Session export: White Coat, Black Art.

The drydock was alive with a restrained hum of industry, the muted crackle of welding arcs glinting off the smooth underbelly of the Ror’jhan* like flickers of bioluminescence in deep water. Towering over the surrounding scaffolds and gantries, the Collegium-class cruiser exuded quiet authority—its presence less of a warship and more of a mystery wrapped in alloyed durasteel. To the untrained eye, it might have seemed like a ghost ship being born.

Qor stood still at the edge of the gantry, his long cloak stirring faintly with the low breeze from the dock’s atmosphere regulators. The bright blue letters of the holoreel pulsed overhead: Wellspring welcomes you.

He adjusted the sit of his tentacles slightly—reflexive, unnecessary in the filtered air, but calming all the same. This was not his first time among the Collegium, nor his first encounter with their peculiar methods. But it was his first time aboard one of their ships.

And he had questions.

The Wellspring Society had requested access to the biological data from a field incident he had once survived—barely—and Qor had agreed, with conditions. One of those conditions was transparency. Another was a visit.

Not just a public show-and-tell, but a chance to see what they were truly developing in their hermetically sealed laboratories. The implications of their work on bio-technical enhancements had begun to ripple through the right circles. If even half the rumors were true, the Ror’jhan was no ordinary research vessel—it was a surgical scalpel, gliding through space under cover of silence, carving the future of life itself.

And so Qor had arrived, out of obligation and curiosity in equal measure.

The queue at the security checkpoint was slow-moving but efficient, populated with researchers, students, and the occasional curious dignitary. Uniforms pressed, datapads clutched. Some whispered, others merely observed. Qor waited with sterilised hands clasped behind his back, a stillness amid the crowd. His eyes, dark and calculating, watched the holoreel loop its message again.

Wellspring welcomes you.

We shall see.

<@348547724628721695>

Qor stepped forward with fluid precision, every movement measured, deliberate. His voice was smooth—low, respectful, and devoid of ego.

“Battlelord Lexiconus Qor, of Clan Scholae Palatinae. Rank: Research Director of the Aurora Collegium.”

He held out a gloved hand, offering a slim datachip between two fingers.

“Chain code is encoded and current. Full biometric record—retina, dermal, voiceprint, and neural response signature—is stored on this chip. You are cleared to scan.”

His vibrant blue eyes remained fixed on the captain, unblinking and calm.

“I acknowledge all entry protocols and comply fully. Should there be any discrepancy, I will follow escort without resistance.”

He offered a faint inclination of the head—neither bow nor nod, just a shadow’s gesture of deference.

<@348547724628721695>

The headmaster had offered him his usual private entry. Even had he not been who he was, the decades of support, shipments of artifacts and untold funding would have obligated the same. His vague dismissal confused Rhylance, but he had sought it fit to warn Titius that the Lion might be in attendance anyway.

ID, chain and do you have a biometric on file with us?“ The man before them was neither Rhylance or Titius. An Architect droid stepped forward a proud step ahead of its master, turning to retrieve a data chip from him before offering it to the captain. The movement caused a stir, the silver chain and key of station on Forge’s kit clinking quietly. The captain raised an eyebrow at the transaction, but entered the datachip into the reader anyway. A few moments later, eyes bathed in green light read words he hadn’t seen on this terminal before.

Enter User Authentication

He looked up at the droid, the man standing behind him, then back down to the terminal. Certainly, he had already been logged in, otherwise none of the others would have been granted access. Fingers moved to enter the codes, but his mind stalled. Was this some slicing attempt, some subtle way of stealing credentials from secure facilities? Either way, this was not a protocol he was familiar with. He checked the encryption once more, the connection between the reader and the terminal. It all tracked as clean. A dialogue opened up in the corner, words from an encrypted channel playing out under his eyes, next to a live camera feed of his own face, challenging his authentication. The security droids turned to fix optical sensors on him, no doubt receiving a signal at the same time.

Whomever this was, their own chain code was restricted.

The captain read silently, then entered his own chip in. A moment later, the usual screen sprang to view. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath.

“You are in the presence of Lord…” Forge began, its head lowered to a precise degree in accordance with courtly protocol. A quick gesture, just a sweep of his hand, and the droid straightened, stepping to the side and out of the way. They would need his voice for their biometric confirmation anyway. Vocal chords strained, and mind flexed, sending his words as waves of sound and thought alike.

“I am Ashen.”

Carmen almost missed that he was next in line from looking across the drydock hangar at Ror'jhan. He had practically memorized everything publicly available about the research ship, as well as some a bit less publicly available, but it was always something else to see this kind of engineering up close. Hopefully he could get something for his personal projects out of this, possibly a look at some kind of advanced scanner or something like that.

Hearing what was going on ahead of him drew Carmens attention back to the current situation. Did he hear someone ahead say Qor? As in, that assassin that didn’t even have a commlink? What purpose would this place have to him? Carmen almost leaned around to see if it was the same Qor when he took note of Ashen. Looking much closer at the one who was previously just standing right in front of him… well, it matched the picts of paintings he had seen in the databanks… He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised, Consuls, Councilors, former Grandmasters, they all had to have hobbies, right? Carmen thought those hobbies would be less about touring science ships and more about lounging on red cushions while pondering dark magic and stroking a loth-cat, but who was he to judge?

As security called for next, Carmen waved forward Bebe, his prized custom B2 unit, who was holding her right forearm. The limb, containing the droids weaponry and holding Carmen’s lightsaber with a locked grip, had an open slicing port on it, which Bebe presented.

“Here you go, sir! All my data is on the arm, as well as weapons, I’m assuming they’re a no go. Not that it seems it matters how armed I am, considering the company.”

Carmen had lost the chip he had provided a week ago, but he was still able to pick it up on sensors when he was in his workshop so he just downloaded the data to Bebe and hoped for an acception. He gave his most charming smile, willing that one of the droids has a scomp link handy.

<@348547724628721695>

“Aww c'mon, now, she’s basically a protocol droid without the guns! And my chain code is on the arm, seeing as she never leaves my side,”

Carmen couldn’t help but sweat a little, he had not prepared for someone with a beskar rod up their backside. While feining a motion to pull his hair behind his ear, he covertly unclothed a data chip from his eyepiece, before moving his hands behind his back to slot it in the vambrace hidden in one of his sleeves. Thankfully, he could use the screen without looking, since he programmed it himself, but he still needed a few seconds… if the data on the chip matched the data in the system it should be fine, right?

Qor retrieved the datachip with quiet precision, slipping it back into an interior fold of his coat. A nod to the captain—measured and respectful—and then he turned toward wicket 7, followed closely by the soft whir of a droid’s servo-driven wheels.

BB-0Q rolled at his side with mechanical precision. Matte black from dome to tread, the astromech’s surface bore no decals, no designation plates, no personality paint—just a cold utilitarian sheen. Its amber photoreceptor pulsed rhythmically, scanning the space with exacting focus. There was no flair in its movement, no friendly beeps—just terse binary chirps that registered as data packets more than conversation.

The droid’s experimental automated repair system remained tucked beneath sealed panels, ready to deploy tools and micro-welders if needed. A compact SCOMP link protruded from its chassis, already interfacing with nearby security relays and doors, silently verifying Qor’s access permissions ahead of his arrival. More notably, its astrogation programming had been upgraded—not by Qor, but through external hands, perhaps Collegium developers or an old military contract. Whatever its origin, it calculated optimal travel paths with obsessive speed, even now adjusting its position in millimetric bursts to avoid collision with passerby or loose floor seams.

As they advanced, Qor inhaled—slow, steady—and called the Force to him. The subtle glamour of Faceless rippled across his features. His natural amber skin tone faded to a dull olive-grey, the sort worn by sleepless bureaucrats and unremarkable technicians. His sharp blue eyes clouded into pale, uninspired gray. The bone structure of his face softened, tentacles sagging slightly with fabricated age and a subtle blotch of discoloration on one cheek.

By the time they arrived at wicket 7, Lexiconus Qor was gone.

In his place stood an indistinct researcher, forgettable in every way, accompanied by a droid that looked like it had never known a conversation—only diagnostics.

They waited in silence. Qor’s hands folded neatly behind his back, his mind quietly sustaining the illusion. BB-0Q stood still beside him, scanning, calculating, and, above all else, unbothered.

The shadow didn’t hide in darkness— it simply became someone no one would ever remember.

<@348547724628721695>

The next person in line quelled at the loud demands. At the metalworks. At all of it. Their spine was stooped, deeply servile, and they bowed further as they approached, forest-colored robes and bare feet, a shawl wrapped over multicolored, metallic hair. A trembling purple hand offered a data chip recently acquired.

