Against the Odds
Posted on Sat Apr 18th, 2026 @ 9:09pm by Mentis & Bruta Thort & Kalen "Rex" Vickers
4,352 words; about a 22 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Dunari's Delight Space Station, Mayagil Sector
Timeline: Hours after "The Ones Still Standing", Day Two
The Dunari's Delight's structure curved outward in layered rings and anchored platforms, each section distinct but joined in a deliberate, almost elegant cohesion. Broad circular arrays rotated slowly around a central spine, their movement steady and unhurried, while clustered research modules extended outward in staggered tiers, lit from within by a soft, clinical glow. A domed superstructure crowned the upper axis, its surface catching starlight in muted reflections, beneath which a dense lattice of antennae and sensor dishes spread like a bloom.
Incoming vessels aligned themselves along invisible lanes, adjusting speed and vector in gradual, measured corrections rather than abrupt manoeuvres. Even at distance, there was a sense of compliance to the place. No one rushed the Delight.
Inside, the rotation of the outer ring lent a subtle, constant motion to the environment. Observation corridors arced along the curvature of the station, transparent panels revealing the slow drift of stars beyond and, not far, the slightly distorted twinkle of Öetrago itself. Light was evenly distributed, neither harsh nor dim, reflecting cleanly off polished surfaces and softly against the organic materials integrated into the architecture.
Ithorians moved through the space in quiet groups, their tall forms unhurried, voices carrying in low, layered harmonics that resonated gently through the structure without ever becoming intrusive. Opposite them, Bith technicians worked in clusters at suspended consoles, their long fingers moving with practiced precision across shifting displays of data, calculations updating in real time as projections of atmospheric models and ecological forecasts flickered in pale bands of light.
Within one chamber, sporting an excellent view, things were already less settled. Data scrolled across a central display in layered columns, projections shifting as new variables were introduced and old assumptions stripped away. A map of the sector hovered above the table, routes and systems highlighted in soft tones that pulsed faintly with each update.
Nomas Vyr, campaign manager for senatorial candidate Bruta Thort, stood at the edge of the display, posture slightly stooped, elongated head angled toward the shifting data as though listening to it as much as observing. Age showed in the subtle stiffness of movement, but not in hesitation. One hand lifted, adjusting a sequence of projections with careful precision, isolating a cluster of systems along the Rimward edge before expanding the view outward to encompass a wider network.
"Support is no longer passive," the former Bith musician said to Bruta, voice measured, each word placed rather than spoken. "It is trending toward commitment." He did not look away from the display as he continued, fingers making small, deliberate corrections as new data fed through. "The Outer Rim Alliance benefits from perception. The Bothawui event has reframed them from insurgents to respondents. That distinction is effective. Most Ithorian herds are… reconsidering," he added after a moment, tone adjusting by a fraction. "Not abandoning principle, I'd say - but pacifism does not preclude preparation." The projection shifted again, lines tightening, probabilities recalculating. "And the Bith? We calculate. Increasingly, we do not like the outcomes. Thus far, polling indicates favourably towards your victory."
Bruta sat back from the sprawling figures a moment and shook his head, "It's no surprise: Cosh was slow to react on this and, once again, too eager to be the GalactaWerks apologist. It's quite frankly disgusting she still claims to be an independent."
He stood up, resting his eyes by looking over at the arboretum on the far side of the station. From here it looked like a perfect little terrarium: perfectly encapsulating Ithorian prowess at planetary restoration. Bringing life even here in the dead of space. The wounds of Ithor no longer defined them.
"Hul was right to encourage me to make this leap: we cannot allow what happened on Bothawui to happen out here. We cannot have another term of senators rolling out the red carpet for the company - offering up our soul because it is easier than standing up for us. I know Wobar - she's not in it for profit, she's just naive and does not like to see the darkness in the galaxy."
He turned around and looked back at Nomas, "But I am ready now, with the help of all of you. I won't back down: I've seen that darkness and we'll give as good as we get."
The room settled into a momentary stillness as the data continued to move in silence, but then a priority flag appeared on the display, low-level but persistent, redirected to the office by traffic control. Nomas' hand paused mid-adjustment, fingers hovering over the projection as the new signal forced its way into the system.
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he expanded the incoming data stream, isolating it from the surrounding projections. The source resolved into a transponder signature, incomplete but stable enough to track. Trajectory followed a fraction of a second later, angled in from the outer lanes, velocity controlled but irregular in its adjustments.
