Kuin was there when he came to again. That was his name. He knew that and so many other things, all at once. He even knew his own name.

“Doc,” he called out, “the Boss is back.”

Footsteps came closer, along with a chuckle. “My dear boy, I must keep reminding you, I am surely no doctor, though it appears we will require the services of one or two soon.”

Looking down, he remarked, “Do not concern yourself. Your friend has been here since they rescued you. No, no,” he said, holding up a hand, “none of those answers yet. First, we explain where you are, why are you, and how you are. Only then can we try to piece together the tale. Admittedly, we will need your help to do so as we are not so sure ourselves.”

He poured a glass of water and placed it in the patient’s right hand. “You must take care with all the cables we have hooked up to you, but obviously the left arm leaves something to be desired. Yet another unanswered question we will get to. I promise.” He lifted the head of the bed so the patient could take a drink.

“Take your time. We are in no hurry. Your vitals are sound and you have a lot of work ahead to tax both mind and body. For now, be calm and we will attempt to explain.

“First, myself. I am F. X. Chandler. You may call me Frank. Simple and old fashioned, no? Among many things I own a company called Tytan Electronics. We once spoke concerning some cutting edge technology. Ah, yes, I see you are recollecting this conversation.

“Try not to think too much. Without getting ahead of myself, what Tytan does is, well, we create electronic analogs to neural cognition structures. Primarily we work on what the masses incorrectly call artificial intelligence. Those are parlor tricks to make droids behave more like humans, and what droid wants that, no?”

He had a laugh at that. He seemed very amused and excited about the events going on. Looking over at Kuin, he could see the man had endured a lot of the older gentleman’s somewhat cranky, yet amused banter.

He was familiar. An after hours party after a sabacc game. An offer of, if not immortality, the prospect of “expanded possibilities”. Yes, that was the term.

He got a nudge in the leg for musing.

“You are thinking. And remembering I think. Quick, what do you know you know about me?

The answer was quick. Quick as the alien thought and memory that came to him.

“ ‘Expanded possibilities. Man does not need mysticism to channel his skills, nor magic to summon his finest achievements. Man merely requires a new way to use the tools already provided him.’ That was you, then, on Ahakista?”

The man, Frank, positively beamed. “Yes, of course! Very, very good. What else?”

“You played to lose that night, hoping to open me to the possibility of listening to your pitch. It almost worked I believe.”
A sour face. “It was working. At least until that darling young lady in the slinky dress lured you away to other delights.”

He thought, then laughed. So did Kuin. “No, that was another acquaintance of my folks taking care of business. I am not allowed to be entirely reckless. Besides, they were hacking The Hub while I kept the local constables busy watching me take their credits. Where is Jinx anyway?” he asked of Kuin.

“Researching,” he said. There were volumes behind the word. Another story for another time apparently.

He looked back at Frank, who continued. “Yes, you turned me down that night. Or at least turned away. Admittedly it was yet another poor hand poorly played that evening. I bear you no ill will.”

He settled into the chair next to the bed. Kuin shifted, more out of habit than for any discernable reason. Frank noticed and nodded.

“You fascinate me. Few do. You have tasted power, gained riches, and yet never rest on your laurels. You have literally helped found new worlds, settle others, brought technology to people whom time had forgotten. You collect Old Republic colonists, aging clone troopers, vagabonds like this man to you like rich Jedi pretenders seek holocrons. Your entire Imperial faction is full of men and women who never just take orders. You want to know why; you care enough to give a damn when trillions just roll over and take whatever is coming. People have sought to kill you for that; you and your compatriots in your tiny but influential ‘Vast Empire’.

“In your case, they damn near came close.

“So, I have kept an eye on you. You have your fingers in so many pies I just knew I could convince you to value my company’s work, if only you would slow down long enough to hear me out - and to take a chance. Indeed, that work was done for both of us by an outside party. And by friends like this one here, who honestly scares the living hell out of me.”