“This one is Rue Kendis, Master, Sir,” murmured the hybrid to both their feet. He had a bulging satchel on him and little else.

The man looked up just a bit in puzzlement at that last.

“No weapons, Sir. Edible and medicinal herbs and also flowers. Four notebooks and six pencils. And also this one’s commlink. Does this constitute a shrubbery and are only tall dark Sith allowed to have them?”

Vance landed in the docking bay. He stepped down from his ship and smoothed his maroon colored long hair back behind his long pink Sephi ears. He had stowed all his weapons in the ship for the moment and walked towards the line. He was wearing some wine red colored brotherhood robes and shoes. As he approached, he overheard the man in front of him talking about herbs and other items. He smirks as he waits patiently.

“Oh not much just was admiring how amazing you are at your job.” He then hands him his identification chip.

Rue perked at the mention of agriculture spaces; exactly the sort of thing he’d been hoping for. He scurried through, though not without glancing at the Captain’s tea. He dug in his bag and set a flower down composed of many bunched white florets on the table. “Thank you, Sir, for your service,” he said to the man’s back as he addressed the next guest.

Saluting and eager to be on his way, Carmen mumbled a thanks as he took back his chip and bounced along to… Wicket? Seven? Was “Gate” or “Group” not enough? Or maybe it was a name, lots of people seemed to like numbers in there names for some reason. But that didn’t matter, what did matter was that he now had to keep this data chip as an ID card in case someone else got paranoid and wanted to check. It was supposed to enter this trip empty and leave with the blueprints of something advanced and forbidden.

As Carmen finally got to the assigned group, his fake-smile-covering-scowl turned into a mild dissapointed confusion.

“Hm, didn’t I hear that Qor was supposed to be in this group? Strange as it is to say, i was kind of looking forward to meeting him outside a job…”

His light down turned up when he spun a small distance and stuck out a hand in greeting.

“But you’re Muz, right? Gotta admit, your hard to recognize without all the explosions and lightning around you, like in the paintings.”

Despite the brightness of the words, they were mildly quiet, as Carmen had taken notice of the attempt to be at least somewhat under the radar.

<@204034522033946625> <@284848346672136192>

Vance sauntered through to the group wicket 7. “Greetings!” He waves politely with some flair and grinning.

The olive-skinned researcher stood with the easy stillness of someone used to waiting. One hand balanced a steaming cup of caf near his chest, the other folded loosely behind his back. The aroma drifted faintly—sharp and bitter, like something that hadn’t been brewed so much as threatened into existence by overworked machinery.

He looked tired, but politely so. The kind of fatigue worn by people in sensible boots who stayed three hours past their shift just to meet a deadline no one else understood.

His gray eyes tracked the Twi’lek guide with measured attention, taking in the unnaturally bright vest and grating cheer with the same dull patience reserved for elevator music. A soft sip from the cup, then a slight turn of the shoulder as someone else jostled into line.

At the mention of Qor, he didn’t react. No glance, no twitch, no visible sign that the name had landed anywhere near him. BB-0Q, matte-black and silent, rotated beside him with a hollow servo chirp, its amber photoreceptor scanning like a ceiling-mounted camera—precise, dispassionate.

The researcher shifted only slightly, giving another tourist space without making a show of it. He blew across the surface of his caf and took another sip, eyes half-lidded, lingering on the surrounding docks rather than the conversation.

“Nice turnout,” he muttered to no one in particular, voice low and neutral, “Was expecting a bit more… security theater.”

The comment was offered lightly—friendly enough to invite small talk, but inconsequential enough to avoid suspicion.

If Carmen had come hoping to spot Battlelord Qor, he would find no such presence here. Only a forgettable mid-tier technician with unremarkable features, a cup of too-hot caf, and a droid that looked like it filed complaints in binary.

The shadow didn’t just blend in. It sipped quietly and waited its turn.

<@147021450706944000> <@348547724628721695>

Bentre Stahoes strode forward, raising a mechanical appendage in a friendly greeting. Well, he hoped it seemed friendly. He forced a slight smile and gave a nod.

“Bentre Stahoes, I was hoping to do the tour with my-” his words trailed as he patted his pocket. His face dropped.

The ID chit. He had forgotten the chit.

“Um, so here is the thing. I seem to have left my chit behind back in the Orian System. Is there a way that you can check my identify against the Collegium database?” He gritted his teeth, irritated at his thoughtlessness. “I am used to carrying a lot more stuff with me so it just kind of….slipped….my mind.”

Standing stiffly and shyly at the back edge of the group, where he belonged, Rue meeped a prompt, “Yes, Sirs!” to the address.

The olive-Quarren gave a small nod, lifting his cup slightly in acknowledgment.

“Understood,” he said quietly. “I’ll follow instructions.”

BB-0Q gave a soft click beside him, almost like agreement—though far too mechanical to be mistaken for personality.

He took another sip of caf and resumed waiting, calm, quiet, compliant.

For somewhere run by a group calling themselves the Dark Jedi Brotherhood, the queue so far had been surprisingly well behaved. Normal would have been stretching it but it was certainly calmer than the name implied.

When he had been given the opportunity to see what was being cooked up he’d expected… What? Gaggles of hooded chanting cultists? High collared men in capes summoning lighting from their hands? Scientists accompanied by shambling vat-born monstrosities cackling about how their colleagues had held them back? Blackwood sucked in air through his teeth as the listing brought to mind more than one past investigation. Now he thought about it, all of the above really.

Rather than a chaotic assembly of madmen, the queue to the Aurora Collegium of Science had been surprisingly well ordered. He’d faced worse on Coronet City’s Tram Stations. Beyond someone ahead of him in the queue announcing their presence with a holodrama trailer voice, it had been without incident thus far. If anything, Blackwood had been the one getting nervous glances.

Easily a head and shoulders taller than those nearby, Blackwood’s efforts to strike up a friendly conversation as they waited had quickly come to nothing, with mumbled replies and others had become intensely interested in the floor, There was something about eight foot tall lizardmen which seemed to put most species on edge. It had to be something to do with scales. He’d never been able to pin down exactly why, given Wookiees barely got a second glance despite the height, even with their reputation for violent dismemberment. Then again, few people ever ran into ones some maniac had mutated into hulked out Sithspawn. A dark thought surfaced from the depths of his memories, wondering if similar unfortunates waiting on the Ror'jhan, strapped to a medical bed with someone tinkering with their geonomes.

“Well,” Blackwood quietly said to himself, “Whatever’s waiting in there, it can’t be crazier than that job on Coruscant.”

“Hi there,” Blackwood said brightly, stepping forward with a polite nod. He reached into his coat and fumbled about for several moments. “Hang on, it’s in one of these pockets. Ah, got it.”

He held up the ident chip between two fingers and handed it over. Then, with little pause, he deposited his pistol now bereft of its magazine, a set of crushgaunts and a set of stuncuffs. “You’ll be wanting those as well. The biometric record was renewed only a week back, so it should all be up to date. I’ve also got a BPKC certificate on me if you need additional proof of I.D.”

Blackwood had been on the other side of these kinds of situations enough to usually know what to expect, and it paid to help make sure everything went smoothly.

“Thanks, I’ll do just that,” Blackwood said, already pocketing the weapons he’d offered up. The moment they were safely back inside his coat, he took off in a jog toward where the Gamorean had indicated.

A few hours ago Location Redacted Theta-class T-2c Shuttle

Another day, another disappointment.

She slapped the comm channel closed with the back of her hand. The sensation echoed through the fingerless glove and danced along her nerves to annoy her elbow. It wasn’t the most obnoxious request she had been ever given, but usually there was something she could gain from the experience.

And this pickup? That deep into that clan’s space? The Twi’lek’s lip curled as she considered the potential. Not that she hadn’t run into members of that unit before, but those were in Taldyran space or in neutral territories where everyone was at least attempting to play nice. Ish. In their own space though, free from the obligation of niceties, she wondered. There were conflicting rumors.

She chewed her lip absentmindedly as the ship lurched into hyperspace, the coordinates logged in by rote. It wasn’t a long jump, at least there was that much. She had already been out there, chasing down the story of an old mark twelve synchonomesh. She had been looking for one of those for the last year. While Beater didn’t need it anymore in his new diminutive form, she thought that maybe it could sort out Hekate’s vocal glitch. The old woman had said that it had rusted to bits and she sold the central hub for the rare metals within. Another day, another disappointment.