Another display then activated - detailing an encryption.
Nomas' posture straightened by a degree, the change slight but unmistakable. One elongated finger tapped twice against the console, pulling the authentication details into focus. It unfolded in a narrow band of light, symbols resolving in sequence as the system parsed them.
"It's strange, but the code is not civilian. Code origin is... Office of the Speaker. They are broadcasting direct and they are requesting priority access." The Bith campaign manager entered a few more commands. "Designation: Red Raptor?"
Bruta paused, rising his body up gently before he simply stated, "Nomas, would you please transfer that to my personal comm?"
Bruta now stood in a quiet meeting room, a small conference table stretching the length of it. He pulled out his comm unit and connected it to the room's projector system before accepting the call.
A pale, unfamiliar face appeared - weary asymmetrical eyes and an old scar carving across the left half of his face.
Bruta frowned, demanding: "Who are you? And how did you access this comm channel?"
The stranger swallowed once, steadying himself.
"My name is Mentis. I’ve been travelling with your son Bomoor and his companion Thane. There’s been a… well, we've got a bad situation here."
Bruta’s expression cracked, the politician falling away in an instant.
"Is it Bomoor? What happened? Is he hurt?"
Mentis shook his head quickly.
"We don’t think he’s injured. But he suffered a severe shock and he hasn’t woken up. However, Thane…" he hesitated, jaw tightening, "Thane has suffered catastrophic chemical burns. He needs specialist care. We’re already en route to the sector."
Bruta’s mind moved fast - years of crisis management snapping into place.
"There’s a medical facility right here on Dunari’s Delight Station. State‑of‑the‑art. My colleague, Doctor Buhggs, is on a research placement there. I’ll send word ahead. He can prepare a trauma centre immediately.”
Mentis exhaled, relief and dread tangled together.
"Thank you, sir. Please send the coordinates. We’ll make for it at once."
Bruta nodded, already transmitting the data.
"And Mentis… what should we expect?"
There was a pause, Mentis eyeing the Ithorian man directly through the projection.
Then, quietly:
"Expect it to be bad."
The connection cut.
Bruta stood alone for a moment, the ticking data of his campaign was now a world away from the crisis now revealed to him.
He steadied himself and re-adjusted his comm to contact the good doctor.
The sterile lights of the trauma wing flickered across their faces as the doors sealed shut, locking Thane away behind layers of transparisteel and medical shielding. The med‑team had moved fast; too fast for any of them to follow and then he was gone, swallowed by the facility’s gleaming corridors.
Mentis stood rigid, arms folded tight across his chest, eyes fixed on the door, a part of him hoping he would never have to set eyes on Thane again, knowing he would never unsee that ruined eye and limp hanging flesh.
"The state of him," he muttered, voice low, “It's even worse under proper lights…” He shook his head once, sharply, before turning to the man who, along with Reave, had scooped the would-be Sith Lord from the factory floor on Sleheyron, “Rex, are you holding together?”
Rex leaned back against the wall beside the sealed doors, one hand pressed loosely over the line of fresh injection marks running along his forearm. The skin there was already mottling faintly, a testament to just how much the station had decided to put into him in a very short space of time. He looked awful, though. Pale to the point of grey against his normally dark complexion, eyes bloodshot and slightly unfocused, the usual sharpness dulled beneath a lingering chemical haze that had not quite let go of him yet.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, testing it, as if half-expecting it to betray him again.
"I’ve been worse," he muttered, voice rough but steadier than before. He rolled his shoulder once, wincing faintly as something pulled where it shouldn’t. "Feel like I’ve just emptied a Tusken camp’s worth of nerf broth, but… yeah. Still here." His head tipped back lightly against the wall, eyes closing for a second before forcing themselves open again, dragging focus back into place with visible effort. "Nothing compared to a good night in the Sarlacc Pit on Shaddaa still," he added dryly with a light huff, though the attempt at humour came out thinner than usual. His gaze shifted briefly toward the sealed doors, the edge of it tightening despite himself. "He looked…"
He did not finish the sentence. Instead, he pushed himself off the wall just enough to stand properly, jaw setting as he looked back at Mentis.
"I’m holding," he said more firmly this time. "Question is whether he is."
Footsteps approached. They were cautious and light.
A young Twi’lek woman wearing mechanic overalls slowed to a stop before them. Mentis immediately noticed her one synthetic lek, feeling she was somewhat familiar but not able to place her. She wore a gesture of concern.
