the ship forcing itself free of Sleheyron's grip.
Reave had not moved during any of it. He remained low in his seat, small frame still, glowing eyes tracking Rex's unsteady exit beneath the shadow of his hat brim. The muttered Jawaese had stopped somewhere in the middle of it, replaced by a silence that was not passive but watching, measuring. One hand remained on the console where he had been rerouting power, fingers resting lightly now rather than working.
Then his attention shifted and he turned his head toward Mentis as the other man moved for the helm, the motion sharp but not hurried, as though this had always been the outcome he had expected. The Jawa straightened slightly in his seat, one hand dropping to his side where, for a moment, it disappeared from view beneath the edge of the console.
When it rose again, something rested across his palm. The hilt was unmistakable even without the blade: electrum and silver, scorched now in places, its surface marked by use and strain.
Thane's lightsaber.
Reave held it out without flourish, arm extending just enough to bridge the space between them.
The electrum-plated hilt hung in Reave's hand for a moment before Mentis hesitantly reached a hand out and, almost reflexively tugged it towards him with the Force. It hopped into his hand enthusiastically and his fingers fell onto a small corroded section near the switch. He brushed it gently, feeling the crystal inside calming slightly at the touch.
Mentis' eyes returned to Reave, "It was Axion," his voice was firmer now, fear turning to a bubbling anger, "They weren't ready and look what it cost them... cost us..."
He gripped the lightsaber tightly and shook his head, "Amare is lost too," he gritted his teeth, still sensing her drifting further away and knowing what awaited her, "They will torture her. Try to break her. At least I knew no different as a child but her... They will have to unmake her first."
A churning rage built within him and he felt himself about to fall down with her into the abyss. But then he heard a word from Reave again calling him back from the edge. Opening his eyes, he looked back at the surprisingly stoic little man and nodded at him.
"I shouldn't have brought you and Rex into this," he stood up firmly, looking back at the controls, now flashing an amber warning that they were drifting without manual correction, "It was selfish of me. But, I think I would have been even more lost without you both."
He stepped to the main console and tapped on the automatic axis stabilisers, "I'll keep us stable for a bit longer up here. Why don't you go check on Rex?"
Behind them, along the port-side corridor, the med‑bay door was sealed. The droids were working.
The two Force-bonded men had been brought back alive from the factory but, while Bomoor lay on the far bed physically intact but in a deep unbreakable sleep, Thane was barely holding on to life. What happened next would be decided by automaton logic and robotic capacity.
Faze hovered over Thane’s ruined face, its photoreceptors flickering as it scanned the damage. G2 was calibrating the operating table's vital monitoring system to the Human upon it, while "Useless" stood back, his holographic form looming with clinical detachment, taking it all the data now thrust upon its memory core. On the other side of the table, the NX unit was poised with its spider-like appendages awaiting the assessment and, tucked below, almost out of sight, was Brick.
Between them, the droids formed a strange parody of a surgical team: the decisive, the dutiful, the inpatient, the doubtful and the restrained.
"ANALYSIS" began the tall fabricant droid, his deep tone remaining conversational in spite of the horror laid before him, "There are numerous organ and tissue collapses, which will soon lead to a total cascade failure of the body."
He craned his head skeletal head towards the holographic medical unit, "QUERY: Where do you propose we begin?"
The med-bay answered Faze's question with a sound before any of the droids did.
A wet, broken intake of breath dragged itself through Thane's throat and failed halfway, collapsing into a thin, ragged exhale that carried more fluid than air. His chest followed a fraction too late, rising unevenly, one side lagging behind the other with a worrying stiffness. The monitors G2 had only just brought online flickered, recalibrated, then flickered again as the readings struggled to settle on something that could be called a baseline.
NX-02 adjusted, and its legs locked more firmly into the deck with a low mechanical correction, the entire frame lowering a fraction as multiple appendages repositioned with precise, unhurried intent. Two arms moved to stabilise the upper torso without compressing it, bracing along the rib line in a configuration that prevented further collapse without interfering with what little respiratory movement remained. Another extended toward the side of Thane's head, not touching the damaged half, but anchoring against the intact structure to prevent involuntary movement from worsening the trauma.
"Respiratory function inadequate," NX-02 stated flatly. "Oxygenation failure imminent."
"Yes, thank you," Useless replied at once, tone dry, almost conversational, as though correcting a minor social misstep rather than acknowledging a terminal condition.
The holographic figure did not move closer. It remained where it was, faint light shimmering at the edges of its projection as streams of data passed through it in silent layers.