The dull throb of the drop from hyperspace knocked at her sinuses, one of her lekku wrapping around the left one. Sitting back up, she reviewed the message from the boss, her feet hitting the deck as she leant forward to tap into the comms array. All things going perfectly meant that the contact would answer the comm right away, and that port control wouldn’t question her authorization. To be sure, there wasn’t any higher, but the clans tended to react in odd ways to those sorts of things, especially when… She let the thought hang. Better not to give that possibility any thought and breathe it into existence.

The channel opened, the blue lines spraying out into the air above the emitter before congealing into a humanoid shape. Dark hair, a pale shocked streak in stark contrast to the dark framing one side of her face, hiding an eye. Everything was blue, but she remembered the woman. From the party on Arx. From the Spear. From those days before. The bad ones. Leena let her lip away from her teeth, tilting her head and letting out a deep sigh.

Socorra half nodded, understanding immediately, but needing her all the same.

Now Landing Pads Near the Ror'jhan

Leena watched through the cockpit windows as the doors shut behind the woman. She was kind enough, if a little bit unnerving. To be fair, almost all of his friends were some sort of broken like that, and if she was being really honest with herself…

She debated for a half second if she should just reach out, then dismissed it out of hand. There were too many of them here, and while there was some cover in that amount of traffic, she was unwilling to really risk it. Not if it meant getting dragged into their political machinations so bloody always. She instead slipped out the encrypted datapad, the textchain tapping from her console directly to him. The words would display on his arm, and the faint vibration would alert him. She knew it well, she had helped him build it for the ninth time after that mess on Stheno.

She’s here. You owe me.

Now Wicket 7

“But you’re Muz, right? Gotta admit, your hard to recognize without all the explosions and lightning around you, like in the paintings.” The words were not quite a whisper, the short man looking sidelong at him as he spoke.

He had long understood that rumors are what they are, and that the legends around him were hard to contain, even while he stood next to that hunk of accursed metal. Afterwards, as he went about his own business it was most certainly harder to control. Some enterprising acolyte managed to catch him at the Seventh Tooth on Dentavii and asked him about his ‘Policy of Fire’ for a dissertation, and he was caught sideways by the fabrication. A fabrication that seemed to become curricula.

“Lightning?” The word scraped against his brain and his eardrums at the same time. He chuckled softly, the sound crackling like a soft shoe on a gravel path. He had only… It didn’t matter, but he did make a mental note to see this painting. He dipped his head a minute degree. “I am.”

His arm vibrated softly, the message to the datapad in his prosthetic arm alerting him. He raised a finger in a polite gesture for a moment, then brought his arm to his front, opening the panel and reading Leena’s words. He closed the panel just as quickly, the well-machined parts sliding together with a satisfactory precision as he looked back up at the Hapan, chuckling again at the thought. Socorra would be highly amused by that painting.

A lone purple hand shyly raised from amidst the group at the back.

Rue seemed patently terrified to approach, not only of moving past the others but to the front to present. Nonetheless he obeyed the command, scurrying forward in any space allowed him. Once clear, it was clear his footwear Barb had mentioned might be in question, given its entire lack thereof. Nonetheless, he piped up even as he shrunk in on himself.

“This one does not know what would be in the lab previously, but would perhaps new species of flora or fauna be taking its place?”

It was less a guess and more a hope, but still.

Carmen lowered his hand as Muz seemed more interested in some message he got than anything beyond a pair of words. Well, not a worry, in company like this he probably got swarmed by adorers and rivals whenever he went anywhere publicly, so the best way to stand out was clear. Go about his business.

His green eyes turned to scan the newcomers and see if any others would be more open to conversation, but just before he made to move, the guide began their opening spiel and started calling for… audience participation. Carmen didn’t know what he expected from the tour of a covert evil science ship held by a secret scholarly organization that was part of a galaxy spanning shadow government cult, but he certainly wasn’t expecting the same thing as a bunch of schoolchildren going to the local museum. It didn’t concern him, really, and he had experienced plenty of tonal whiplash this past year, so in a way, it would have been more surprising if it was treated all grim and militaristic.

Hearing the strange purple man talk, Carmen looked across to the ship section floating off on its repulsor engines, squinting to get a glimpse to the internals despite the distance.

“Making new ones? Doesn’t seem likely to me, but… that hole looks like it has plenty of water lines in it, makes me think it either is used for testing coolant tech, hot materials, or runs hydroponics. Something with lots of fluids.”

At the back of the group, the quiet technician stood with one hand wrapped around a nearly-empty caf cup, eyes lifted to the slowly detaching lab module. The wail of sirens echoed in his chest, accompanied by the low roar of igniting thrusters and the deep, bone-shaking groan of machinery in motion.

He watched as the square vessel peeled away from the Ror'jahn like a scab lifted clean from skin. His gaze remained fixed, but as the drifting bulk disappeared into the clouds beyond the hangar’s containment field, something else shifted—subtly.

The olive-gray hue of his skin began to recede, replaced by a warmer, muted amber tone beneath his collar. The dull, gray eyes took on a soft blue sheen. Lines and wear around the mouth smoothed out. The illusion of anonymity bled away, like steam lifting from the lip of his cup.

BB-0Q chirped a faint binary note at his side—a diagnostic ping acknowledging the visual change.

He finally spoke, voice casual and low, but with the calm precision of someone who knew what he was talking about.

“Judging by the clamp spacing and thermal shielding residue… genetics. Mid-scale containment. Either mutagenic strains or Force-reactive material. What’s replacing it?” He glanced toward the Twi’lek with a faint, polite smile. “Probably a cleaner lab. Or a weapons cradle, depending on who’s funding the cycle.”

The tone was dry, not smug. Just informed.

He didn’t volunteer a name. He didn’t step forward.

Just a shadow, slowly taking shape.

<@348547724628721695>

As Socorra came in closer to the crowd for a better view, her mental nudge to Ashen carried warmth like an old shared secret.

Lightning, sah? That ought to be good.

Her wrist-mounted comp flicked into view, fingers typing blindingly fast. Somewhere across the Holonet, an agent got pinged. Within seconds, she had search results queued, location data flagged, and an encrypted inquiry bouncing between shadowports.

Find me this painting.

The feed vanished just as quickly. Her sole eye returned to the scene before her and landed on another familiar face.

Rue?

An unexpected lavender flower, lovely yet all bones and crooked spine.

Something stirred beneath her ribs as he stepped forward alone, frail and unsure, folded in on himself. Her posture adjusted subtly, angling just enough into his line of sight in case he glanced up. It was a presence she usually worked hard to avoid.

The nod Socorra gave him wasn’t for show. It was a quiet promise. I see you. I’ve got you.

<@244244163002892288>

Carmen sniffed and lightly nudged the strange man, who was somehow still taller than himself, even when hunched, with his elbow.

“Good guess, I’d hardly guess they’d be putting fruit trees on here if they weren’t special. Speaking of…”

He then raised a hand and his voice, “There something special about the fruit trees? I doubt it’s just for feeding the crew…”

<@348547724628721695>

“U-uhm, thank you, Master,” Rue stuttered to the friendly elbow of the blond individual who came to nudge him, a blush blooming across his petal’d cheeks at the compliment. His skittering saffron gaze flicked over them, then up again to Barb, before arresting back to the first familiar face yet: Socorra Erinos. While he didn’t hold her gaze, her nod and presence eased the bent of his shoulders and rigid curl of his tail between his legs. He offered her a tremulous smile, reminiscing of the trip to Zsoldos and running about giving flowers to the other Mandalorian clans, playing with Alk and her son, Tur'haya, for a little bit.

Then he noticed Barb was already leaving the lot of them behind, and he shook himself with a mrrt! and scurried to follow, quickly saying, “The trees!” in excitement to Carmen and the others.

But he did have one other concern, to which he called to Barb’s back:

“A-ah, um, M-Mistress Barb! The person! From the other pod. Are they alright?”

<@348547724628721695> <@141239709291511808> <@147021450706944000>

Rue’s previous glimmer of hope over ✨ trees ✨ and Socorra’s presence and Carmen’s friendliness seemed to dim and die quickly. His posture crumpled again, head bowing and tail curling, eyes mostly down as he knew very well what the person was likely being subjected to, and what maintenance and suffering of biological experiments tended to be like.

He was one, after all.

<@147021450706944000> <@141239709291511808>

Carmen seemed to not notice Rues rapid mood swinging as he pondered the arrayed doors across the way.