He paused and poured his own glass of water and took a long drink.

“I’m babbling. I am excited to tell the tale but I fear to tell you things you do not want to know. However, you need to know these things. I will begin with some high points, you will rest, then we will continue.  I continue to insist you try not to think on these things. All will be revealed as they say in the mystery holos.”

“As I said, I have followed your progress. Admittedly, taking tips from some of your moves. The breaking open of the Thilidian Sector handled by anyone else would have been violent and exploitative to the extreme. Instead, you, well, the Vast Empire, helped end a civil war on Serek, prop up the entire planet, and created a new, modern world. Well, modern for that region of space.

“Serra Vessa is a jewel, Besdoaari is barely controlled chaos. And the idea of drafting pirates to be the territorial bulwarks against enemy agitators? Hilarious. Pirates indeed. That mob has more morals than most warlords I’ve met. Most of them probably do not realize that you are playing them as much as they are you.”

He seemed to be on the verge of laughter again. “It all works. Your store, propping up shops right where you need to supply agitators and embed spies and store large caches of weapons right out in the open. You aren’t the first to use that trick, but you know enough to use it.

“Stepping out of uniform after a long period at the helm. Not many folks do that, you have to force them out at blaster-point or in a box. Coming back in to do a thankless job. Honestly, I’m no Imperial so I don’t have a dog in that fight but you really could be doing better at that one. Kind of skating through, aren’t you?”

He waved his hand. “No, no, don’t mind me. Merely an elderly industrialist who knows when the job isn’t getting done. We go on now.

“In the process of checking you out, I am amazed to see the many, many entities that you manage to piss off. Not anger or frustrate. Folks who have a full-on hatred for you. They neglect their kids to find new ways to get at you. Luckily you have your friends like Kuin doing things you probably don’t even know. And some kind of shadowy pet Force user to boot. He’s been here three times, that I know of. And I only know that because there are holes in the walls, the surveillance logs, and the minds of my guards each time he comes.

He shook his head. “As I said, you will know more of this than I but someone finally got to you. Be it one group or a whole gang of them, you were grabbed. You were tortured. You, through some combination of broken bones, drugs, of what apparently was Force lightning, gave up some secrets. Thankfully, that damage was minimal.

“Then they really went to work on you. More on that later.

“Right now, the highlights. You are alive. You were like a wet, bloody rag when I found where they were keeping you. You have to understand, it was months before anyone had a clue you were even still alive.  So I contacted your people - both commercial and Empire - and between them hammered out a plan that both retrieved you and caused what we used to call grevious bodily harm to those holding you. Granted, these were the guards, not the actual folks behind the scenes.

“I am going to have some actual doctors come in to explain the damage you sustained and the things that were done to repair you. One, yes, physical living doctors. I don’t trust droids, despite their very excellent history. I am old and I can afford to be indulged. And thus, so were you. Also, many of the things we tried were experimental. One of them is my crown jewel. I discussed it with you once and now, you are the recipient of the latest and greatest of the science I’ve spent decades funding.

“I will leave you to the doctors now, but we will speak again soon. Hopefully you think kindly of me once you learn what has happened.” The old man got up, squeezed his shoulder and turned to leave the room.

Late 10 ABY - New Republic space

He was bringing the Kodama out of hyperspace, going through the checklist like he’d done a thousand times before. Ahead, about six hours out on the ions, was his destination. It was a bit tricky popping into New Republic space these days, but it was worth the risk. Besides, he was solely on a business trip, setting up a new market for the medical lines now that the worst of the Plague War conflict was behind them. Fear was still a great sales driver even though both the Republic and Empire were finding their better angels again. To be fair, even he kept some anti-virals and a clean room handy whenever he could. Better safe than, well, whatever brand of sorry some of the holos of the corpse piles had purchased.

Basically, a milk run. Some land to look at, a local casino to pry some credits out of.