"Excuse me," she said softly, with a gentle Ryloth accent, "Were you ze' ones who brought Bomoor and his friend in?"
Mentis nodded.
She clasped her hands together, worry tightening her features, "What happened to zem?"
Mentis hesitated, then chose the simplest truth, "I don’t know if you know what Bomoor’s mixed up in these days but they faced a very powerful man. And they lost."
Her eyes widened, "Oh, goodness. He’s been through so much already. Losing his mother… and now zis'?" She glanced toward the sealed trauma doors, "I pray ze' Great Mother Jungle or ze' Force, or anyone listening watches over his friend too. Doctor Buhggs is ze' smartest man I’ve ever met. If anyone can help him, he can."
She took a breath, gathering courage.
"There’s also a healer from the Kalco herd on ze' station. He has agreed to perform a ritual to reach those lost in deep sleep. All of Bomoor’s friends have been invited to join. Would you… come as well?"
Mentis blinked, caught off guard.
"Healing rituals aren’t really my thing. And..." he gestured vaguely at himself and Rex "...we’re a bit beaten up ourselves."
Jiljoo’s expression softened into something earnest and imploring - wide eyes, hopeful, almost painfully sincere.
Mentis sighed.
"Okay…maybe. Maybe I’ll come by in a little bit.”
Her face brightened.
“Thank you... Mister?"
The Rattataki rubbed his face wearily, "You can just call me Mentis," he then weakly gestured to his companions, "And this is Rex."
She smiled, faintly, "I am Jiljoo, formerly of the Elenca Herd. I would be pleased to meet you all properly soon."
She hurried off down the corridor, leaving the three of them alone again.
As she walked off, Mentis caught Rex, despite his condition, watching the Twi'lek moving off, his eyes lingering a little longer than is polite.
"I like her a lot more than Scivo," he said with a tired grin, eyebrows raised weakly. "Good call coming here, Mantis." And leaned back again.
The room was smaller than the rest of the station had led them to expect. No wide observation panels, no view of the drifting stars or the slow rotation of the outer rings. Just a contained space of clean lines and soft light, centred around a single projection table that now stood dark. Whatever had been discussed here before, it had already been cleared away.
Mentis stood opposite the door, arms folded, posture rigid but no longer driven by urgency. Rex leaned back slightly against the wall, one shoulder resting against the smooth surface, colour still not fully returned to his face. Bruta Thort was sat by the table, dark eyes pensive. Reave was not present - he was with the Red Raptor, having increasingly adopted a sort of territorial protectiveness about the old vessel, and wanted to be present as repairs were made.
The door opened without announcement. Doctor Buhggs entered mid-motion, already removing a pair of thin, translucent gloves and discarding them into a recessed unit by the door without breaking stride. His posture was upright but not formal, movements efficient rather than deliberate. There was no attempt to acknowledge the room before he spoke.
"I will begin by clarifying something for you," he said, voice sharp, clipped, carrying a faint, dry rasp beneath its precision. "Your friend should be dead."
He moved past them as he spoke, reaching the central table and activating it with a brief gesture. Light unfolded upward in narrow bands, assembling into a layered projection of a humanoid form. Damage markers bloomed across it in muted tones, clustered heavily along the right side.
"What you delivered to this facility was not a patient. It was a sequence of failures that had not yet concluded."
Mentis shuffled tightening his arms further and muttering, "The first failure was going into that factory in the first place..."
But his comment was not met with any reply.
Buhggs adjusted the projection, isolating the upper torso. Structures peeled back in layers, revealing internal reconstructions, areas of stabilisation, sections still flagged as compromised.
"The airway was the first concern. Severe inhalation damage, compounded by chemical exposure of a composition I would prefer not to encounter again. Your onboard... 'intervention'," he paused, not looking at them, "was structurally unsound. But, I accept, it was also the only reason he did not expire before arrival."
The projection shifted again, highlighting the reconstructed tracheal pathway and supporting framework.
