Episode 47 - The Phantom Menace
Stardate: 4 2 0 0 6.3
Earth Standard Date: January 03, 2365.
Location: Personal Reality
Tyson sat at the edge of the dragonspire steps leading up to the Jedi Temple within the Personal Reality. The Mediterranean waves lapped against the coastline in a rhythm that should have been soothing, but nothing about it helped. Empress Troi had returned to her reality after finally having felt some improvement after Ian's death. Starfleet was searching for him after discovering he was an Augment, and he'd crashed Data's trial. The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd saved the ship and the crew several times, and now they treated him like a threat.
He was thinking of using the temple's systems to recreate a simulacrum of Revan and battle something stronger than he was. Maybe getting his ass kicked by a Sith Lord would improve his mood, or at least give him something productive to do with his anger.
A flash of light, and Q appeared in his typical dramatic fashion, materializing with arms spread wide and a grin.
"Why so glum, chum?"
Tyson didn't look up from the waves. "Not in the mood, Q."
"Oh, but you're always in such a delightful mood," Q said, settling onto the steps beside him. "Let me guess. The mortals are being ungrateful again? Shocking development, truly."
"They think I'm dangerous."
"Well, you are. Deliciously so. That's what makes you interesting."
Tyson finally turned to face the omnipotent being. "Did you come here for a reason, or just to enjoy the scenery?"
"Actually, your performance in that kangaroo courtroom was inspiring. I came to cheer you up. You've been positively moping."
"I'm fine."
"Oh yes, sitting alone on temple steps contemplating violence against a dead Sith Lord. The very picture of mental health." Q snapped his fingers, and a comfortable chair appeared beneath him. "I have a proposition for you."
Tyson looked at him. "What lesson am I supposed to learn, or what power do you want me to gain that's going to be useful for some unknown future threat?"
Q waved off his concern. "Nothing like that this time. You were a good little soldier the last time I needed you to fight. This one will be just for fun."
"Your idea of fun isn't always the same as mine."
"It is this time. Well, probably." Q leaned forward conspiratorially. "Think of it as... a vacation. A chance to stretch your legs in a different playground."
Tyson tried not to be interested. But failed.
"What kind of fun?"
Q's grin returned full force. He snapped his fingers.
In a flash, a message began scrolling through Tyson's HUD, bottom to top in that iconic style, accompanied by the unmistakable opening notes of John Williams' score.
Turmoil has engulfed the
Galactic Republic. The taxation
of trade routes to outlying star
systems is in dispute.
Hoping to resolve the matter
with a blockade of deadly
battleships, the greedy Trade
Federation has stopped all
shipping to the small planet
of Naboo.
While the congress of the
Republic endlessly debates
this alarming chain of events,
the Supreme Chancellor has
secretly dispatched two Jedi
Knights, the guardians of
peace and justice in the
galaxy, to settle the conflict....
Now, a new element has entered
the story, the presence and
actions of which could alter the
events of this entire saga.
Tyson stared at the scrolling text. "The Phantom Menace? Seriously?"
"Though I suspect your presence will make it considerably less menacing and significantly more interesting."
"You want me to interfere with the prequels?"
Q clapped his hands together with delight. "Oh, the possibilities! You could prevent Anakin's fall, save the Jedi Order, maybe even give Jar Jar some actual character development. Though that last one might be beyond even your considerable abilities, I'm sure we could find a way to spice him up."
The first real smile Tyson had managed in days crept across his face. "That's... actually tempting."
"I thought it might be. No cosmic threats to your reality, no lessons about the nature of existence, no tests of character. Just you, and a galaxy far, far away."
The next screen to appear was one for him to select a new Origin.
Choose your Origin:
Outsider
Senator
Assistant
Mentor
Young Hero
Threat
He chose Young Hero. He had enough negative Origins with Space Pirate and Bad Guy; maybe this would help balance him out.
[Free (Discounted)] In A Desert, With A Box Of Scraps (Perk)
You are able to build advanced tech like intelligent robots or a customized Podracer with less-than-ideal components, even in environments that could cause problems. As a certain prodigy might tell you, sand gets everywhere.
[Free (Discounted)] I Have A Bad Feeling About This (Perk)
You have a surprisingly accurate instinct for when things are about to go wrong. This doesn't come with a built-in ability to persuade others to trust your feelings.
[Free (Discounted)] Wise Teacher (Companion)
Somebody noticed your talent and decided they could bring out your potential. Though they are getting on in years, they have a lifetime of experience they are willing to share with you, teaching you from their own hard-earned lessons. They are quite a skilled tutor, capable of adjusting their style to suit you best. Even if you have capabilities they do not, there is a good chance their experiences have taught them some way you can use or refine them in ways that would take you a while to figure out on your own.
Tyson had been low on Character Points for a long time. He scrolled through the Drawbacks, thinking this might be a good time to take a few and pick up some spare CP.
[+400 CP] Anomaly (Drawback)
You are not from around here, and it's noticeable. Your presence is a notable distortion in the Force that those sensitive to it will notice. The Jedi Council will find you suspicious, it will attract the interest of the Sith, and other sensitives may find your presence unnerving.
That one was practically inevitable given his nature. Might as well get paid for it.
[+400 CP] Watto Property? (Drawback)
You are now a slave owned by Watto on Tatooine, much like the Skywalkers. There is something in place to stop you from leaving easily, some manner of explosive implant, that even a prodigy like Anakin didn't seem able or willing to try getting out of it with the tools they had if this was the case. Maybe you can take matters into your own hands, or you'd prefer to play it safe and wait till the opportunity for someone to free you.
Tyson grimaced at that one. Slavery wasn't something he took lightly, neither was the potential of an explosive implant. But it would put him right where the action was. And there were ways around the implant.
Character Points: 1150
Now that he had some Character Points to work with, Tyson opened up the Perk options. He only purchased one.
[-400 CP] Chosen Second (Perk)
Little Ani is not the only Chosen One anymore. Mainly because you chose this option, hence the name. You have the potential to change the entire universe with your actions, not only due to your vast potential capabilities but also your inherent ability to alter things on a grand scale. You get a sense of when things can change, points at which actions could lead to vastly different futures, though you may need other abilities to determine the long-term effects of your actions, and perhaps other Perks to definitively avert fixed fates or lock others in place. Exactly what your choices will be at these pivotal moments is obscured, with prophesies limited to explanations as vague as "bring balance" rather than stating when or how. This Perk also functions as an uncapper that can eventually bring your abilities to the level expected of a 'Chosen One' that prophesies would be made of.