That is, until his ship got hit.

Standard procedure this far out and he had gotten sloppy about doing a deep sensor scan. He could smell the ozone from the ion cannon hits. Thankfully the electronics suite was very well protected. Sure, the relays were blown, but if he hurried, he could hopefully avert getting captured and then repair the ship at somewhat of a leisure down the way.

He raised to the bridge, his hair standing on end from the static shunting through the buffers built into the hull. Grabbing a breath mask off of an emergency station, he donned it, then grabbed the tools and parts kit he kept in a locker near the navcomp station.

Quickly pulling the emergency fuse panel open, he yanked out the whole relay assembly and slapped a fresh one in. It seemed excessive to keep backups around, but he’d stayed alive longer paranoid than he would have without. Quietly, he spun up the automated weapons systems and let them begin targeting while he went about pulling critical systems relays.

Glancing up, he saw he was out of time and options. Sure, the automated systems were gunning and targeting ships, but more were coming from the planet itself. So...a pretty organized hit, and one sanctioned by the New Republic items.

Hoping to buy time, he keyed in a sequence that would create a wall of enemy ships between him and the planet. Concussion missiles ranged out and starting chewing into the attacking force. He wasn’t even worried about incapacitating the enemy craft, he just meant to throw enough debris around to disrupt a tractor beam.

Simultaneously bringing the engines online, he triggered a data dump of the onboard computers, from the navicomputer to the logs. He didn’t need anyone getting coordinates to the Thilidian sector or for any Imperial military installations. He slapped one of Paler’s only-in-case-of-emergency data spikes into the main console and watched it begin blinking through series of preset scripts that would mulch any remaining data. Once it stopped, he popped in another one that was supposedly capable of overriding many systems on any ships flying near him. He then made sure the emergency life support was working, popped off his mask and grabbed a bulb of fozbeer from his cabin mini-fridge.

He was going to get captured - if not killed - but they were gonna have to work at it.

---

He pulled out the second data spike, lined it up with the first one on the deck, and shot a low-powered bolt at both of them. A satisfying stench told him no one was pulling any data off of them either.

The ship was wounded. Multiple tiny breaches existed from stem to stern. The ion bolts had come in earnest once the enemy fighters began to ram each other. Even a couple of the sleds presumably holding boarding teams had been destroyed by friendly ships as Paler’s code took over the enemy ships. A trio of fighters had even turned against the oncoming fighters coming from the planet and the Warrior gunship they were escorting. They had to be shot down after taking two of their brethren.

In time though, someone had decided that some ship damage was necessary to stop the melee. Every antenna on his ship had been shot off, and that had caused a for-real hull breach that he’d had to manually start shutting compartments to seal.

By the time he’d returned to the bridge, it was all but over. The tractor from the gunship had finally found purchase and the boarding slips had latched onto either side of the Kodama. Unable to hail anyone and too pissed off to care, he killed all life support, slapped on his mask, unholstered his pistols and put them in the storage bin in the cabin, wondering if he would ever see them, his ship, or, frankly, anything ever again.

---

Waking up, he had the feeling of cogs sliding into place. The docs had put him into a meditative state and had guided him into something they called focused dreaming. He had the memories, he only had to figure out how to sort through them to find what he needed. It was like learning to remember and organize his thoughts all over again.

He now knew the what. Or at least part of it. Now he had to figure out the who.

He awoke the next day with his spinal cord on fire and his head mushy, as if he’d been heavily medicated.

Kuin was there, and apparently had been for awhile.

He reached for a glass of water, sat up carefully and drank it down. Kuin refilled it.

“So...” he started. His mouth felt gravelly and dry. His voice felt and sounded raspy. Yeah, definitely some painkillers of the knock-a-rancor-down variety.

He tried again. “So, how bad was it when I spilled the beans?”