“If they are mostly bio… do they share a theme? Would be pretty inefficient if doctors couldn’t collaborate and the ship has to go to locations that only benefit one or two labs…”

He slips his hand back in his pocket and turns back to Barb, “so what’s the focus? Supersoldiers? Agriculture? Virology?”

<@348547724628721695>

Blackwood slowed as he finally caught up with the group, his run shifting into a brisk walk and then a saunter in pace with them. Quietly joining the stragglers at the back, he listened in on the more immediate questions being asked. Best to keep his mouth shut until he knew more about what was being discussed.

Qor lingered at the back, steps slow, deliberate—more a shadow than a man, if not for the glint of silver from the needle-thin scar down his cheek, and the soft clink of ceramic as he swirled the last dregs of caf in his cup.

MSHL-16828002. He sipped, watching the module vanish along the track like a tumor cut from the body.

“Excessive contamination,” the guide had said.

His tendrils twitched, the smallest gesture of thought. Contamination was always such a lovely euphemism for people who refused to rot quietly.

Barb’s deflections painted over the truth with enough color to keep most from asking further, but not all. He saw the way Rue’s posture sagged, tail curling inward like a vine scorched too close to the roots.

Another sip. Bitter. Stale. Burnt. He didn’t mind.

The mood had shifted—gone was the giddy awe of starbound ambition. In its place, unease. And for Qor, that was fertile ground.

He finally spoke, voice low and clinical, just enough to reach the nearest few.

“Fruit trees planted where a man once rotted. How poetic.”

He stepped forward, caf cup cradled loosely in his fingers. Not smiling, not frowning. Just watching. Weighing.

“And what fruit, I wonder, might take root in contaminated soil?”

He didn’t expect an answer, least of all from Barb. She had a job to do—scrub the blood, shine the chrome, keep the civilians focused on flowers and datapads.

But Qor wasn’t here for flowers. He never was.

His gaze turned downward once more, watching Rue without intrusion. Quiet sympathy, perhaps. Or shared understanding.

Then, one final sip— Empty.

He exhaled. “Shame about the caf.”

And with that, he moved to follow the others up the gangway.

“Well actually, they are removing the entire pod, so whatever happened in there-” Carmen jumped and pointed as he turned and saw the speaker, “Qor! You are here! What, you got some disguise projector or something? Why would you even put on a diguise for less than a minute…”

He shook his head, realising he was getting awfully sidetracked for someone he already new was eternally concerned with darkness and poison and blood.

“Aaanyway, I doubt they would take up a lab on something like this for torture or… body storage… More likely they were just a magistrate from a species that has no sphincter control or something. I heard that the Academy just rotated their Magistrates, so it would make sense that hermitically sealed living quarters would be swapped out if the new ones could just use normal quarters.”

Carmen picked up his pace again to get back to Barb, “So the gimmick of this place is that it’s mobile, right? Does that mean these new trees are meant for nonstandard living situations?”

He hadn’t really prepared to learn about alien agriculture, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

<@348547724628721695>

Qor stepped inside with the others, the faint whirr of the airlock giving him a moment to shake the cold from his cup. Empty. Again. Typical.

He cast a glance at Carmen as he caught up, lifting one brow slightly.

“Disguise projector? No, nothing that fancy. Just walked in quietly and didn’t shout about fruit trees.”

He paused, letting that hang just long enough to be awkward, then gave a small shrug like it wasn’t worth explaining further.

“And for the record, magistrate or not, I’ve worked in enough clean labs to know when a room’s been scrubbed for more than just unpleasant smells. You don’t mag-lock a pod and tow it offsite just because someone couldn’t keep their plumbing in order.”

He didn’t say it loudly. Didn’t even make a fuss. Just enough to seed doubt. Then he stepped lightly to the left as the doors hissed open and the tour moved on.

As they filed in, he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself but not quite quietly enough.

“Still, I suppose an arboretum’s a step up. Bit of filth in the roots never stopped fruit growing. Just makes it sweeter, sometimes.”

He gave a tired little smile. Resigned. The kind you make after stepping in something you thought was mud.

“Now all I need’s a proper cup of caf that doesn’t taste like someone boiled old socks. Then we can all pretend none of this ever happened.”

He glanced around lazily, as if the walls might offer up a miracle. Then, lifting the empty cup in one hand like a peace offering, he added to no one in particular:

“Speaking of which—anyone know where the next caf station is? Before I’m forced to chew on a stimtab and cry in a storage closet.”

And with that, he folded his empty cup, slipped it into his coat, and followed the group further inside.

<@147021450706944000> <@348547724628721695>

Rue, from where he had drifted away from Carmen’s other side as the Quarren’s presence took over, quietly offered: “This one has herbs that Master Qor may chew if wishing for stimulant effects that may improve focus and circulation in alternative to this ‘stimtab’ that results in crying.”

He, too, thought exactly the things Carmen listed as not happening would be more likely than sphincter control. He knew better the depths a lab could hold.

Thinking of his own vice for a moment as he watched the interaction play out, Blackwood realised there would likely be no opportunity for a halfway decent smoke on the ship once they were inside. He gave a quiet sigh, wishing he’d had the opportunity while queued up to be let inside.

“Do you just happen to keep those on you in case of emergencies?” he asked, bemused at Kessurian’s sudden offer of herbal remedies to the Quarren.

<@244244163002892288>

“Yes, Sir!” the hybrid answered immediately, giving a quick bow to Blackwood. “This one carries many suchlike and different herbs for various maladies and pathologies. It is well-practiced in various medicine and surgeries as well as healing also.”

“You might be surprised how difficult it is to get certain compounds out of cloth. You ever seen… or rather, smelt what hutt sweat does to a rug? Maybe that was it, a hutts personal quarters to be cleansed with fire.”

Carmen slid inside, trying not to turn his back to Rue or Qor and accidentally lock them out of conversation.

“You know the more you take stuff like that the les effective they are, right? Unless you have… heh heh, special tricks. You an herbalist? I guess that makes your excitement about weird plants make sense.”

<@244244163002892288> <@326457564994994176>

“Are you speaking from personal experience there?” Blackwood chuckled, shaking his head. “I know what you mean though. I’ve seen some species - Ithorians in particular - develop increasingly elaborate ways to get their fix of caf if they develop a resistance to it.”

He left out how the exact opposite could happen and people could either lose all resistance or develop a chemical reliance. There was no reason to be impolite to two of the more cordial members of their party.

As they waited for the airlock to finish cycling and any other groups to come rushing past, he decided to pose the obvious question.

“So what are you two here to see?”

<@244244163002892288> <@147021450706944000>

Qor slowed slightly at Rue’s quiet offer, his head tilting toward the Kessurian-Ryn hybrid. His expression didn’t shift much, but there was a flicker of interest behind those deep-set eyes.

“Herbs, you say?”

He extended a hand with the casual ease of someone used to handling delicate things—scalpels, vials, lives.

As Rue passed them over, Qor raised the bundle to his face, giving a short, silent sniff. His face tentacles twitched slightly, tasting the scent through the sensitive chemo-receptors at their ends. Then, delicately, he selected a leaf and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

“Mm. Not bad. Decent oil content, clean burn, no bitterness. Not kark-root. Something milder. Mountain-grown, by the feel of it. Picked fresh too—no chemical preservation.”

His gaze slid over to Rue, sharp but not unkind.

“Where’d you get these? Not Academy stock. Too pure. Unless you’ve got a hydroponic habit and a black thumb hidden under that calm exterior.”

Carmen’s comment about Hutt sweat earned a faint, low chuckle—more in his throat than his mouth.

“Hutt sweat? Don’t remind me. I once worked a case on Nar Shaddaa where a Hutt’s personal medic accidentally left a sample vial uncapped. Took three cycles to scrub the smell out of the medbay. Rugs were burned. Staff considered it a mercy.”

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment more before tapping one tentacle against his jaw with a mild grunt of approval.

“Still, Rue’s right. Caf like this isn’t worth weeping over. This’ll do for now.”

He folded the remaining herbs into a neat triangle of cloth, tucking it into his coat pocket like something far more valuable than it looked.

“Cheers, Rue. Good instincts.”

Then, adjusting his coat and falling back in step with the group, Qor resumed his quiet observation—still a little tired, still hunting for the next caf station, but now just a little more awake.

<@147021450706944000> <@244244163002892288>

“Is this one …ah, em, y-yes,” Rue said slowly, as if testing the words for the very first time, tiptoeing on the finest wire above a chasm, “This– I. I am? An herbalist.”

For all that he sounded so uncertain, he suddenly smiled when he finished the sentence, wide and wide-eyed.