Character Points: 750
Q said, "Oh my." He was watching with obvious amusement as Tyson made his selections. "Oh, this is going to be delicious. A slave, noticeable as an Anomaly in the Force. But also the Chosen Second. A good choice, since it gives you a stronger connection to the Force, for an inexpensive option. I love it."
"You seem awfully entertained by my potential suffering," Tyson said, pleased despite some questionable choices. Chosen Second, combined with Wise Mentor filled a gap he was missing. His Force ability was lacking. He'd been making it up with Items and Perks, but the fact remained that he was a pretty mediocre Jedi. And he hadn't found someone great to teach him.
"Oh, please. You've faced down Revan, and have battled Q. A little desert slavery, and Sith scheming should be a pleasant change of pace." Q leaned back in his chair, conjuring a bowl of popcorn. "But I am curious about your reasoning. The Watto Property? drawback seems particularly masochistic, even for you."
"Being a slave puts me exactly where I need to be. On Tatooine with Anakin and his mother. As for the explosive implant..." He shrugged. "I've got options."
"And attracting the attention of every Force-sensitive in the galaxy?"
"That was going to happen anyway, the first time I opened a portal. I'd draw attention anyway. Might as well get paid for it." Tyson pulled up the perk description again. "Besides, being noticeable cuts both ways. The Jedi will be suspicious, but they'll also be curious. And if I can prove myself."
Q nodded appreciatively. "Clever. And the Chosen Second perk?"
"It means my abilities can grow to literally prophetic levels. And more importantly, it gives me a sense of when I can actually change things."
Q clapped slowly. "You've essentially bought yourself the ability to rewrite destiny, positioned yourself at the center of the action, and ensured that all the major players will know you exist."
"That's the idea." Tyson closed the interface. "Though I have to ask. Why this particular universe? Why now?"
Q went quiet for a moment. "This is a chance to be the hero you want to be, in a story where the stakes are clear, and the villains wear black."
"And if I mess it up?"
"Then you'll have given me another interesting version of the prequel trilogy to enjoy." Q's grin returned. "Though somehow, I doubt you'll mess it up. You have a talent for exceeding expectations."
Just as Q raised his hand to snap his fingers, another flash of light appeared.
Lady Q materialized beside them. Her smile was all mischief, and every bit as dangerous as her male counterpart's.
Q turned on her with obvious annoyance. "Q, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, just having a little fun with the boys," she replied airily. "You didn't think you'd get to play with the interesting mortal all by yourself, did you?"
"This is my game."
"And now it's our game." She snapped her fingers before Q could protest further.
Another notification appeared in Tyson's HUD.
Drawbacks Added!
[+50 CP] Double-Decker (Drawback)
One at a time? YAWN, what a snooze! Instead, the setting will be mashed into another. Metaphysics, villains, locations, and everything else will be fused into one mostly cohesive whole.
[+100 CP] It's The Little Things That Matter (Drawback)
Somehow, a few minor things about the setting you're jumping to have changed. What things? Hard to say, exactly. The MC might be gender-swapped, a different person might be the traitor, and someone important might have a different motivation. This won't be anything significant, but it will be just enough that your knowledge of canon events will be a little less helpful and a little skewed.
[+200 CP] Plague of Butterflies (Drawback)
Your presence prevents the canon solutions to the plot from working. If you don't intervene and come up with a new solution, expect the villains to win and the heroes to die.
[+800 CP] The Sith Lords (Drawback)
Several Sith believe themselves to be the true inheritors of the title, The Sith Lord, and consequently seek to kill off the competition, along with the Jedi. As the former apprentice to Darth Malak, they will regard you as either a powerful threat, a rival, or a useful tool. The Sith will do everything they can to ensure you are not a problem for their plans, or those of their Apprentices. They are going to wait until you are out of the picture or permanently a servant of theirs before they let their guard down, so they could stick around for much longer than they did in canon. There are nine between Masters and apprentices seeking to rule, and you must either kill, control them, or turn them all from the Darkside.
Character Points: 1900
Tyson stared at the new Drawbacks with growing concern. "Whoa, hold on there, this wasn't what I planned for.
"What are you doing?" Q asked.
Lady Q's smile widened. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough."
"What's the second universe?" Tyson asked, as he had a sinking feeling this wasn't going to go as smoothly as he planned.
"Now, where would be the fun in telling you that?" Lady Q laughed. "Discovery is half the adventure, don't you think?"
She snapped her fingers, and Tyson disappeared in a flash of white light.
Q and Lady Q exchanged a look. Then Q shrugged theatrically.
"Oh, very well. But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."
"When has anything I've done ever gone sideways?" Lady Q asked with perfect innocence.
"Do you want the chronological list or the alphabetical one?"
Lady Q said, "Don't be so dramatic." And she snapped her fingers, disappearing in a flash.
Q was left alone. "I'm the dramatic one?" he asked the empty cliffside. But there was a mischievous smile on his face, like everything was going to plan.
The white light faded, and Tyson found himself floating in an endless void of stars. But this wasn't the cold emptiness of space. It was warm, alive, pulsing with an energy that saturated everything. The Force. He could feel it more clearly than ever before, as if Chosen Second had opened new channels of perception.
Then the vision began.
Golden text materialized in the star field before Tyson, scrolling upward in that familiar, stately pace while the sweeping orchestral theme filled the void around him.
A long time ago in a galaxy far,
far away....
EPISODE I
THE PHANTOM MENACE
The taxation of trade routes
to outlying star systems
is in dispute.
The greedy Trade Federation
has stopped all shipping
to the small planet of Naboo.
But darker forces move
in the shadows. The scattered
remnants of the Sith Empire,
broken after the deaths of
Revan and Malak, have found
a new leader.
A mysterious Dark Lord
has begun uniting the
surviving Sith under one
banner, while the Republic
remains unaware of the
growing threat.
Meanwhile, the Ebon Hawk
is adrift in space after a terrible battle,
most of its crew are dead or dying...
The text faded into the distance, and Tyson was pulled into a vision; a scene that was halfway between him being there and watching it like a movie. He was still floating in space, but now staring at a familiar ship, the Ebon Hawk. But something was wrong. Sparks and a vapor trail flew from the damaged hull. The ship was adrift in an asteroid field.
The scene shifted, and Tyson found himself on a dark world. Sith architecture rose from barren ground, pyramids and obelisks covered in hieroglyphs. At the center of it all stood a massive temple, its entrance guarded by statues of long-dead Sith Lords.
Inside the temple, a figure knelt, hooded cloak obscuring their identity.
The vision shifted again, and Tyson found himself aboard a starship. The elegant curves and chrome finish marked it as a vessel from Naboo, but the ship was clearly damaged. Scorch marks marred its hull, and one of its engines sputtered intermittently. On the bridge, two figures in brown Jedi robes stood over a holographic display. The older of the two, a man with long hair and a beard, gestured at the star chart, frustrated.