“Militarily? Not bad really. Everyone’s troop and fleet positions are pretty much an open secret anyway. They learned a little that we had new equipment being designed. Probably some more info on the Fuge worlds and the Thilidian Sector than they had before.

“Store-wise, they got the access codes to some warehouses and managed to hit a couple of the Stations hard before we fought them off. We’ve since worked on some more security measures all around. Probably needed to do that anyway, so lesson learned the hard way.”

“You’re letting me off easy. How bad?”

Kuin sighed. “They hit a couple training camps. A lot of recruits died. They took your ship, loaded it full of troops and hit Vanderwaal Station. Killed a whole lot of people, took out the hangar bays, and torched the local food supply we’d been ferrying around to the refugee fleets no one has yet claimed. It was bad, it was bloody. It also could have been a hell of a lot worse.

“On the plus side, we got your ship back, though they’d treated it pretty roughly.”

“To hell with my ship, they took things I knew and killed a lot of good people with it. That’s on me.”

Kuin shook his head. “Look, I’ll send you everything you need to know about the attacks and what we think you gave up. If you remember anything, let me and the Imps know as well. But I’m not wasting any more time on this. I spoke with the docs. You know who grabbed you and what he is capable of.

“You’ve been rehabbing for months. You’ve got most of your memories back, you haven’t had any aphasia episodes since you starting this dreaming business and you can walk around almost like a human again. That’s called progress. You want to mourn the dead? Make up for getting them killed if that’s how you see it. We’ll find this Tra’avis and put paid to him and any plans he’s got. But no more moping. Figure out how to run that new brain you’ve got, both of them I guess. Get fit enough to run a triathalon in your sleep. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it, or find out what has it, knows, it and what to pay for it.

“You aren’t doing this alone, whatever the hell this turns out to be. Got it boss?”

He nodded, properly chastened. He was moping, playing along, letting things happen. It was time to acknowledge the losses, lick his wounds, and get back in the fight.

“I’d better talk to Chandler and figure out what his game is. I’m sure he’s got some ideas on how he’d like me to be his pawn. Maybe some of them actually need done.”

Kuin grinned for the first time in a long time. “I like that guy, but he’s playing all of us. Glad to see we’re on the same page there too.”

---

He was rolled out to the atrium. It was one of the best parts of the station, and not one he normally had access to.  In his lap was a bowl full of assorted nuts. It was one of the ironies of the galaxy that as soon as he’d endured growing up on a poor planet, gotten tangled with pirates for a few years, put on the armor and served his duty, then began making some serious credits so he could enjoy the finer things, those finer things - and the supply chain that sent them even to the Outer Rim - started disappearing in the wake of the plagues.

Slowly, as planets stabilized and order was restored, factories reopened and products were shipped. But not quite to Vast Empire space. Chandler obviously had both the coin and the vig to get the finest of things. Including this, a nice selection of tasty treats from across the worlds that fed the Core. Fruit, of course, remained a localized thing, even for someone as wealthy as Chandler. But this, snacks from all across the inner planets, was amazing in its variety as well as its general unavailability.

So, he snacked and stared at the local constellations. After all this time, he even knew some of them off the top of his head. Actually, he knew all of them via his inskin, which apparently was part navcomputer, but he wilfully shut off that bit of mental processing. This was one of the key skills he needed to re-learn, knowing everything instantly. First, no one liked a know it all. Two, some things he wanted to know by coming to a conclusion, not knowing the answer.

Three, as a NCO and later a businessman, he was used to folks telling him things he already knew, either grunts reporting in or the powers-that-be trying to tell him what to think. Each had to be handled carefully and facts sometimes were not the tool to use.

In short, he was learning to be human again, not that he was ever as good with soft skills as he’d like.

Meanwhile, the thin permeable barrier of the atrium’s viewing ports made it one of the least  secured parts of Chandler’s floating arcology. He felt a small vibration at the base of his neck and purposedly blinked, straining to find the tiny spy craft he knew was out there.

