The Bad Batch: Tech and Vel

12. Injury

Weeks later, the full moon shone brightly above as Hunter sprinted between tree trunks, tapping the helmet comlink over his ear, "I told him to take that thing back to the ship!" he hissed, knife flashing in his hand.

"Apparently it would have been redundant to go back and forth," came Crosshair's reply, "and it would not have survived without the 'necessary accoutrements.'"

Hunter sighed, scaling the tall tree nearby to assess the situation through his macrobinoculars. Tech and Wrecker were in the middle of a large clearing on top of the hill, bound to two large vertical poles with thick strips of some kind of animal hide. There were additional poles scattered throughout the area. In the center of the clearing was a large bonfire, around which the poles were placed, and a large tribe of menacing leonine humanoids gathered, equipped with bows and spears of all shapes and sizes.

"Well I call this pretty redundant now," Hunter muttered over the com. The mission had been simple: capture the animal at the full moon and bring it back to Coruscant for further study. Its regenerative properties were of great interests to Kaminoan cloners and Republic scientists alike. Tech had successfully trapped the small, turtle-like creature and stashed it safely in his backpack, but he had then insisted on gathering some local habitat pieces for its journey and had brought Wrecker along for backup.

Both had been trapped in large, intricately-woven nets and found themselves trussed up like womp rats ready to be roasted. Wrecker showed no sign of stopping his loud protests until one of the tall tribal members stuffed his mouth full of cloth, reducing his bellows to muffled grumbles.

Tech had the sense to remain silent, observing the tribe with interest despite his less-than-fortunate predicament. They stood a full head and shoulders above even Wrecker, with long, wild manes and strong, prominent cheekbones. They had almond-shaped eyes, golden in color, with vertical slits for pupils. Long-clawed hands gripped thick spears decorated with straps and rocks, and they balanced on two large feet. Notably, each had a long, flickering tail with a small tuft of hair at the end.

"What's the plan, Hunter?" Crosshair asked, nestling closer to the tree trunk from his perch high above the hill. He peered through his scope, counting the heads and figuring the odds.

"We don't want to incite an entire conflict," Hunter answered. "We aren't even supposed to be here."

"They don't know who we are or where we're from," Crosshair replied. "We can--"

Sudden silence.

"Crosshair?" Hunter whispered, tapping the comlink twice. "Come in. Crosshair!"

Nothing but silence on the other end. Hunter furrowed his brow, turning with the macrobinoculars to scan the treeline for any sign of the grey armor or hair. He glanced back at the clearing at the sudden sound of drums -- ten or twenty of them, struck in unison to create an intimidating cacophony of rhythm.

A tall, imposing figure appeared at the edge of the circle of tribe members, decorated with a large, ornate frame upon his head. The hair of his mane was laced throughout it, holding it firmly in place, and from its various branches hung a display of fragmented shells and shimmering beads. He held a large staff, the top of which had been fashioned into a similarly-shaped frame as the one on his head.

The crowd parted as he approached the fire. Across the circle, another opening appeared, and Hunter zoomed in closer to see Crosshair, unconscious in a heavy net, being dragged toward an empty pole near Wrecker. He was freed from the net, propped up against the pole, and trussed up quickly to match his brothers. His head lolled on his chest and Wrecker muffled all kinds of profanities through his gag.

Hunter lowered the binocs, keeping a level head as he assessed the possibilities. He slid down the tree, crouching at the base to determine the best course of action. Sensing a threat behind him, he twisted to fire a stun blast just in time to drop the lion man who had been creeping up with a net in its hands. Time to move, he thought, stealing toward the circle noiselessly, knife and blaster at the ready.