“And I love plants! Yes, though this one is hoping to see more here! Especially unique species. Particularly any specimens that grow in ammoniated environs…”

He trailed off then, as Qor accepted the herbs and spoke of Hutt excretions and carpetry disposal. The hybrid’s tail tip flicked with a quiet pride at Qor’s approval of the provided herbs, and he answered the Quarren’s earlier question eventually, still soft.

“Th– I picked and grew them myself, on Selen. What is everyone else hoping to see?”

<@147021450706944000> <@326457564994994176>

“Well, I mainly came to check out the ship itself, being high end and all, but hearing that most of this is bio interests me too. The inventions that save the most people are logistics and agriculture, and it looks like I’ll get the chance to poke around the best in the field at both.”

Carmens eyes went more distant and his energy dampened, although it didn’t loose any of its positivity. With the group moving into the superstructure of the ship, the outside noises of ship repair and heavy machinery was replaced by the closer but more muffled noises of dozens of voices and unidentifiable experiments.

“Though I imagine most information I can gather is going to be tangential. I’m more of a mechanical type, so my field would be less the plants and more the… farming, I suppose.”

<@326457564994994176> <@204034522033946625>

Qor watched the organised chaos unfold with the same passive interest one might give a slow chemical reaction. The din of the shift change barely registered beyond a flick of one head-tentacle at the louder clangs. As Barb explained the gear, he stepped forward and claimed a locker without comment.

He held the lab gown up to the light for a moment, inspecting the seams. “Hm. Not flame retardant,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, before folding it neatly over one arm.

The dosimeter was clipped into place with the ease of long practice, nestled just above the collar where two of his facial tendrils parted.

He gave the mask a brief glance. The mention of engine exhaust earned a faint snort.

“Comforting. Nothing says safety like chemical burns in the throat.” He tested the strap tension, adjusted it slightly, and stowed the mask accessibly.

Then, folding his coat and placing it inside the locker with careful precision, he turned back toward Barb and the others.

“No questions. All clear. Though I do reserve the right to politely complain about the fit of the gown later.”

A beat.

“And the caf. Always the caf.”

With that, Qor stepped back into line, every bit the dutiful visitor - watchful, quiet, and for now, entirely cooperative.

Carmen opened his locker and considered holding out with his vambraces, he had made them low profile and invisible to sensors for a reason, but decided that if anyone could overpower Muz, not to mention whatever other powerhouses were here, it probably wouldn’t matter what weapons he was carrying. Unless someone wanted to do a backstab… nah, paranoia wasn’t the ticket.

It wasn’t any difficulty putting on the PPE, Carmen was long used to such things, although radiation being so notable on a ship mostly concerned with biology was concerning. He supposed there had to be species that grew up on irradiated worlds, maybe some plants or molds that could feed on it? Ooo, maybe a mold they could slap on nuclear waste? He didn’t know enough about nuclear power to know if it was worth using over plasma generators, but maybe if the waste wasn’t dangerous it could be an option.

“Is the ship malfunctioning normal? I would think that radiation contamination could be catastrophic to most experiments, not to mention the people working here.”

“Can’t imagine why they’d need that,” Blackwood quietly said to himself as the ship’s capacity to eject its internal labs was mentioned. It sounded like the kind of addition installed after one too many experiments which had gone wrong. Yet it at least meant that the Sith were sensible enough to have policy to keep anything too dangerous to kill from getting loose.

Folding up his coat and removing his pistol, stuncuffs, and crushgaunts, he stowed each on a seperate shelf within the locker. Then, after a moment’s consideration, added the additional two magazines. Gun or not, he had the feeling that fifty pounds worth of explosive bolts weren’t going to be just overlooked. Taking a moment to ease himself into the gown and then check that the mask would fit over his snout, he turned to Barb.

“Just in case the worst should happen, how long does the air supply last and how does it work? Is it just a single tank or carbon dioxide recycler which requires constant steady breathing?”

<@348547724628721695>

Rue obediently followed Barb’s instructions to the letter, stowing his bag, even with a longing and mournful look to the notebooks that had been meant to take records here. His cloak went too, finally revealing his cascade of metallic, multicolored hair in a braid, most of his tail, and his thin frame. Several smaller pouches went in, and so did a few more layers of clothing. The hybrid was left only in thin pants and shirtsleeves when done, and promptly zipped the coat on front forward and equipped the meter and mask. He was quiet as he crept to Carmen’s side, seeming to have identified him, Blackwood, and Qor as his current ‘group’ on account of speaking with them. Socorra he glanced to check she was still there and alright, and the Darth Rue didn’t even dare to look towards.

Qor finished zipping the overcoat with a single smooth motion, the fabric folding stiffly around his frame. His tendrils twitched once at the collar where the dosimeter sat neatly in place, and he gave the mask one last glance before clipping it onto the side of the gown.

He’d already placed his own things in the locker-no weapons, not visible ones anyway. Just his coat, a small medkit, and a neatly folded pouch marked with a few chemical stains that probably weren’t there by accident.

As Carmen spoke, Qor turned his head slightly in his direction-not interrupting, not engaging yet, just listening. When Barb gave her answer about jettisoning labs, his gaze wandered briefly to the bulkheads.

“That’s not a rumour,” he said calmly, voice even. “A few years back, a project on a Devaronian vessel went sideways. Some sort of mutagenic parasite. Took half the lab crew with it before they could flush the whole block. Saw the report. Just a line on the requisition form-‘Lab module integrity compromised. Asset containment failed. Subject ejected.’"

He looked over at Carmen fully now, blinking once.

“After that, ejectable labs became standard in certain circles. Expensive design, but the kind of insurance policy you only need once.”

Then, more lightly, with that dry undercurrent of humour only someone Imperial or deeply tired of explosions could manage:

“Radiation’s likely just a by-product of whatever they’ve got brewing behind the sealed doors. Biology and nuclear processes have more in common than most would admit. Especially once the ethics waiver’s been signed.”

He glanced back to Barb at Carmen’s final question and gave a small nod of agreement.

“Seconded. Knowing the air system isn’t just going to give out halfway through a corridor sprint would be… reassuring.”

After a moment, he added with a faint twitch of his mouth, “And if it is just a single tank, I’d like to lodge an official protest now, in case I’m the only one conscious when it matters.”

Then he fell silent, standing relaxed but alert, eyes scanning the bustle of shift change and construction crews-not intrusively, just memorising. Always memorising.

Bentre had looked over the suit with a casual disinterest. His mind was more on the safety measures in place. The mention of being jettisoned into space with a lab was….alarming…to say the least. He had carefully suited up, being sure there were not tears or wear to speak of. He didn’t imagine he would find any, but it always paid to be careful. He suited up in complete silence. He was eager to see what exactly was happening here. He nodded, feeling a bit naked despite the suit. “This should be fun.” His curiosity was piqued.

Rue heard the nervousness in Barb’s voice, thanks to his sound-sensitive Kessurian heritage. He eyed the twitch of her lekku and frowned in concern. The hybrid shuffled a bit closer to the front, as if prepared to offer to stand near her– the Buddy System was important.

“Miss Barb, are you alright?”

There is was an audible rumble of a sigh followed by the rustle of fabric. Then a burst of light cut through the darkness.

Blackwood held the glowrod aloft over the others, his expression one of mild irritation. “You’d be surprised how much use this thing gets in my line of work.

I’ve also got a lighter and some smokes, but I’d hate to set off the sprinklers in here.”

From somewhere in the gloom, Qor’s voice drifted out - measured, amused, and just a shade wry.

“Much appreciated, Mister Blackwood. I was starting to wonder if this was the exhibit.”

A faint shift of cloth and the subtle rasp of movement as Qor adjusted his stance, the reflected light catching the curve of his mask, still clipped to his gown.

“Darkness, confined space, and a sudden loss of direction. Classic signs of a containment breach drill. Or a test.”

He stepped a little closer into the glowrod’s halo, his tendrils flexing slightly in the open air.

“Let’s hope the next room doesn’t include an audio track of panicked screaming. Though if it does, I’d like to request the Devaronian variant. Far more theatrical.”

He gave Blackwood the smallest of nods.

“Nice to see someone planned ahead. I was going to offer a chemical flare, but they tend to be… less diplomatic indoors.”

Qor fell back into quiet, his gaze sweeping slowly across the space, taking stock of their surroundings with clinical calm.

When the vegetation was revealed, a squeal of excitement left Rue. He darted forward, quickly but extremely careful of his step, into the plants.