"Recommendation," NX-02 continued, unbothered. "Immediate respiratory intervention required."
"Indeed," Useless said. "Ordinarily, this is the stage at which I would defer to a qualified physical medical professional. Failing that, a moderately competent one. Failing that, a sentient with even a passing familiarity with thoracic anatomy." He paused just briefly. "We have none of those available."
Brick made a small, uncertain movement at the edge of the space, one manipulator lifting and lowering again as if unsure whether to approach. The appearance alone seemed to give the cautious astromech pause - scorched flesh, chemical residue, something deeper and more invasive beneath both. It edged closer anyway, jittering slightly as it extended a tool toward NX-02 without quite committing to the handover until the larger droid took it directly from its grasp.
"Priority is therefore reassigned," Useless continued. "We are not treating for recovery; we are preventing immediate expiration. Stabilisation of airway takes precedence over all other considerations, including, but not limited to, aesthetic outcome, long-term viability, and any lingering illusions of medical propriety."
Another uneven breath dragged through Thane's throat, harsher this time, catching on something that produced a low, liquid sound before forcing its way out again.
"Yes," Useless added, almost absently. "That will need addressing now."
NX-02 had already begun. One appendage shifted to the throat, not cutting immediately, but assessing - pressure, obstruction, deviation. Another adjusted the angle of Thane's head by millimetres, aligning what remained of the airway as best it could without compromising the cervical spine. The data streamed, processed, updated.
"Airway obstruction probable," the TRIO droid stated. "Pulmonary contamination confirmed."
"Excellent," Useless replied. "A problem we can actually do something about. How novel." The hologram flickered once, then steadied. "Proceed with assisted airway access. Carefully," it added, then, after the briefest beat. "That was not a suggestion. I am contractually obligated to remind you that further damage will reduce survival probability from 'small' to 'purely theoretical'."
Brick froze for a fraction of a second at that, then resumed movement with renewed urgency, darting toward a storage compartment and returning with additional implements, offering them up in quick, jerky motions that bordered on frantic.
Across the table, Thane's body gave a small, involuntary twitch, being the last scattered signals of a system beginning to fail, firing without coordination as oxygen deprivation and systemic shock tightened their hold.
NX-02 compensated instantly, increasing stabilisation pressure by a fraction, holding him in place not as a patient, but as a structure that needed to be kept intact long enough for the next step to matter.
Useless watched it all without moving. "Do try to keep him alive," the holodroid said, almost lightly. "We have been given very clear instructions on that point."
Brick hesitated at the edge of the table, one manipulator hovering uncertainly between two trays before settling on neither. A soft, stuttering series of tones left it, pitched low and uneven, its optical unit flicking between Thane's face and the scattered instruments as though searching for confirmation that it understood what it was seeing.
The ruined side of Thane's face drew its attention again, and this time it leaned in slightly, recoiling a fraction almost immediately as a thin curl of vapour lifted from the damaged tissue. Another series of tones followed, sharper now, questioning.
"Yes," Useless replied, without looking. "I am aware."
Brick persisted, the query repeating in altered cadence, one manipulator lifting toward the eye - or what had once been one - before pulling back again, as if the proximity alone were enough to trigger some internal hesitation. The meaning, while imperfect, was clear enough.
"Ah," Useless added, tone shifting by a degree as it parsed the intent. "You are referring to the ocular region. To clarify, we are not presently in a position to prioritise the preservation of that structure. It has, for all practical purposes, ceased to exist in a form that could be described as recoverable. Our current objective is to prevent systemic failure. Eyes, while useful, are not strictly required for that outcome."
Another broken breath dragged through Thane's throat, harsher than the last. The monitors stuttered in response, numbers dipping, then struggling upward again as if unwilling to commit to a single direction.
Brick made a softer sound this time. Not protest exactly, but something closer to it.
Useless paused. "However," it amended, almost thoughtfully, "you are correct to identify it as part of the broader instruction set. We were told, quite explicitly, to save what we can. In this instance, that will not involve preservation, but substitution." The holographic figure shifted slightly, its edges flickering as new data sets were drawn into priority. "Prepare a replacement."
Useless then inclined its head a fraction toward Faze, the gesture almost formal despite the circumstances. "You will proceed," it said, tone settling into something more directive. "Establish a secure airway immediately - bypass obstruction, clear the upper tract, and initiate assisted respiration. You will also begin decontamination and stabilisation of the dermal structures; chemical neutralisation where possible, excision where necessary, and seal what you can to prevent further systemic absorption. Precision is preferable, but speed is required. Do not allow either to fully exclude the other."