“Boss,” said Paler. “We’re online and seem to be secured. How is it going?”

“Just fine,” he muttered. One of the benefits of being an Imperial officer at one point was the subdermal comlink that was placed into his ear and jaw. Colloquially called the “bone phone”, he’d purchased an upgraded model once he got into big business. Basically all he had to do was mutter and he could place a call or just use it as a short-range mic to, say, a nearby ship hanging outside the room he was in. Paler had beefed up the software and encrypted everything to hell and back.

“So what’s the plan?”

You could hear the grin from his lead slicer. “First, we secure your data. Basically your entire brain is backed up on a tiny array of very sturdy, very portable drives. I finally figured out where they were. Basically they are putting off something akin to your biological signature. I was looking for EMF when really I should have been scanning for your aura, if I can put it like that.”

“Paler....” he added.

“Right, too much information.” He got like that, often, and this thread looked to be getting a head of steam.

“Okay, we need a few things. First, every copy of your brain information. Unless he’s got backups even he doesn’t know about, I think we are in place to get the three offsite ones plus the main one I just told you about.

“Two, you have to be checked for failsafes, trackers, etc. I’ve put every tool and tech I’ve got on the job and we can’t find any trigger words that would compromise you. Yes, you are now susceptible to hacking but keep me on staff you and you have a problem there.

“Three, physically getting you out of there. That’s not my department but we’re willing to help if asked.

“Okay, I’m gonna sign off now. I’m burst coding a transmission. Read it once, remember what you can and it will time out. Basically some notes from home and some general correspondence you might not want in normal channels. Good luck boss. We’ll see you soon.”

He couldn’t hear or define that the connection was closed, but he knew it, could sense it, all the same.

He sat back, ate some more snacks, and mentally scanned his messages. Anyone watching would not have noticed a thing except him staring off into space. He never had found the spy ship, which probably meant no one else had either given he was carrying a sensor suite in his head and spinal column most freighters would kill to have onboard.

---

The therapy was working. His legs were more than serviceable. The mix of advanced ceramics and rehealing meat and muscle were more than an improvement on what he used to run on before. His arms were bulked up, enough so he barely noticed when his lifted up the blaster cannon that doubled as his left arm. He had gotten used to the artificial eye as well. Or it had adapted to him.

In time, he figured he wouldn’t even know the difference between what was original equipment and not. He’d even had Kuin hit him with an ionization gun just to see if the dampening blocks sewn into various parts of him worked. They did. It just wouldn’t do to go through all this and get jacked by some Jawas.

Chandler had been spending more time with him as he became mobile. They, and occasionally others, would have dinners and talk about everything but what needed talked about. The galaxy wasn’t burning so brightly anymore but that only meant that the various sides were arming up for the next go-round. He needed back into the game.

This evening it was just the two of them. Chandler excused his servants and just had everything they needed brought to a small table. Sandwiches with crusty bread and a truly amazing soup he needed to get the recipe for if he got a chance. And a nice ale he’d probably never find on his own.

He ate and waited for Chandler to speak.

“I imagine you’ve been wondering when I’d get around to this.”

Fury nodded and kept working at the soup. If the older man was feeling nervous about what the bill for his largesse was, then so be it. He was leaving this room fed.

“Everything comes at a cost, and so does knowledge. You’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. All this expense, all this protection, all of it has to be of value. Right?”

He just nodded again. If this was a sales pitch, it wasn’t even getting warmed up.

“Fine,” Chandler huffed. “Here it is. I can’t tell you what to do. I’ve tried that before, with mixed success. I’m out of that game except for maybe those that are weak-willed and thus not often worth it or with those who come begging for help. You yourself didn’t come to me so I have no clue if you’d have taken my conditions.

“You are alive. You are carrying very expensive technology. Yes, I am out a lot of credits, but I wasn’t running a tab. Honest.