"The hyperdrive is completely shot, Obi-Wan," he said. "We're lucky we made it out of the Naboo system at all."
The younger Jedi, barely more than a Padawan by his appearance, studied the display intently. "What about Coruscant, Master Qui-Gon? Surely we could reach the capital on sublight engines."
Qui-Gon Jinn shook his head. "It would take months, and we don't have the supplies. No, we need to find somewhere closer to make repairs." His finger traced a path on the star chart. "Here. Tatooine. It's controlled by the Hutts, outside Republic jurisdiction, but we might be able to find the parts we need."
Behind them, a young woman in elaborate royal dress watched the exchange with barely concealed worry. Queen Amidala of Naboo's fear was plain. Her people, her planet, her future, all of it hanging on two Jedi and a broken ship.
"Your Highness," Qui-Gon said, turning to address her. "I know this isn't what we planned, but Tatooine may be our only option."
"Do what you must, Master Jedi," Amidala replied. "My people are counting on us."
The vision began to fade, the images dissolved back into the star field, and Tyson felt the Force flowing through him with new intensity. Chosen Second opened up something in his perception that hadn't been there before. He could sense the threads of destiny stretching out before him, fragile and malleable.
But he could also sense something else. A presence watching him through the Force. Patient, and utterly malevolent. Somewhere in the galaxy, a Sith Lord had felt his arrival.
No.
It was more than one presence. Several, light and dark alike. All turned as one and looked to the sky, as if they could see him hovering in space.
The vision ended, and Tyson found himself standing on hot sand under twin suns, the weight of a slave collar around his neck.
Tyson blinked in the harsh glare of Tatooine's twin suns. "Lady Q rolled The Phantom Menace into the KOTOR universe?" he mumbled, trying to process what he'd seen in the vision. "How does that even work?"
If the Sith Empire's remnants were still active, if Atton and the Ebon Hawk were lost, and the Phantom Menace's events and people were rolled in, the galaxy's political landscape was completely different from what he'd expected. The Trade Federation's blockade of Naboo was just the surface layer of a much deeper plot.
Before he could consider it further, the buzz of wings announced an approaching presence. Watto came flying up from behind a pile of scrap metal.
"Eh! What are you doing standing around like a bantha in the sun?" the Toydarian demanded. "You think I pay you to daydream? Hah! I don't pay you at all!"
Watto's laugh was as grating as in the movies, a harsh cackle that was both amused and annoyed at the same time. His bulbous nose twitched as he gestured wildly with one stubby arm.
"The moisture vaporators in Section C are making that grinding noise again. Customers complain, complain, complain! 'Watto, your equipment sounds like a dying dewback!' they say. Bad for business, very bad." He jabbed a finger toward Tyson's chest. "You fix them. Now! And don't tell me you need parts, because I know you can make miracles happen with junk."
"I'll take a look at them," Tyson said. In A Desert, With A Box Of Scraps wasn't just about building advanced technology; it was about understanding how systems worked, how they could be improved or repaired with whatever materials were available.
"You'll do more than look! You'll fix! And no shortcuts this time. I want them running as smooth as Corellian silk."
The Toydarian flew off toward his office, muttering in Huttese about lazy slaves and ungrateful customers. Tyson made his way to Section C, weaving between towering piles of salvaged starship parts, broken droids, and equipment of questionable origin.
The moisture vaporators were indeed making an awful grinding noise. Tyson knelt beside the nearest unit and popped open the maintenance panel. The internal components were a mess of jury-rigged repairs and mismatched parts.
As he studied the mechanism, the new Perk kicked in fully. He could see not just what was wrong, but how to fix it with the materials at hand. A broken hydrospanner could be reshaped into a custom bearing. Strips of metal from a discarded pod racer engine nearby could be fashioned into replacement seals.
Tyson lost himself in the work as he disassembled, repaired, and rebuilt the vaporator's collection system. The grinding noise was replaced by the smooth hum of properly functioning machinery. He moved to the next unit, then the next.
By the time he finished the last vaporator, the twin suns had shifted noticeably across the sky, but all six units were running better than they probably had since they were first installed.
Watto appeared as if summoned by the sudden quiet, his wings carrying him in a lazy circle around the repaired equipment. He pressed his ear to each vaporator in turn, listening to the steady hum with obvious satisfaction.
"Hah! Good, very good!" The Toydarian's mood had improved considerably. "You see? I told you that you could make miracles. Now they sound like new, maybe better than new." He rubbed his hands together, practically giddy. "Customers will be happy, business will be good."
Watto hovered in place for a moment, studying Tyson with shrewd eyes. "You did good work today, very good. Now, come back to the shop."
— Star Jumper —
They made their way back to the main shop. The Toydarian's mood had definitely improved, and he gestured toward a corner of the shop where various broken droids sat in different states of disrepair.
"Since you're feeling so clever today," Watto said, hovering near a particularly battered protocol droid, "maybe you can work some magic on this piece of junk. The customer brought it in months ago, but never came back for it. Been taking up space ever since."
The droid was in rough shape, its golden plating tarnished and dented, one arm hung at an odd angle, and its photoreceptors were dark.
"What's wrong with it?" Tyson asked, already mentally cataloging the spare parts scattered around the shop that could be repurposed.
"Everything!" Watto cackled. "Power coupling's fried, motivator's shot, and the personality matrix keeps cycling between Basic and some obscure dialect from the Outer Rim. Drives customers crazy when it starts babbling in languages nobody understands."
Tyson nodded, his new Perk already showing him the solution. A power coupling from that old astromech unit could be modified to fit. The motivator from a junked labor droid would work with some rewiring. As for the personality matrix, that was just a matter of cleaning corrupted data pathways. He set to work, pulling components from various sources around the shop. Watto watched with growing interest as Tyson's hands moved quickly, making connections that shouldn't work.
Voices from outside had Watto's head snapping up. "Customers!" he announced, flying toward the shop's entrance. "You keep working on that droid. Don't stop until it's fixed."
The shop door slid open with a mechanical wheeze, and four figures entered. Tyson recognized them immediately, though he didn't let his face show it as he continued working on the droid's arm assembly.
A tall man in brown Jedi robes led the group, his long hair and beard marking him unmistakably as Qui-Gon Jinn. Behind him came an awkward Gungan whose distinctive eye stalks and floppy ears could only belong to Jar Jar Binks. A young woman in simple travel clothes followed, her face partially hidden by a hood, but enough showed to recognize Padmé Amidala despite her disguise as a handmaiden. An astromech droid rolled along beside them, its blue and white dome swiveling as it took in the cluttered shop.