"AFFIRMATION: I will begin a series of targeted cauterisations, then proceed to regenerate the dermal layers of the trachea," he reached out his left index finger and a small probe head emerged from within the tip, then adding, "REQUEST: G2, I will require you to generate synthetic cartilage to the specification of Thane's trachea. I estimate my present actions will take 102.8 seconds so if you can have it ready for application then, that would be most efficient."
G2 whirred gently, not arguing with the humanoid droid and simply spun to a small windowed machine on the far wall and began entering commands, causing the machine to spin into life and begin knitting together the required synthesised organic components.
The droids continued their tasks, with Faze sealing and reconstructing the man's airway as NX-02 kept the remaining flesh peeled back and the head in the right position.
After a few moments, Faze spoke again, "INTERJECTION: I realise the airway is of primary importance. But, if I might offer a suggestion regarding restoring ocular function, I have been examining some of the various components gathered during my reconstruction. There is one particular S‑19 Recon Photoreceptor from a surveillance probe that closely matches the Human visual spectrum, while also providing enhanced low‑light acuity and superior contrast resolution."
Useless remained motionless, processing a microsecond, while the reconstruction continued in a fluid motion before him.
"Using droid components would require the removal of the remaining optic nerve and replacement with a cortical‑relay interface," he answered, "A procedure that is irreversible and precludes any future tailored organic‑compatible prosthetic. Such an outcome is medically suboptimal."
G2 returned to Faze's side, balancing a small, sterile tray with several fleshy rings of synthetic cartilage upon it, which the FA-series droid carefully picked up and began integrating around the trachea as he continued the discussion.
"CLARIFICATION: Am I correct in asserting that the optic nerve is at risk of degrading anyway, should we not intervene at this stage? And is it also true that this lab is incapable of synthesising anything of the complexity required to graft to the existing nerve?"
"That is correct," the answer came without delay.
"SUPPOSITION: We have yet to receive any timeframe for arrival at a medical facility and our goal is to correct these organic errors to the fullest extent possible. With that in mind, the optimal solution is maximal early replacement. Delay increases biological degradation and reduces efficiency."
Brick let out a sharper, more insistent warble at that, one manipulator lifting and tapping twice against the side of its own chassis before pointing again toward Thane's ruined face, then to the surgical field - urgency, crude but unmistakable.
Useless did not turn, but the hologram flickered once as it processed. "Yes," it said, tone flattening into something more decisive. "Noted. Approved." A brief pause followed, then, more pointedly, "Proceed with the replacement when airway stabilisation reaches a sustainable threshold. Do not allow it to compromise current life-preserving measures."
Thane's chest hitched again beneath NX-02's stabilising grip, the motion shallow, uneven, barely functional.
"Observation," Useless added, almost distantly. "Subject is exhibiting anomalous resistance to systemic failure. No pharmacological basis identified - likely Force-mediated stabilisation... He has already survived beyond expected parameters."
NX-02 adjusted minutely, compensating for a subtle shift along the cervical line as Faze worked. Its appendages moved with precise economy, holding tissue clear, maintaining alignment.
"Further clarification," Useless continued. "Independent respiration will not be reliably achievable in the immediate term. We lack the equipment required for full pulmonary support. Current intervention is therefore maintenance only. Expect degradation and plan accordingly."
A compartment along the wall snapped open under Brick's frantic input, bacta patches and injector units rattling as they were hastily gathered and brought forward with its primitive tools. They were offered up in quick, jittering motions that bordered on desperate.
"Yes," Useless said, acknowledging the addition without looking. "Apply where viable. Kolto supplementation in controlled doses, but avoid systemic overload. We are not preserving comfort; we are preserving function. NX-02," it said, tone sharpening by a fraction, "reallocate one manipulator to spinal assessment. There is significant trauma present. If instability propagates, it will terminate what progress we have made here. Stabilise what you can without compromising airway control."
NX-02 complied instantly, one appendage withdrawing from its current position and shifting lower along the spine, scanning, bracing, calculating, while the others maintained their hold.
At the centre of it all, Thane did not truly move. He remained where he had been placed, held together by mechanical precision, chemical intervention and something far less understood - a failing system that refused, for reasons none of them could quantify, to complete the act of dying.
Faze withdrew the cauterisation probe with a soft hiss, replacing it with a narrow intubation guide that clicked neatly into place.
"OBSERVATION: The subject’s respiratory tract is stabilised and ready to receive intubation."
The fabrican's eyes flickered with amber light as they took in the spectacle before it, before offering the next words with a lighter air.