“Are these nightblooming? Parasitic? Mycotrophic?” He looked around for any fungi. “Do they bioluminesce? No, no, then we’d have seen it before the light surely…”

The hybrid was practically buzzing, a faint golden sheen on his skin made green in each wave of biological light. Excitedable, he clapped his only hand to his thigh, watching for the luminescence nearby him, and tried flicking his tail to brush over some other plants, experimenting with a tiny sound wave as compared to the percussion of a touch.

“Master Sir Director Echeque, for what purpose?” he inquired.

“Old habits. My bad,” Blackwood shrugged, flipping off the glowrod and handing it handle-first to Barb. He’d walked right into that one, and it was his own fault. Tempting as it was to justify holding onto it, he wasn’t about to drag them over a standstill over something so minor and petty. Especially when he was surrounded by Sith.

Sticking silently with the group, he listened in as Rue began to ask the questions, leaving it to the expert to prod and poke answers from the Director.

Carmen moved forward, testing how responsive the plants were to touch while motioning to Rue.

“I’m in line with him, why in particular? To my knowledge, most places bioluminescence is useful it’s mushrooms that find the most use. Is it just to study luminescent chemicals? Maybe botanical sensory input?”

A tap, little more than a poke was all it took to get the leaves to glow slightly. They obviously had been modifying at least some of these things for the purpose of reasearch.

“Perhaps in seeking alternative sources of lumination?” Rue speculated alongside Carmen, beaming at them before his attention was riveted back on the plants.

<@348547724628721695>

Qor shifted his weight silently, boots pressing no more than a whisper into the platform. He had remained a step behind the group—not out of reluctance, but for the vantage. Let others marvel at glowing foliage and wax poetic about phosphorescence. He was studying patterns: the light’s reactivity, the time delay between contact and bloom, the temperature in the air when the sound hit the plants.

And the Director. Always the Director.

His tendrils flexed once, sensing the subtle shift in heat and sound behind each whip-crack, even as his face remained impassive. He had already altered the ridges of his visage slightly—a subconscious ripple of his Shadow art, minimal but distinct to someone who knew his true face. A field test. No one noticed. Good.

He crouched low near a frond Rue had left glowing, plucking a single node with a sterile clamp and slipping it into a vial hidden inside his belt. He didn’t ask. This wasn’t diplomacy—it was science.

“Bioluminescence triggered by vibration…” he muttered, half to himself, voice carrying like a scalpel through the dark. “Stimulus-response. Potential paralytic? Adaptive camouflage? Hm.”

His blue eyes lifted toward Director Echeque, unreadable. “Is the light a byproduct… or the goal?”

It wasn’t asked with challenge. It was a surgeon’s question. Cold. Professional. Lethal in implication.

Qor did not flinch.

The presence at his back was expected. He had felt the shift in airflow before the Gamorrean cast its shadow.

Slowly, he rose. His movements were smooth, deliberate, and devoid of tension. His gloved fingers offered the vial without protest, holding it between thumb and forefinger like a scalpel laid on a tray. No sarcasm. No resistance. The lesson here was not in defiance.

It was in memory.

“You’ll find the leaf unblemished,” he said calmly. “I did not break its spine. Nor contaminate the sample.”

His head turned slightly, just enough for a single eye to regard the Gamorrean beside him, then the Director, then the ring of hostile stares from the staff. His tone didn’t change, but the cold in it crept beneath the skin.

“I collect specimens to learn how to treat what they injure. Not for theft. If that breaches policy, consider me… educated.”

A brief shimmer danced along the edge of his features—like light refracted through water - and then faded. The faintest ghost of another Quarren face, a mask he’d worn earlier. The warning was subtle, but present.

He stepped aside without further comment, making no effort to explain or appease. Let them think him a thief. Let them watch him. Let them wonder what else he had seen… or taken.

When he rejoined the others, it was with the same silent step he had arrived with - but his tendrils twitched once, thoughtfully, at the Director’s final words.

“Vampiric plants,” he murmured under his breath. “Efficient.”

Carmen had been on his face when the call to leave was given, trying to get a closer look at the mechanisms for delivering food, water and nitrogen to the soil. Sadly, it seemed pretty standard, likely the staff were hand feeding the plants as part of the experiment. He wiggled back out, his butt swing comically as he tried to extract himself without disturbing the plant life. Finally, he was able to straighten towards the back of the line, brushing the dirst off his suit.

“So are you testing different strains of plant, or different methods of raising the same strain?”

Rue had been intently listening to the director, looking briefly to the research assistant hopefully in case of more information. When none came but to speak to Qor, he focused back on the presentation.

“Oh…” A disappointed little mrr left him as it seemed their time was already over here. He bit his thumb in offering and brushed a hand over the plants closest to them, whispering, “Thank you for allowing me to meet you.”

They bloomed blood red, a carmine goodbye. As he trotted after Barb though, going slow as he looked for Carmen where they’d disappeared, the Jawa came up to him. He accepted the vial immediately, automatically, pausing for further instruction but receiving none but that shy giggle. Uncertain, he bowed to the Jawa and said, “Um…t-thank you, Master or Mistress or other, yes, this one shall carry this and ensure its safety?”

Rue tensed up despite the assurance that no one was being “actively harmed,” as having that disclaimer at all was rather unsettling. He tucked his tail around his waist and held the new vial close to his chest, in order to even better not touch anything.

With that, he dutifully followed Barb.

“Hello, Master, Sir,” Rue greeted politely from his spot.

Blackwood gave an apologetic shrug at Barb but continued in silence. For the most part he’d been taking mental notes at their surroundings, picking up on what had been brought up by Rue’s questions. If anything, he was surprised at how tame the first showing had been. Even accepting bloodsucking tendencies, the plants were certainly less of a homicidal nightmare than he would have expected.

Still letting Rue do the talking as he had spoken first, Blackwood gave a polite nod to the Mirialan as the new figure appeared, then made a point of looking elsewhere. A green alien lacking a tattoo was hardly the most unusual thing he’d ever seen, but there was something undeniably off about the newcomer which made him want to stare.

Carmens posture relaxed significantly, seeing that the new researcher wasn’t wearing any kind of PPE themself. He put his hands behind his head and stretched, giving off a lazy air.

“Jarring, eh? What could this be about that would jar these types? Oh, unless…” he pauses to give a small, silly chuckle, “Its literally experiments to jar something caustic? Or intelligent? A lab for containing super-intelligent vines.”

Rue perked at the thought of intelligent vines, making a little, merw.

Qor’s gaze narrowed as the hologram solidified, his tendrils coiling ever so slightly, a silent display of distaste masked as curiosity. He did not move to follow the others in the group, instead letting the echo of the Kaminoan’s words linger in the stale recycled air.

“Isolation. Emotional regulation. Loyalty.”

His voice cut through the chamber like a scalpel, soft but deliberate - measured in tone, but laced with dark gravity.

“You speak of loyalty like it is cultivated in a garden… but what I hear is a harvest of broken minds, kept in the dark until they grow twisted toward your purpose. Efficient, yes. Predictable. But predictability breeds weakness in the soul.”

Qor slowly stepped toward the skittering projector base, looking down at it with a predator’s stillness.

“You’ve turned this vessel into a crucible of silence, not strength. That kind of loyalty is brittle. It snaps when exposed to truth - or worse, to freedom.”

He tilted his head slightly, voice colder now.

“And should your experiment ever spill beyond containment… I wonder how many of your precious loyalists will remain, once they remember who they were before you reduced them to tools.”

He turned his gaze on the silent assistant, eyes narrowing.

“Speak or not. It makes no difference. The mind always leaves traces.”

Then, without waiting for permission or reply, he turned back to the group with a flick of his coat, his voice low and final.

“Let’s move on. I’ve seen enough compliance to last a lifetime.”

“I’m just here to understand this work. I’m not about to disparage something until I at least grasp the basics of your work,” Blackwood spoke up, making a token effort to play peacemaker before they moved on. Or at least hoping to make the Kaminoan forget about Qor long enough to put him back in a good mood. “Truth be told, I’ve been keeping quiet and letting the gardeners among us ask the right questions. If you want me to say I’m impressed, I genuinely am. It’s no mean feat to tinker with the genetic code of life and keep it both stable and under control. I’ve been in enough places where things have gone wrong to at least know that.”

Rue was…quiet…for the whole section so far. He’d gone still and silent as soon as isolation, loyalty, and worth ethic were mentioned, and only shrunk further with the ongoing arguments. He flinched outright when Blackwood spoke of genetic code and things gone wrong. The hybrid eased to the back of the group simply by virtue of not advancing as the others did, and only followed stiffly when he was at the rear, his new vial clutched close.