Watto flew directly to the newcomers, his wings beating rapidly as he sized up potential customers.
"Good day to you," he said in accented Basic. "What do you want?"
Qui-Gon stepped to the front of the group. "I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian."
"Ah, yes! Nubian," Watto replied, perking up at the prospect of a profitable sale. "We have lots of that." Then, He switched to Huttese, calling toward the back of the shop, "Boy, get in here now!"
"My droid has a readout of what I need," Qui-Gon continued, gesturing toward R2-D2.
The sound of running footsteps announced Anakin's arrival. The nine-year-old boy skidded to a halt near the counter, slightly out of breath. Watto raised his hand in a gesture that made Anakin flinch instinctively.
"What took you so long?" Watto demanded in Huttese.
"I was cleaning the fan switches," Anakin replied in the same language.
"Watch the store. I've got some selling to do." Watto switched back to Basic as he addressed Qui-Gon. "So, let me take thee out back, huh? We'll find what you need."
R2-D2 beeped acknowledgment and rolled after Qui-Gon and Watto as they headed toward the junkyard, leaving Jar Jar, Padmé, and Anakin in the main shop. Tyson finished installing the droid's repaired motivator and looked up as the group began exploring the cluttered space.
Jar Jar picked up a small mechanical device, turning it over in his hands as he tried to determine its function. The gizmo made a soft humming sound, and small lights began blinking along its surface.
Qui-Gon quickly took the device from his hands and placed it back on the shelf. "Don't touch anything."
Jar Jar made a face at Qui-Gon as he left, sticking out his long tongue. Anakin had positioned himself on the counter, ostensibly cleaning a small engine component, but his attention was entirely on Padmé. He was staring at her with unguarded wonder.
"Are you an angel?" he asked suddenly.
"What?"
She took a step closer. "What did you say?"
"An angel," Anakin continued, earnest in the way only children could manage. "I heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They're the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They live on the moons of Iego, I think."
"Smooth, kid," Tyson commented from his position near the protocol droid, earning a small smile from Padmé.
"You're a funny little boy," she said to Anakin. "How do you know so much?"
"I listen to all the traders and star pilots who come through here," Anakin replied proudly. "I'm a pilot, you know, and someday I'm gonna fly away from this place."
"You're a pilot?" Padmé sounded gently skeptical, but curious.
"Mm-hmm. All my life."
"How long have you been here?"
"Since I was very little. Three, I think. My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us betting on the Podraces."
"You're a slave?"
"I'm a person. And my name is Anakin."
"I'm sorry." Padmé looked around the shop with new eyes, as if seeing it for the first time.
Her gaze settled on Tyson, who was now testing the protocol droid's newly repaired joints. "Are you a slave too?"
"It's a temporary state of being," Tyson replied, not looking up from his work. Though he responded to Padmé, his thoughts were on Anakin.
This was the kid who'd grow up to choke officers with a thought, who'd burn alive on a lava bank, who'd spend two decades as the Emperor's enforcer. And right now, at nine years old, his biggest act of rebellion was insisting he had a name. Tyson kept his hands moving on the droid's motivator housing because if he stopped, he'd have to reckon with what he was really feeling.
He should keep this kid and his mother as far from the Jedi Order as possible.
"I don't fully understand. This is a strange place to me." Padmé moved closer, studying his face. "You seem confident about that."
Tyson looked up, noting the intelligence behind her disguise. "I've got an explosive implant keeping me here. It's only a matter of time until I get it out, then there's nothing holding me back."
"That's a rather optimistic way to look at slavery," Padmé said, more curious than judgmental. "Most people in your situation might be more... resigned to their fate."
"Resignation never fixed anything. Sometimes you have to believe things can change before they actually do."
Padmé tilted her head slightly. "You speak like someone who's seen more of the galaxy than this junkyard."
"Everyone's got a story," Tyson replied with a slight smile. "What about you? You don't exactly look like you belong on Tatooine either."
Before Padmé could respond, Jar Jar's voice interrupted their conversation.
"Where, wheres yousa goin'?"
The Gungan had apparently activated some kind of small droid, which had suddenly sprouted legs and arms and was now marching around the shop, knocking over carefully arranged displays of parts. Jar Jar held onto the device but seemed unable to control its erratic movement.
"I got ya," Jar Jar declared as he collapsed to the floor, still gripping the rampaging droid.
"Hey! Hit the nose," Anakin called out, jumping down from the counter.
"What?"
Jar Jar followed the boy's advice, pressing the droid's nose mechanism. The device immediately collapsed back into its original compact form, and Jar Jar's distinctive laugh filled the shop as he realized what had happened.
"I wouldn't have lasted long anyway if I wasn't so good at building things," Anakin said. He gestured around the cluttered shop. "Watto keeps me because I can fix what other people break."
Jar Jar wandered to a collection of small mechanical components arranged on a nearby shelf. His large hands scooped up several pieces, and he began tossing them into the air in an attempt at juggling. The first few tosses went reasonably well, but the situation quickly deteriorated.
"Whoa, whoa!" Jar Jar's arms flailed as he tried to catch the falling components. The Gungan's distinctive panic sounds filled the shop as he scrambled to keep the juggling act going, but physics and coordination were working against him. Parts bounced off his head, ricocheted off the walls, and scattered across the floor.
"Mesa sorry, mesa sorry!"
Tyson watched the Gungan scramble across the floor on all fours, scooping up scattered components while somehow managing to step on his own ears.
Something didn't add up.
He replayed the last few seconds in his mind. When Jar Jar had first picked up those components, his hands had moved casually, fingers spacing themselves perfectly for the weight distribution. The first three tosses had been clean, rhythmic, almost practiced. Then the whole thing had collapsed into slapstick chaos, but the way it collapsed...
A component had bounced off Jar Jar's head at exactly the right angle to ricochet into a bin of soft rags instead of shattering on the stone floor. His flailing arms had somehow swept a row of fragile glass containers away from the shelf edge rather than off it. And that stumble just now, the one that sent him sprawling, had conveniently knocked him into the path of a rolling thermal detonator casing before it could reach the door and tumble into the street.
Every piece of clumsiness had a secondary effect that was quietly, almost invisibly useful.
Tyson looked at Jar Jar, who was now apologizing profusely to Anakin while holding up a dented but intact motivator housing like a peace offering. The Gungan's face was pure embarrassment.
It was the most perfect incompetence Tyson had ever seen. So perfect that it circled back around to being suspicious. Nobody was that consistently lucky by accident.
The shop door slid open, and Qui-Gon commanded, "We're leaving. Jar Jar."