"We have reinforced the existing work rather than replacing it entirely. To remove it would have risked total collapse. As it stands, he will not breathe reliably without assistance again." A small gesture, and a separate schematic appeared beside it, detailing a compact system integrated along the throat and upper chest. "A permanent respiratory support system has been installed. Filtration, pressure stabilisation, vocal modulation. It is... effective. You will find it preferable to some earlier designs. A miracle of Bith, Ithorian and H'nemthe science. A true of gift of Mayagil." His hand moved again. The projection rotated. "The spinal damage was extensive. Compression fractures, neural disruption, cascading signal loss across multiple pathways. That," he added, almost absently, "is now my work." Sections along the spine illuminated in sequence, stabilisation brackets and micro-actuated supports embedded with surgical precision. "He will retain function. Not consistency - although there may be scope for additional surgeries and work in time."
Rex shifted slightly at that, uncomfortable, his eyes betraying his recollection of what he had seen.
Buhggs did not acknowledge it as the projection moved upward. The right side of the face resolved into a fractured, partially reconstructed structure. The ocular cavity was highlighted next, the surrounding framework rebuilt with clean, clinical symmetry that did not quite match the rest of the skull.
"The eye was beyond salvage, as your machines already identified. The socket was hastily reconstructed and fitted with a cybernetic interface."
A second, smaller projection appeared alongside it. Cruder and angular. Buhggs stopped. For the first time, he looked at them.
"You removed this before transfer?"
Rex frowned slightly. "It was barely holding together."
"Yes," Buhggs replied flatly. "That is often the case with things assembled under extreme conditions. It does not make them without value." He turned back to the display, studying the crude unit with a narrowing of his eyes that suggested something approaching irritation. "Whichever of your droids constructed this understood more than they should have. The integration logic is... inelegant, but correct. I would have preferred to examine it prior to removal." With a flick of his hand, the projection collapsed back into the primary anatomical model. "It can be reattached. A more suitable replacement may be produced once he is stable enough to tolerate further intervention."
He then dismissed the display entirely. The light in the room dimmed by a fraction.
"The toxin load alone should have been fatal. It remains... problematic. We have reduced it, but have not eliminated it. His system is under continuous strain. Organ function is maintained - not restored. Which brings us to the part of this situation that does not fall within my discipline."
There was a subtle shift in his tone there. Not softer, though - it was sharper, if anything.
"Midichlorian activity is elevated well beyond any recorded baseline in our databases here, mimicked alarmingly perfectly by the other patient. That is measurable. That is data." His gaze moved briefly between them, then away again. "The rest - light, dark, balance - is religious interpretation." He folded his hands lightly behind his back. "Whatever is keeping him alive is not medicine."
Silence settled into the room, but Buhggs continued without waiting for it to break.
"Your other patient," he said, almost as an afterthought, "is physically unremarkable, aside from the matched midichlorian activity."
"My son, you mean, Doctor Buhggs," Bruta spoke finally as the topic turned to Bomoor, having carefully digested the information on Thane, "Why has he not yet awoken? Has he also absorbed toxins from the factory."
Mentis shook his head, "There was a hallucinogenic agent in the air, which we all breathed in, but only Thane was exposed to whatever acid that was."
"No notable trauma," the H'nemthe doctor carried on regardless. "No pronounced toxin exposure, and no neurological damage that can be identified through conventional means." A slight tilt of the head, a very avian gesture from the caustic being. "He is not unconscious in any traditional sense and your Ithorian healers have taken primacy. They agree it falls within their... tradition." The faintest trace of scepticism touched the word without quite altering it. "They are currently engaged - and a contingent is also present with the Human, too, although their early assessment is that engagement has been difficult, as if there is active resistance."
He turned slightly then, enough to bring Bruta into his peripheral awareness, though his attention remained broadly distributed across the room. "No notification has been made to the Jedi, as requested," he said. "None will be, unless I am instructed otherwise."
The implication settled where it needed to and Buhggs drew a slow breath, then released it, the first sign of anything approaching fatigue.
"In summary," he said, returning his attention fully to them now, "your companion is alive. He is not stable in any meaningful sense of the word. He may never be. Do not mistake these successes for recovery - but this is nothing short of miraculous, a testament to genius and your sense bringing him to me." He stepped back from the table, hands returning to his sides. "If he survives the next cycle," he added, almost clinically, "we may begin discussing what he becomes next."
Bruta stood and inclined his head towards the doctor, "Thank you Buhggs. I knew I could trust you with this and I continue to be personally indebted to you for your efforts as is the entire sector. I am sure Bomoor will be equally grateful once he awakens."
Mentis uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, but the movement lacked its usual sharpness. His voice, when it came, was not angry, nor pleading, but caught somewhere in the uneasy space between.