Carmen walked slowly, his face falling. Not out of concern, but just boredom. He had hoped for machinery, got a little excited for agriculture, but this whole ship was a psychology experiment? Completely uninteresting. At least Qor assuming the worst was always mildly funny to watch.

Eyes wandering as the short lived conflict ended, he noted that the big purple fellow was looking like he just watched his pet die or something. Putting his arms down, he drifted to the back of the line as well.

“You alright?” He spoke quietly enough that the kaminoian researcher would likely be drowning him out to the rest of the group, “you look like you don’t want to be here anymore, only around for the plants?”

<@244244163002892288>

Rue’s eyes barely flicking up – well, a little up – to Carmen at the address before he immediately answered, “This one is fine, Sir.” But then, a pause, and he shook his head slightly and began gnawing on his knuckles vigorously. “That is– not true. Apologies. This one was. That which we speak of here, it is difficult. This one– I am– was– an experiment myself. So to speak of the conditioning. Or creation and testing. Is unpleasant. I did indeed come specifically for plants. I am hoping to learn more of species that flourish in ammoniated environments, as my friend Gand cannot live in oxygen-based ones, and I want to give him flowers and a place to breathe. I am planning a greenhouse.”

It seemed that Carmen would discover once prodded into talking, Rue could be a rambler.

“Is Carmen only interested in the engineering you mentioned previously?”

Qor inclined his head slightly, a gesture of courtesy - nothing more.

“A reasonable expectation, Councilor,” he said smoothly. “But you misjudge me.”

He followed the group, his voice steady as footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“I do not deny that loyalty can grow from care. But fear is not the root of our discipline. The Sith value strength, purpose, clarity. We do not shackle minds - we sharpen them.”

He glanced briefly toward the sterile chamber ahead.

“I will observe. But do not mistake order for obedience, nor silence for agreement.”

And with that, he moved on.

“Not exactly the sharpest knife in the draw,” Blackwood muttered, watching Qor depart and sharing his head in disbelief. He looked back at the other two, half hearing Rue finishing his statement to Carmen and frowned. “They need ammonia? The only Gand I knew seemed fine in oxygen rich environments.”

Sidebaring quietly as they were hurried along with Barb’s enthusiasm, Rue quickly answered, “Yes, Master, Sir, my Gand requires ammonia to breathe. He must wear a respirator at all times off of his home planet. Many of their species is this way, while another subset developed lungs capable of processing oxygen.”

The hybrid looked up and around, curious.

Qor stepped into the dome with silent grace, letting the others surge forward under Barb’s cheery momentum. The moment the lights dimmed and the backup system kicked in, he paused - one step off from the group, already fading into a darker section of the chamber.

“Unfortunate timing indeed,” he murmured, tone neutral, but his eyes were already scanning the pipes, the grime-streaked glass, the conduits threading along the walls like veins.

He drifted slowly toward a side panel beneath the shadow of the machine overhead, careful not to draw attention, his gloved fingers brushing over a console’s dust-caked edge. His presence barely registered - one more figure in a crowded space dimmed by emergency light.

“A backup failure… or an opportunity.” His voice was low, meant only for himself - or for whatever surveillance might be listening.

He turned his head slightly toward the others, still smiling politely for the tour guide’s benefit.

“I’ll remain here. The design of these filtration systems might reveal something useful… assuming no one minds a closer look.”

And just like that, he was slipping further into the edges of the chamber, watching - listening - waiting.

“Damn strange how that can happen on the same damn planet,” Blackwood said, giving an amused snort of laugher but managed a genuine smile at Rue. “But we live in a strange galaxy. Thanks for the biology lesson.”

As they followed Barb into the next room, he looked at what waited them trying to make some sense of what they were looking at. “Does this happen often?” He asked their guide, before noticing Qor oozing off to do something else. He’d missed what Qor had said, but he was keeping to the shadows now and trying to stay out of sight.

Still talking with Barb, Blackwood purposefully turned and looked directly at Qor, watching him intently. The Sith’s behaviour had been downright bizarre bordering upon self-sabotaging, especially when it came to insulting the local bosses. He had the growing feeling that rendering the squid-face unconscious was going to be the only way they finished the tour without being arrested or thrown out.

“Yeah, I fancy myself and aspiring inventor, although Odan-Urr keeps me busy with too much maintenance to actually get anything of importance done,” he immediately seemed deep in thought, barely paying attention to his words.

“An ammonia greenhouse? Simplest answer would be a simple glass enclosure with a scrapped starship airlock. Shouldn’t be too hard to find, the bits aren’t anywhere near as important to salvage as warp drives or chips, so they could probably be found on more mainstream junkyards. No pressure difference, so it doesn’t need too much reinforcement. Unless… what are the atmosphere requirements for the flora?”

Carmen pauses for a second before realizing that all of that… was really none of his business.

“Ah, sorry. Yes, machinery is my thing. I was hoping for some interesting examples of ship tech, given the unique nature of this place, but the agri-tech is good to see too.”

Carmen looked to the slime before noting Blackwoods glances at Qors lurking form.

“He really does like slinking about. Think he’s up to something? You look worried.”

His voice was quiet, Qor himself thankfully far away.

<@326457564994994176>

“No no, this is incredibly helpful!” The trembling, tormented pallor that had overtaken Rue seemed to be evaporating steadily the more Carmen talked, with the topic of the greenhouse at hand. “This one hasn’t even begun to study such architecture of any sort! Would Carmen be willing to exchange the contact informations so I could ask you about it more? Uhm, I mean, if it is not much trouble. And! This one could pay, of course…”

They were watching him.

Even without turning, Qor felt the pressure—Blackwood’s wary eyes, Carmen’s idle curiosity. The others had moved on, distracted by suits and science, but those two lingered. Observing. Measuring. Distrusting.

He liked that. It meant they were smart.

The Quarren shifted his weight. Shadows pooled there—soft, deep, and perfect.

A breath.

Then the Force.

He didn’t gesture. He didn’t chant. He simply became less. A ripple of darkness, like ink vanishing into water, swallowed him whole. The Force Cloak wrapped tightly around his presence, masking warmth, sound, weight. Even his shadow softened.

Qor was gone.

<@147021450706944000> <@204034522033946625>

“Less worried and more a familiar feeling of an idiot about to drag us down with him,” Blackwood said as he kept watching Qor with an unamused expression. “You know the situation. Where a friend of yours gets drunk and suddenly thinks he can pickpocket the biggest bastard in the bar while you’re not looking. We’re already on thin ice, and I’d like for someone’s chronic sabotage disorder not to see us thrown out.”

Blackwood was about to point out what might happen if someone started to take apart science equipment on projects they didn’t understand when he realised that Qor had disappeared. It took him several moments to recognise the telltale signs of someone having just faded from reality and blended into the background; something he’d seen a friend of his do enough times before she abandoned the habit entirely.

“And he’s just turned invisible,” Blackwood added, deciding to keep a running commentary to Barb and the others. “Can’t hear him either so he’s one of the few who actually decided to learn how to sneak over just throwing about space magic. I’m willing to bet he’s not figured out the last trick most infiltrators miss though.”

Blackwood learned years ago that even the most experienced infiltrator had a habit of forgetting how they burned like a newborn star within the Force. Few remembered how to conceal themselves within its binding energies. Blackwood squinted and reached within, tapping into the Force. It was a small trickle of the eternal storm he actively kept barred and avoided drawing from, but it was enough for the occasional edge. The physical world didn’t so much bleed away as much as become overlayed with a sense of energies. A hundred thousand sparks of life in this room alone flickered into his awareness, each at the core of a person, plant, or creature there. And in among them was a roaring sun of life energies which was Qor.

“Yep, he’s still there.”

Rue, being part Kessurian and able to hear the blood moving in the bodies around him and many of the sounds from several rooms away, was deeply suffering. One wouldn’t get much hint outwardly though of it, besides his sudden stillness and bowed head.

Carmen watched the dome being cleaned, using the Force to dull his sense of hearing and dreading the revalation of what exactly all that brown sludge was. As time went on and more of it was removed, it became more and more obvious, especially with this places focus on plant life, and he didn’t come here to get elbow deep in… fertilizer.

“Well, if you can keep track of him you should be able to keep him out of trouble, right? Afraid I can’t help much in that regard,” he stopped for a moment, scratching his chin, “ehh… nor would I want to, really. Not my wheelhouse.”

He spared a look at Rue, now seeming to be focusing inward. Maybe he was doing the same thing? No matter, exchanging contacts could probably wait till the end, whether from the end of the tour or getting booted because of Qors shenanigans.