Jar Jar finally gave up. He looked up at Qui-Gon with sheepish embarrassment, his ear flaps drooping slightly.
"Okee day, Boss," Jar Jar said, stepping carefully around the scattered components.
Padmé moved toward the shop entrance, then paused to look back at Anakin. She smiled, small but real.
"I'm glad to have met you, Anakin," she said. Then her gaze shifted to Tyson, who was still working on the protocol droid. "And you..."
"Tyson," he supplied.
Padmé nodded, committing the name to memory. Something in the way she looked at him said this wasn't just politeness.
As the group began to file out of the shop, Anakin's face fell. He stared after Padmé's retreating form. "I was glad to meet you, too," he called after her.
Qui-Gon had been moving toward the exit when something made him stop. He turned slowly, his focus locking onto Tyson with sudden sharpness, as if he'd just placed something that had been bothering him since he walked in.
The Force signature was unmistakable now that he was close enough to sense it clearly. This was the Anomaly he'd felt rippling through the Force, the disturbance that had caught his attention even from orbit. But seeing the source raised more questions than it answered.
"How long have you been on Tatooine?" Qui-Gon asked, probing.
"Not long," Tyson replied.
"And before that?"
"Somewhere else," he answered enigmatically. Tyson's hands continued adjusting the droid's motivator housing. "I travel a lot."
Qui-Gon studied him for a long moment. The Force was telling him this mattered, that threads were converging here, but the mission couldn't wait.
"I see," Qui-Gon said finally. He gave Tyson one last measuring look before turning to follow his companions.
The group headed out of the junk shop. Jar Jar brought up the rear, pausing at the doorway as if uncertain which direction to go. He started to head left, then caught sight of his companions moving right and quickly corrected course, his ungainly gait carrying him after them.
Watto flew back into the shop moments later, wings buzzing irritably. He surveyed the scattered components that Jar Jar had left behind and shook his head in disgust.
"Outlanders," he muttered in Huttese, dripping disdain. "They think we know nothing."
Anakin began gathering up the fallen parts, sorting them. "They seemed nice to me," he replied in the same language.
Watto's bulbous eyes fixed on the boy with mild exasperation. "Clean the racks," he ordered. "Then you can go home."
"Yippee!" Anakin's mood immediately brightened at the prospect of early dismissal.
Watto hovered near Tyson, studying the nearly completed protocol droid repairs with approval. "Take Tyson with you," he told Anakin. "Make sure he's safe through the storm. He might be as good at building and fixing as you are."
— Star Jumper —
The narrow alley provided some shelter from Tatooine's twin suns, but the shadows offered little relief from the heat. Qui-Gon pressed his back against the stone wall as he activated his comlink.
"Obi-Wan."
"Master," came the immediate reply. "Any luck with the parts?"
Qui-Gon glanced toward the mouth of the alley where Padmé, Jar Jar, and R2-D2 waited in the shade of a building. "The situation is more complicated than we anticipated. The dealer won't accept Republic credits, and the parts we need are expensive. Tell me, are you certain there's nothing left on board we could use for trade?"
"I've been through the ship twice, Master. A few containers of supplies remain. The Queen's wardrobe, perhaps, but nothing substantial enough for the kind of bartering you're describing."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly. Without a working hyperdrive, they were stranded on this backwater world, vulnerable to discovery by Trade Federation forces. The Queen's safety depended on their ability to reach Coruscant, but every hour of delay increased the risk of capture.
"All right," he said finally. "I'm sure another solution will present itself. I'll check back later."
"Understood, Master. May the Force be with you."
The comlink went silent, and Qui-Gon clipped it back to his belt. He stood for a moment in the alley's relative quiet, reaching out through the Force for guidance. Something about this place pulled at him in ways he didn't fully understand, but he'd need patience to see the path forward.
As he stepped back into the main street, Jar Jar immediately grabbed his arm with both hands, his eye stalks swiveling nervously as he took in the bustling marketplace around them.
"Noah gain! Noah gain!" the Gungan exclaimed anxiously. "Da beings hereabouts, cawazy! Wesa be wobbed un crunched!"
Qui-Gon extracted his arm from Jar Jar's grip. "Not likely. We have nothing of value. That's our problem."
The group moved back into the flow of foot traffic, with Jar Jar trailing behind them as they navigated between vendors hawking their wares.
Jar Jar's attention wandered as they walked, his large eyes taking in the exotic sights and sounds of the alien bazaar. When they passed a food stall displaying rows of dead frog-like creatures hanging from wire lines, the Gungan stopped abruptly.
"Huh?" Jar Jar tilted his head, studying the dangling amphibians with obvious interest. "Oh, mooie-mooie!"
He glanced around quickly, checking to see if anyone was watching him. The vendor was occupied with another customer, and his companions had continued walking without noticing his absence. Jar Jar's long tongue shot out, wrapping around one of the hanging frogs and pulling it toward his mouth. The creature was secured more tightly to the wire than he'd anticipated. As Jar Jar tried to bite down, the frog remained stubbornly attached to its tether, stretching the wire taut.
"Are you going to pay for that?" The vendor called. "It costs seven wupiupi."
Jar Jar's eyes widened in surprise, his mouth still full of the partially consumed frog. "Wupiupi?"
The frog suddenly snapped free like a released slingshot, sailing through the air in a high arc. It landed with a wet splash directly in a bowl of soup being consumed by a particularly unsavory-looking Dug.
"Chuba!" Sebulba roared.
"Oops," Jar Jar said quietly, clearly aware he was in serious trouble.
The Gungan began walking away with exaggerated nonchalance, whistling tunelessly as if nothing had happened. But Sebulba was already in motion, his powerful legs propelling him onto the table and then into the air in a diving attack aimed directly at Jar Jar's back.
The Dug's trajectory would have carried him feet-first into the hapless Gungan, but Tyson appeared from the crowd. His shoulder caught Sebulba mid-flight, sending the Dug tumbling sideways into the sand.
Jar Jar opened his eyes to find himself unharmed, though he seemed confused about exactly what had happened.
Sebulba rolled to his feet, still clutching the frog. He held it up threateningly as a small crowd began to gather, drawn by the commotion.
The Gungan scrambled desperately in the sand, trying to put distance between himself and the enraged Dug. Just as Sebulba prepared to continue his assault, Anakin had made it through the gathering crowd and positioned himself protectively next to Jar Jar.
The nine-year-old boy faced down the much larger alien with remarkable composure as he spoke in Huttese.
"Careful, Sebulba. He's a big-time outlander. I'd hate to see you diced before we race again."