“Your people are probably days away from breaking you out and probably critically damaging this facility. And no, I have no clue if they are, but I can’t imagine they aren’t willing to do everything in their considerable power to make a go at it. I have scrambled logs, brief encrypted comms from throughout the system and other planetary offices. I have had key employees suddenly go on vacation or take time off for sick pets and children I didn’t know they had.

“So yes, I would love to have a conversation about what I would like to see you help me do. But as equals. I took a gamble on you to keep you alive, not to build or buy another functionary. I already have enough of those.” He passed over a datacard. Those are the locations of your mental backups. There are four, one on this facility, three others spread across some locations I have pretty good security on. Take them. I have no others. Your mind is your’s.

“I am offering bi-annual checkups. Bring whatever docs or techs you need to them. One, I am interested in how your augmentations develop. Two, call me curious.

“Three, I am not your enemy. I am an old, cranky, business tyrant who likes comfort and have questions I would love answers to. I am long past building for war. I am not, however, past picking sides in a conflict. Empire, Republic, I don’t care. Each has abused billions in the supposed efforts of deciding what is best for people. You, and others, can steer the ship in a different direction perhaps, but governments harm as many as they save. It is the nature of large beasts to stomp on those it does not see.

“So, relax, drink with me. Spend a few more days in rehab. Pack your bags, grab your property, and please don’t have your people blow up my space station. I know your people mean well, but I honestly would just take so much offense over the slight that it would be mutually un-beneficial to us all.”

Fury smiled. Chandler still had the upper hand on his own property, but he knew when to quit a fight he wouldn’t win in the long run. Still, admitting to any of it would be both rude and playing a hand he didn’t have to.

“Thanks, Frank. Incidentally, this soup is amazing. Could I trouble you for the recipe?”

Chandler laughed.

---

“So I don’t get to blow anything up?” Kuin asked openly.

He was packing up the rest of his gear. Paler was orchestrating the loading of the onsite backup of Fury’s brain. The others had already been retrieved. Indeed, he had told the strike teams to show up in full combat gear to retrieve them just as soon as he’d finished dinner with Chandler the other night. He didn’t have to tell him he had plans, but showing off every so often made a point.

No violence, but plenty a’reminder they were willing to go that route.

He spent a few more days in the pool, the gym, and running monotonously forward on a treadmill. He’d never get a chance to just “be” like this again, he imagined. The neurological team did the best they could to teach him every adaptational trick they knew.

And Kuin had gone on a space walk around the hull and retrieved his shaped charges.

“I know, it is the little things that make life special. Sorry big guy. Hopefully soon.” He put the rest of his toiletry kit together and placed it in the bag. Then he looked around the room that had been his home for the past few months, wondering if he’d actually miss it. He had come in essentially dead and been brought back to life, more machine than man, more an assembly process than a curative one. It still took a lot of getting used to. But the dreams felt more like dreams than nightmares these days and that was a start.

They walked down to the hangar together. It was the middle of the night on the station’s timekeeping. He had done his goodbyes and just wanted to get on with it. Even so, a few of the medical staff and old Frank himself were there to see him off.

The ship itself was a testament to sturdy construction. He’d see the request to buy the plans for the Ms-5 Vacuity design, but had not seen one himself until now. He was impressed. “So, do they all come with dried blood plating,” he asked Kuin.

“Nah, that was actually Jinx’s idea. She’s along for the ride too. Incidentally, she beefed up the weapons suite too.”

He looked at the emplacements and the hardware almost bursting from their hardpoints. “I should hope so.”

He nodded in approval, then walked up to the crowd and said his goodbyes. Eventually he got to Chandler, who shook his hand, then handed him a container of soup and a datachip. “Your recipe, as requested. Plus, and this is just for kicks, a line on the most recent location of Tra'avis and his crew. Enjoy. Now get this monstrosity off my deck!”

Fury grinned and gave a mock salute. It was time to get started.