<@326457564994994176> <@244244163002892288>

Rue was still as the cleaning got further and further, though he did muster enough to say to the Trandoshan, spying his upset, “It is okay, you are wonderful, thank you Sir for allowing us here.”

“I don’t envy his job,” Blackwood said eventually, lost for words and much of his hearing from the work going on above. He tried to speak twice to Carmen and, after realising neither could hear the other without yelling, stepped over to him, leaning over to whisper loudly “If you’re worried about me keeping an eye on him, I can probably watch him for a while at least. I’m just worried about him pulling something stupid and getting us all thrown out after than a bar on closing hour.”

With a slow, deliberate breath, he let the veil of the Force unravel. The sensation peeled off him like dew evaporating in morning light. No dramatics, no grand reveal—just a quiet reappearance, as if he’d been standing there all along and everyone else had blinked.

The borrowed lab coat draped over Qor’s narrow shoulders didn’t quite fit—too long in the sleeves, and it carried the scent of sterile plastics and cold tea. He made no move to adjust it, letting it hang like a ceremonial shroud as he stood at the edge of the glass dome.

Outside, the brown muck clinging to the glass shifted under the assault of the cleaner crew. A long squeegee passed first, carving uneven lines through the grime. Then came a hammer—rattling against the outer hull with a metallic impatience, as though annoyed by the stubborn dirt. Finally, a narrow, weighted brush plowed the mess in thick, smeared arcs, turning clarity into chaos. The result was worse than before, and Qor watched it unfold with the ghost of a smirk.

His eyes drifted, taking in the others. Rue stood still and quiet, her Kessurian head bowed in either reverence or thought. Qor tilted his head slightly—she was rarely silent, which made the moment all the more curious.

Further along, he caught the tail end of hushed conversation between Nikora and Carmen. Their tones were too soft, too deliberate, muted in the chaos. One didn’t need the Force to guess when they were being watched. He met their gaze briefly, offering nothing in return but the stillness of a statue, then turned away.

Enough.

He stepped forward without a word, boots tapping softly on the polished floor as the Twi’lek guide’s voice echoed gently through the dome, beckoning the group to remain calm.

Qor fell into step, hands folding neatly behind his back, the lab coat billowing faintly with each measured stride. Let them whisper. Let them watch.

He had seen what he needed.

“Really? Damn,” Blackwood said, trying his best to convey his genuine disappointment over the noises of the Trandoshan. “Well Barb, thanks at least for showing us this much before things went wrong. Glad we at least saw this much.”

After a moment it dawned on him that Qor had rejoined them, acting in his needlessly enigmatic manner. Blackwood gave the Quarren a meaningful look and then at the others, before looking back at Barb. “It definitely was something one of us did, was it?”

<@348547724628721695>

“Oh!” Despite the pain he’d been in from the loud screeching, Rue skittered forward as far as he could to look at the mounds and irrigation systems, immediately overjoyed again at the idea of flora – yes, ✨ MOAR PLANTS ✨ – and looking like he might try to climb the round glass dome like a spider if only he could look closer. “Lack of gravity? Different levels? With or without atmosphere? What sorts of gasses? How do you contain the root systems and moisture –”

Such in his rambling he almost missed Barb’s bad news, and all that excitement promptly deflated.

“B-but…oh.”

Ever obedient, the hybrid looked over his shoulder at the scene and the Trandoshan as he trudged back towards the others, shoulders and tail slumped and a grieving expression on his face. Nonetheless, he was quick to be grateful.

“Thank you, Sir,” that to the Trandoshan, and then, “Thank you, Mistress Barb, you were incredible.”

Carmen sighs as everyone begins to hustle through the short walk they had come through, though he certainly wasn’t lagging.

“Ooooof cooooourse we can’t even last half an hour. At least it isn’t Mister Spooky, if we aren’t being detained…”

He modulated his speed to better fit between Rue and Blackwood, “don’t vanish after this is done, by the way, I’m not planning on letting my day end like this. Come with me and I’ll buy!”

The last was said with a tilt and a grin, making the concept of free food, or entertainment or… whatever he had planned sound a bit more enticing.

“Okay!” Rue called back, not really knowing what he was agreeing to but agreeing nonetheless. More time with Carmen would mean more talk of sciences and engineering and possible greenhouse design.

“Yes to the company, no to the paying,” Blackwood answered Carmen. “No offense, personal policy to cover my own expenses unless it’s a friend or someone exceptionally rich and good willed.” He slowed his stride sightly to keep pace with the others, turning back periodically in the hope he might catch sight of what had caused the chaos. “Damn shame this was cut short though, but perhaps we’ll get another chance next week.”

Rue was quick to gather his things and do as told, though he saw no ditch which to put the masks in. As it seemed others were simply throwing them anywhere, he followed suit and scrambled to exit as well, though he was on the look out for anyone struggling in or hurt in the trample of bodies.

His gifted vial was kept safe, and the message and new plant friend that awaited would be well nourished and studied.

“Happy to do so,” Blackwood said as he removed his mask. Calm in spite of the chaos, he tossed it inside and in one easy motion scooped up the items he had left within it. Bundling them as a makeshift parcel under one arm, Blackwood sprinted off toward the ship’s exit, retracing the steps they had taken only a short time before. .

Carmen slid up to his locker with Bebe sitting in low power right next to it. He pulled out her arm and clicked it into place, reholstering his lightsaber and sliding on his vambraces as he gave commands.

“Alright Bebe, power on, security code green. Mark secondary priority wards as subjects in proximity for… let’s say twelve hours.”

He frowned for a second and leaned back to look down the lockers, “Hey Qor! You want in on the afterparty? Only stipulation is no stabbing!”

<@204034522033946625>

Qor raised a brow ridge, his tentacles twitching with mock offense as he slid one of his sith daggers into a hidden sheath under his coat.

“No stabbing? Hmph. There goes my entire conversational strategy.”

He gave a low chuckle, then nodded once, adjusting the collar of his coat with a flare of dramatic elegance.

“But fine. I’ll behave… socially acceptable adjacent.” He tapped his chronometer. “Mark me present, good sir.”

He strolled over, voice lowered just for Carmen, “Only because you asked nicely. And because I enjoy observing the biological collapse of people who can’t hold their liquor.”

As the ship’s ramp hissed open, Qor descended with a smooth, practiced gait, his coat catching the breeze like a banner of controlled chaos. BB-0Q rolled beside him, softly chirping diagnostics, their eye flashing green in approval.

“Let’s go pretend I’m likeable,” Qor muttered, tightening his gloves with a dry smirk. “And you - no ankle monitors on anyone unless they deserve it.”

BB-0Q beeped affirmatively.

Carmen chuckles lightly, “right then, add one more secondary priority, Bebe. We’re moving out.”

The hulking super battle droid straightened with a surprisingly humanoid voice, only the grainyness of the droid line sounding familiar.

“Hooray! New friends! My name is Bebe, because I am a B2 unit and Carmen has no originality! I would ask your names, but a low level security advisory has been issued. Please accompany us to the nearest exit/window/blast hole in a wall!”

Rue gave an excited mrr*kekeke* as the lot of them abandoned ship – not that he knew the idiom like his author did – upon hearing Bebe’s introduction. He adjusted his steps to be closer to the droid so as to not shout to be heard over the noise, as one such as itself raising his voice so was sinful– or, no, that was not supposed to be his reason anymore. It was that it was rude on the Outside. Yes.

“Greetings and Blessed Night, Matter Bebe !” he exclaimed, tail flicking. “This one is very glad to meet you, it has only gotten to meet one other droid Sir that spoke and does not yet understand the Binary to an acceptable extent to converse with its other droid friends, Gonkles and Vox. If Sir does not prefer its name, this one is told that choosing a name is an acceptable social norm, and also, has studied the legal processes for such on the planet of Selen,” he rambled on, seemingly not needing to breathe given the running and fleeing.

Bebe moved with heavy steps, obviously on alert, although she did not raise her arm in the classic battle ready stance.

“Well, I am not a legaly living creature, so I don’t think I need legal processes to change my designation. Thank you for the concern, though!”

Carmen stepped up beside his droid, carefully eyeing some part on her chest and fiddling with his legion eye.

“I wouldn’t get too used to talking, I installed a more powerful brain a few weeks ago and she has been blowing vocal units constantly. I can’t tell if it’s overloads or just because she uses the extra brainpower to talk more.”

Bebe lets out a grinding chuckle before stepping to the side to let the fragile mortals through first.

“I suppose we can gather more data tonight, yes?”