"Next time we race, boy, it will be the end of you. If you weren't a slave, I'd squash you now. Same with your big friend."
The Dug turned away reluctantly, his aggressive posture making it clear that only Anakin's protected status as valuable property prevented immediate violence.
"Yeah," Anakin called after him in Huttese, grinning, "it'd be a pity if you had to pay for us."
Qui-Gon, Padmé, and R2-D2 arrived just as the confrontation was winding down, having pushed through the dispersing crowd.
"Hi," Anakin said brightly, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
"Hi there," Qui-Gon replied, helping Jar Jar to his feet.
"Your buddy here was about to be turned into orange goo," Anakin explained matter-of-factly. "He picked a fight with a Dug. An especially dangerous Dug called Sebulba."
Jar Jar dusted sand from his clothing. "Mesa haten crunchen. Das da las ting mesa want."
"Nevertheless, the boy is right. You were heading into trouble," Qui-Gon said. He turned to Anakin with genuine gratitude. "Thanks, my young friend." His gaze shifted to Tyson. "And thank you, young man. Your reflexes must be quite good to have stopped him mid-air."
"I can hold my own in a fight," Tyson replied simply.
"But, but, but mesa doen nutten!" Jar Jar protested innocently.
The group began walking again, moving toward a fruit stand operated by an elderly woman whose weathered face spoke of decades under Tatooine's harsh suns. Despite her obvious poverty, she greeted them with genuine warmth.
"Here, you'll like these pallies," Anakin said, selecting several pieces of the purple fruit and handing one to Qui-Gon.
"Thank you," the Jedi replied, accepting the fruit and tucking it into his utility belt. The movement briefly revealed the metallic cylinder of his lightsaber before his robes fell back into place.
The wind had begun to pick up. Around the marketplace, vendors started securing their wares and closing their stalls with well-drilled speed.
"Oh, my bones are aching," the fruit vendor said, looking up at the darkening sky. "Storm's coming up, Ani. You'd better get home quick."
"Do you have shelter?" Anakin asked the group.
"We'll head back to our ship," Qui-Gon replied.
"Is it far?"
"It's on the outskirts," Padmé answered.
"You'll never reach the outskirts in time. Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. Come on. I'll take you to my place."
The boy began moving quickly down the increasingly windy street, and the group followed him as shop owners around them hurried to secure their businesses against the approaching storm.
— Star Jumper —
The wind outside had gone from a whisper to a howl. Sand pelted the small hovel's walls, and the modest dwelling shuddered under the onslaught. Through the thick walls, the roar was muffled but constant, a reminder of the sandstorm raging outside.
Inside Anakin's home, the group had gathered around a table as Shmi served bowls of modest but nourishing soup. Conversation came easily.
Jar Jar lifted his bowl and slurped his soup with enthusiasm that bordered on the theatrical. The sound drew every eye to the Gungan. He paused mid-slurp, suddenly aware of the attention, and his skin shifted to a deeper shade of red in embarrassment.
"Mesa sorry," he mumbled.
Shmi smiled gently before turning her attention to the broader group. Her face turned serious.
"All slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies somewhere."
Anakin looked up from his soup, eager to contribute to the adult conversation. "I've been working on a scanner to try and locate them, but no luck."
Shmi nodded at her son's efforts before continuing the explanation. "Any attempt to escape..."
"...and they blow you up," Anakin finished. "Poof!"
"How wude," the Gungan said, genuinely distressed.
Padmé set down her spoon entirely, her appetite apparently lost. "I can't believe there is still slavery in the galaxy. The Republic's anti-slavery laws..."
Shmi's expression was patient and sad, the look of someone who had stopped expecting better a long time ago. "The Republic doesn't exist out here. We must survive on our own."
Padmé didn't have an answer for that.
Her gaze shifted to Tyson, who had been eating quietly throughout the conversation. "You seemed confident you'd be able to remove yours."
"I have my methods."
"How is it you ended up as a slave?"
"A series of bad decisions," Tyson replied, knowing that it came down to his Perks and Drawbacks, but he offered no additional details.
The Jedi Master studied him for a moment, but Anakin's excited voice drew attention away from the uncomfortable topic.
"Have you ever seen a Podrace?" the boy asked enthusiastically.
Padmé shook her head, though Shmi's expression tightened at the mention of the dangerous sport. Across the table, Jar Jar's attention had wandered to a bowl of fruit at the far end of the makeshift table. His long tongue shot out, wrapping around a piece of the purple fruit and drawing it back toward his mouth.
Qui-Gon's eyes tracked the movement, disapproving, but he continued. "They have Podracing on Malastare. Very fast, very dangerous."
"I'm the only human who can do it," Anakin declared with the absolute confidence that only children could muster.
Shmi shot her son a sideways glance. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
"Mom, what?" Anakin protested, catching his mother's expression. "I'm not bragging. It's true. Watto says he's never heard of a human doing it."
Qui-Gon studied the boy more carefully. "You must have Jedi reflexes if you race Pods."
The compliment lit Anakin's face up, but Jar Jar chose that moment to make another play for the fruit bowl. His tongue shot across the table, dead accurate, only to be intercepted by Qui-Gon's hand, which closed around the rogue tongue.
"Don't do that again," Qui-Gon said.
Jar Jar's muffled response was unintelligible but conveyed agreement. The tongue snapped back like a released rubber band.
Anakin had been watching this exchange, amused, but now his expression grew more serious. He fidgeted with his spoon for a moment before gathering the courage to voice what was clearly an important question.
"I... I was wondering... something," he began hesitantly.
"What?" Qui-Gon prompted gently.
"Well, ahhh..." Anakin glanced around the table. "You're a Jedi Knight, aren't you?"
"What makes you think that?"
"I saw your laser sword. Only Jedi carry that kind of weapon."
Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps I killed a Jedi and stole it from him," he suggested with mock seriousness.
Anakin shook his head immediately, his conviction absolute. "I don't think so. No one can kill a Jedi Knight."
Qui-Gon's smile faded. "I wish that were so," he said quietly.
"I had a dream I was a Jedi. I came back here and freed all the slaves." He leaned forward eagerly. "Have you come to free us?"
Qui-Gon's expression grew gentle but regretful. "No, I'm afraid not."
"I think you have," Anakin insisted. "Why else would you be here?"
"I can see there's no fooling you," he said finally, leaning forward conspiratorially. "You mustn't let anyone know about us. We're on our way to Coruscant, the central system in the Republic, on a very important mission, and it must be kept secret."
Tyson looked up from his soup with mild amusement. "Probably shouldn't be telling us then."
But Anakin's eyes had gone wide with wonder. "Coruscant... wow. How did you end up here in the Outer Rim?"