"So what does that actually mean, Doctor? If he survives this… what state is he going to be in?"
He didn’t look at Rex or Bruta. His eyes stayed fixed on where the projection had been, the reconstructed anatomy, the stabilisers, the artificial airway, the hollowed socket.
"I’m trying to understand what we’re walking into. Because if he wakes up barely able to stand, then Axion’s already won. We lost our chance back on Sleheyron, and without him…" His jaw tightened, "Without him, who knows if Bomoor will want to keep fighting at all."
It was Bruta who answered first, "Listen son," he spoke calmly, plainly and with the reassuring confidence that years of political work had bestowed on him, "You made the right call in coming here and you should all take a moment to breathe. When the time comes, whenever that is and whatever that looks like, you will have my support in tackling this cult situation."
He paused a moment, adding, "If that is still what you and Bomoor want."
Buhggs did not respond immediately. His head tilted slightly, a small, avian motion again, as though Mentis had presented him with a problem not of medicine, but of language. He seemed to pay no heed to Bruta at all.
"You are not 'walking into' anything," he said at last, voice cutting cleanly through the space between them. "You are remaining exactly where you already are - in a situation you do not understand, attempting to apply structure to something that does not have one."
He stepped away from the now-dark projection, clasping his hands loosely behind his back as he regarded Mentis more directly, the faint narrowing of his eyes suggesting irritation rather than hostility.
"You speak of this cult as though I should recognise the significance of it," he continued, tone flattening further. "I do not. I was present in the recent conflict on Öetrago - you all were there. I am aware that a... theatrically-inclined cyborg with an interest in violence was involved and robbed us of Mother Mumin. Otherwise, most of this is meaningless to me."
His gaze shifted briefly and reluctantly toward Bruta, then back again.
"As for your concern," he said, returning to the point with abrupt efficiency, "your companion will not be what he was. The damage sustained would have been unsurvivable in most recorded cases. In those rare instances where survival has occurred in anything adjacent to this, the outcome is broadly consistent." He made a small, dismissive gesture with one hand. "Function persists. Comfort does not. Capability is variable. He will require assistance to breathe, though - permanently. His spine will support him with pain, but his coordination may be impaired without ongoing treatment and use of his midichlorans. His pain will be constant." A pause as he weighed the words, as if judging his audience before speaking again. "His mind, by all indications, remains intact, however."
That last point landed with more weight than the rest. "If your strategic considerations depend upon him returning to previous levels of performance," Buhggs went on, his tone sharpening by a degree, "then you are gambling with poor odds. If, however, you and he are both capable of adapting to the reality presented, then he may yet be... useful. The Force, as I understand it, can do miraculous things. He may yet live to unleash incredible storms and wield laser swords with absolute reckless abandon."
He turned slightly then, pacing once along the edge of the table before continuing, his irritation now more apparent, though still controlled. His attention returned to Mentis quite quickly, direct and unflinching.
"So, you asked what state he will be in," he said. "The answer is simple: He will live. He will suffer. He will function to the extent that his will, and the systems we have installed, allow him to... But I suspect your problems are beyond the medical."
He now looked to Bruta more plainly.
"Now, if you've no further need of me, I've been awake for twenty-seven hours and desire unconsciousness and peace. One day's worth of genius brilliance - given I'm a meteorologist and not typically a physician - is quite enough."
Bruta, now used to the whims of the H'nemthe, simply offered him another nod, "Of course doctor. I hope you are able to return to your intended research with renewed vigour."
Before adding, "And remember that my campaign is in full support of your continued endeavours."
Buhggs muttered something inaudible as he left the room, but Bruta paid it no mind, turning instead back to Mentis.
"Now then, let us leave Thane to his recovery," he hummed, seeming intent on winning over the Rattataki to his side, less so with Rex who still hung back in the room, "There is little more to be done besides what the doctor has already put in place. The hard part is done but I would ask one more thing of you: would you come with me to join in with the ritual around Bomoor? If I am not mistaken by the lightsaber at your waist, your Force presence may be of some help to the process."
Mentis turned to eye Rex, getting only a shrug in return.
"Yeah, sure..." he sighed, "The Twi'lek girl already asked me so I suppose I should come along."
He rocked his head back, angling up to a window out of the station and taking in the silence of the stars outside. He sat in the moment for a spell, feeling his essence floating away in a surreal moment outside his control.
How on earth did murdering Trey land me here?, he pondered.
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