"CONTEMPLATION: I must note that this organic reconstruction has been most stimulating. Perhaps I should consider developing a permanent medical subroutine."
G2 emitted a sharp, admonishing chirp, its dome tilting in a way that suggested disapproval.
Faze did not look up.
"INFORMATION: I am, as you put it, ‘still concentrating’. Remember, my binary friend, that I am not as limited as you."
Another trill from G2: shorter this time, but no less pointed.
Before the exchange could escalate, Useless interjected, its holographic form brightening by a fraction as new data scrolled across its projection.
"Nevertheless," it said, tone returning to clinical neutrality, "We should prepare the cortical relay for transplantation while intubation proceeds. The subject still has a long sequence of surgeries ahead, and there is no medical means of calculating how long his midichlorian‑amplified resilience will last."
A low, uneven breath rattled through Thane’s throat as though in answer. He still persisted.
Faze resumed his work, NX-02 still holding steady. G2 and Brick gathered the next set of instruments. Useless watched, processing.
The reconstruction continued.
At the bow of the ship, their destination was still undetermined as they shot further and further from the planet and into the inky black of Hutt Space.
Reave slipped back into the cockpit without urgency, giving a brief, loose gesture over his shoulder - a small circular motion at his temple followed by a dismissive flick of the wrist. Rex was alive but out of it - he had just checked do him. That was all the report he seemed inclined to give. He moved past Mentis with quiet familiarity, boots soft against the deck as the Raptor steadied into open space.
At the nav console, he brought the system online and pulled up a spread of recent destinations, adjusting the display until several viable routes hovered clearly between them. Then he stopped, one hand resting lightly against the controls as he turned his head toward Mentis, extending the other in a simple, open gesture toward the options. The decision was his.
"Thanks Reave," Mentis' voice was calmer now as he looked at the routes before nodding firmly.
"Hmph, I've been thinking through our options and what makes the most sense," he waved his finger along a particular route, blue lines shifting as he highlighted a corridor angling Rimward.
"We should avoid the core lanes - too much congestion. We would need multiple jumps," he traced a line that curved wide around the galactic centre, "But if we take the Rimma Trade Route out of Hutt Space and cut across the Shaltin Tunnels, we can reach the Gordian Reach in a single clean vector. Fewer jumps. Less strain on the hyperdrive and…” he zoomed in, highlighting a cluster of systems, “…it puts us right on the edge of the Mayagil sector."
Reave watched the shifting routes in silence, head tilting slightly as Mentis traced the path. At the mention of the Gordian Reach and Mayagil sector, he gave a small, decisive nod, one hand lifting to tap twice against the highlighted vector before curling his fingers inward in a brief, affirming gesture. He was being surprisingly agreeable with Mentis.
Then, with another quick series of precise inputs, he presented on a second, slightly hazy screen, some recent (albeit limited) details around Hesk Scivo appearing, as well as Damask Hul and Bruta Thort, given the mention of the Mayagil sector.
"I don’t know much about Thane’s allies," Mentis admitted, "But Bomoor’s? We’ve seen those first hand and we know his father is well connected there. If we send a message ahead while we’re en route, he can direct us to a facility in‑sector that can actually handle this."
Reave gave a small, almost indifferent shrug at that, as if the outcome had already been decided the moment Mentis committed to it. He slipped into the co-pilot's chair without hesitation, movements quick and efficient now, hands already moving across the console to begin inputting the route in full. Without G2 to assist, he worked with a quiet intensity that bordered on deliberate overcompensation, locking in vectors, smoothing transitions and preparing the jump sequence with unexpected familiarity, given his fondness for either the armoury or the vents.
Once the final inputs were set, he leaned back slightly, producing a cigarra and lighting it with a brief flare that cast a warm glow across his wide hat. He took a short pull, then reached across and tapped Mentis lightly on the arm, offering it out between two fingers without looking directly at him.
"Eh - Eyeta."
Mentis stared at the offered cigarra for a moment, the thin curl of smoke drifting gently between them.
The nav‑computer chimed a clean, decisive ping as the final jump calculations locked into place.
The Rattataki exhaled once: a tired, humourless sound.
"Sure… kriff it."
He took the cigarra between two fingers and raised it in a small, wordless toast before bringing it to his split lips. The first inhale burned warmer than he expected, filling his aching lungs with a dull, numbing pressure.
With the smoke still curling from the tip, he reached for the hyperspace lever with his free hand.
Mentis wrenched it back and the stars ahead stretched into thin white lines. The Raptor leapt into hyperspace.
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