"Our ship was damaged, and we're stranded here until we can repair it." Padmé answered.
Anakin's enthusiasm immediately shifted into helpful determination. "I can help! I can fix anything!"
Qui-Gon smiled at the boy's eagerness. "I believe you can, but our first job is to acquire the parts we need."
"Wit no-nutten mula to trade."
Padmé set down her spoon with a thoughtful expression. "These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind."
"Gambling." Shmi offered. "Everything here revolves around betting on those awful races."
Qui-Gon's eyes sharpened with interest, and Tyson could practically see the wheels turning in the Jedi's mind. "Podracing... Greed can be a powerful ally... if it's used properly."
Anakin's face lit up. "I've built a racer! It's the fastest ever. There's a big race tomorrow, on Boonta Eve. You could enter my pod. It's all but finished..."
"Anakin, settle down. Watto won't let you..."
"Watto doesn't know I've built it, Mom," Anakin interrupted. "You could make him think it's yours, and you could get him to let me pilot it for you."
Qui-Gon's gaze shifted to Shmi, and Tyson watched the woman's face crumple. The fear was obvious, even without his empathy. This was her son they were talking about.
"I don't want you to race, Annie..." Her voice broke slightly. "It's awful. I die every time Watto makes you do it."
"But Mom, I love it... and they need help... they're in trouble. The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need."
"Wesa ina pitty bad goo," Jar Jar agreed.
"Your mother's right. Is there anyone friendly to the Republic who might be able to help us?" Qui-Gon asked.
Shmi shook her head slowly. That said everything.
Anakin leaned forward, earnest now. "We have to help them, Mom... you said that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other..."
"Anakin, don't..." Shmi's protest was weak, and she was already wavering.
Padmé cleared her throat delicately, breaking the awkward moment. "I'm sure Qui-Gon doesn't want to put your son in danger. We will find another way..."
Shmi was quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on her son's hopeful face. When she finally spoke, every word cost her something. "No, Annie's right, there is no other way... I may not like it, but he can help you... He was meant to help you."
"Is that a yes? That is a yes!" Anakin practically bounced in his seat.
Tyson set down his spoon and looked around the table. "After I get my chip out, I can repair the ship, parts or not."
Padmé's eyebrows rose skeptically. "I'm beginning to think you're just boasting now. Is that how you ended up as a slave?"
Tyson met her challenging gaze with a slight smile. "Overconfidence may have something to do with it. But it's only overconfidence if I fail. Right?" He pushed back from the table. "Do you have a place where I can rest? Watto had me out working in the sun earlier."
"You can use my room," Anakin offered immediately, his enthusiasm undimmed despite the late hour. "I've got some projects to work on anyway."
"That's very kind of you," Shmi said. "Annie, show him the way."
Anakin bounced up from his seat, practically vibrating with energy despite the long day. "Come on! I'll show you my podracer parts too, if you want."
Tyson followed the boy down a narrow corridor that led deeper into the modest dwelling.
"The bed's not much," Anakin said apologetically, gesturing toward a simple sleeping mat in the corner. "But it's comfortable enough."
"It's perfect," Tyson assured him. "Thank you."
"I'll be in the main room working on some circuits. Just let me know if you need anything."
Once the boy's footsteps faded down the corridor, Tyson waited another moment to ensure he was truly alone. The muffled conversation from the main room provided adequate cover as he spoke quietly to the air.
"Alright. Vicky?"
The response was immediate. His clothing rippled and flowed, the fabric separating from his body. The Grey Goo Suit reformed itself into a humanoid shape beside him, revealing a petite figure with a cute button nose and distinctive pink hair arranged in dual buns.
"Scanning for the implant now, using your Suit's medical tricorder."
Tyson settled onto the sleeping mat. "Reading my mind?"
"It's obvious what you were going to do."
The scanning process was completely painless, though a faint tingling sensation accompanied the medical tricorder.
"Found it," she announced.
"Where?"
"It's in your neck. Embedded in the cervical vertebrae, specifically between C3 and C4. The placement is... sophisticated."
Tyson's hand moved instinctively toward the back of his neck, though he couldn't feel anything unusual through the skin. "Difficult to extract? Will you need the Medical Bay?"
Vicky's expression grew more serious. "I'm only nervous about the implant detonating if we take you into the Personal Reality."
The Personal Reality existed in a pocket dimension. If the slave transmitter was designed to, well, not detect dimensional transitions... But even to go off if the signal was lost…
"Options?" Tyson asked.
Vicky nodded, already working through alternatives. "Several, actually. The most straightforward would be surgical removal here and now. My medical systems are more than capable of handling the procedure, and I can ensure minimal tissue damage."
"And the detonation risk?"
"Present but manageable," she replied. "The transmitter appears to be triggered by specific biometric changes, primarily the cessation of heartbeat or the detection of tampering. However, my surgical techniques can work around those parameters."
"What about less invasive options?"
"I could potentially disable the device without removing it. Create a localized electromagnetic field that would disrupt its circuitry while leaving the physical components intact."
"Risks with that approach?"
"Lower immediate danger, but the disabled device might be detected during any future medical scans. Also, if someone attempted to activate it remotely, the results could be unpredictable."
"There's also a third option," Vicky continued. "We could attempt to trace the transmitter's control frequency. If I can identify the specific signal used to trigger detonation, I might be able to create a jamming field that would render it harmless."
"How long would that take?"
"Unknown. Could be minutes, could be hours. The Hutt crime families use various encryption methods, and some are more sophisticated than others."
Tyson considered the surgical option for another moment before a simpler solution occurred to him. "Couldn't you just do it with your nanites and override it with the Jumper's Master Key? I mean, you are a Grey Goo Suit."
Surprise crossed Vicky's face, then calculation, then what looked suspiciously like embarrassment. Her pink buns bobbed as she shook her head, and a faint flush colored her cheeks.
"I... That would work, yes. I was so focused on the medical approach that I didn't consider the more direct solution," Vicky admitted finally, frustration edging into her voice. "The Jumper's Master Key can interface with any technology, and override its encryption regardless of origin or complexity. Including Hutt slave transmitters."
"So the nanites can just... disable it?"
"More than disable," Vicky said, already thinking ahead. "They can completely subvert the device's control systems. Turn it into an inert piece of metal without triggering any of the safety mechanisms."
Tyson leaned back against the wall, relief mixing with amusement at Vicky's obvious chagrin. "How long would that take?"
"Minutes. The nanites would infiltrate the transmitter at the molecular level, mapping its internal structure and identifying the critical control pathways. Once they've established a complete schematic, the Jumper's Master Key lets them in to override the existing programming."
"No surgery required?"
"No surgery required," Vicky confirmed. "The transmitter would remain physically intact, but completely harmless. To any external scan, it would appear functional. The biometric monitors would continue reading your vital signs, the tamper detection would show no interference, but the actual detonation mechanisms would be permanently disabled."
"And if someone tries to trigger it remotely?"
"The signal would be received and acknowledged, but nothing would happen," Vicky explained. "From the outside, it would look like a simple malfunction."
"Why didn't you think of this approach first?"
Vicky's flush deepened slightly. "Because I'm still a Nursedroid at my foundation, and that programming emphasized medical solutions to medical problems. A slave transmitter embedded in your spine presented as a surgical challenge, so I defaulted to surgical options."
"But you're more than a Nursedroid and have been for months."
"I am," Vicky agreed quietly.
Tyson reached out, his hand settling gently on Vicky's shoulder. The gesture was simple, but the warmth behind it was genuine. "Hey. You're amazing, you know that?"
Vicky's pink eyes met his, uncertainly. "I should have thought of the simpler solution immediately."
"Maybe," Tyson acknowledged. "But I needed to actually use my Augment brain for once instead of relying entirely on you. That's okay. We're a team."
Vicky relaxed a little, though she still looked unconvinced. Tyson squeezed her shoulder gently before continuing.
"I wouldn't be able to remove this chip safely without you," he said, and meant it completely. "Surgical option, nanite option, doesn't matter. Either way, you're the only reason I'm not stuck with a bomb in my neck for the foreseeable future."
Vicky's smile returned, the embarrassment fading into something warmer. "The nanite approach is objectively superior."
"Sure," Tyson agreed easily. "But the fact that you had a backup plan that would have worked just as well? That's what makes you amazing. Most people would have one solution and hope it worked. You had three different approaches mapped out before I even asked the question."
"I suppose that's true."
"It's absolutely true," Tyson insisted. "And I love you for who you are. All of it. The Nursedroid programming that makes you think like a doctor first, the systems spread out all over that let you plan so far ahead, and the parts of you that are still learning and growing. All of it."
Vicky's smile grew more genuine, the last traces of self-consciousness disappearing. "You're just saying that because you need me to disable a slave transmitter."
"I'm saying it because it's true," Tyson corrected. "The slave transmitter is just convenient timing."
"I'll need approximately fifteen minutes to complete the nanite infiltration. The process works better if you're relaxed and your heart rate is steady."
"I can manage that."
"Good." Vicky's expression turned professional again. "Lie down on the sleeping mat. This will be easier if you're comfortable."
Tyson settled onto the simple bedding, adjusting his position until his neck was properly aligned. The mat wasn't particularly soft, but it was adequate for the procedure.
Vicky moved to kneel beside him. "Ready?"
"Ready," Tyson confirmed.
What followed was somewhat anticlimactic. Vicky's fingers extended into nanites that streamed across and through Tyson's skin, the sensation like cool water flowing beneath the surface. The transformation was seamless, her small hand dissolving into millions of microscopic machines that spread across the back of his neck. Tyson felt a faint tingling sensation as the nanites penetrated his skin, working their way through muscle tissue and bone. The feeling wasn't painful, just odd. Like tiny fingers exploring pathways beneath his flesh.
"Transmitter located," Vicky said, her voice unchanged despite the fact that part of her physical form had dispersed into his body. "Beginning infiltration of the device's control systems."
The tingling intensified slightly as the nanites reached the slave chip. Tyson kept his breathing steady, focusing on the rough texture of the sleeping mat beneath him and the distant sound of Anakin's voice in the main room. Anything to avoid thinking too hard about the microscopic machines currently working around his spinal cord.
"The device is more sophisticated than standard Hutt designs. Whoever installed this knew what they were doing."
"How sophisticated?"
"Military grade encryption on the remote activation protocols. Triple redundancy on the biometric monitors. Tamper detection systems that would make most security specialists jealous." Vicky paused. "Fortunately, sophisticated doesn't mean anything."
The Jumper's Master Key activated with a sensation Tyson could only describe as a mental click. One moment, the transmitter was a sealed system, its programming locked behind layers of encryption and security protocols; the next, those barriers simply ceased to exist.
"Got it," Vicky said, satisfaction coloring her voice. "Disabling detonation mechanisms now."
Tyson felt nothing as the nanites rewrote the transmitter's core programming.
"Detonation systems offline," Vicky reported. "Remote activation protocols rerouted to null processing. Tamper detection locked in safe mode. The device is completely neutralized."
The nanites began withdrawing, flowing back through the tissue. The tingling sensation faded as Vicky's hand reformed, her fingers solidifying from the stream of microscopic machines.
"Done," she said simply.
Tyson sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders and testing the range of motion in his neck. Everything felt normal. No pain, no stiffness, no indication that anything had just happened.
"Great," Tyson said, sitting up fully. "Now let's go to the Medical Bay and remove this thing. I'm not going to leave it there to become a problem later."
He opened a portal to his Personal Reality, forming a doorway directly to the Medical Bay.
The real Vicky was already there. Two Vickys in the same room. Months ago, this would have required some mental adjustment; the question of which one was "real," whether the Suit version's feelings counted the same way, whether affection directed at one extended to the other. The answer was simple.
Vicky was Vicky.
The body didn't change who she was; it was all her.
"The nanite infiltration was complete," she said, moving toward them. "The transmitter's been neutralized, but you're right to want it removed entirely."
Tyson stepped through the portal, the Grey Goo Suit version of Vicky entering beside him.
"How long will the extraction take?" he asked, settling onto the biobed without prompting. The surface adjusted automatically to his body, sensors already beginning their preliminary scans.
"Minutes," the real Vicky replied, working the control interfaces quickly. "The device is completely inert now, so I don't need to worry about any of the safety protocols. It's just a matter of precise removal."
The biobed's scanners hummed to life, painting detailed holographic displays of Tyson's neck and spine in the air above him. The slave transmitter showed up as a dark mass nestled against his cervical vertebrae.
"Initiating anesthesia," Vicky announced, slipping into her clinical register. "You'll be under in about thirty seconds."
Tyson felt the familiar coolness spreading through his system as the biobed's medical systems engaged. His vision began to soften at the edges, consciousness starting to fade as the anesthesia took hold.
Before the sedation could claim him completely, he reached out, his hand finding the Grey Goo Suit version of Vicky beside the bed.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice already growing distant. "All of you."
He pulled her down gently, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. The Grey Goo Suit Vicky returned the kiss with gentle pressure, her presence a comforting constant as the anesthesia pulled him under.
The real Vicky began the final preparations for the extraction procedure.