05-09-2018, 01:39 PM
In his quarters, sitting on the edge of his military-style cot, Dexter opened his eyes and smiled. The pulse of psionic energy rapidly dispersed from the hangar and the adjoining corridors, flooding back into the room as Dexter stood and stretched the kinks from his back.
He had sensed Gizmo in the tunnel behind the hidden crawlspace, the bald child’s surge of fear setting off telepathic alarm bells as soon as Baxla began to drag the concealing shelf out from the wall. As soon as he and Baxla exited the chamber, Dexter hurried back to his room and sent out the pulse, which had become child’s play in the ensuing days since his first attempt. He had listened in as Gizmo spat his curses into the empty room.
The conniving little maniac doubtlessly thought he had the upper hand now, having overheard Dexter and Baxla’s conversation from his not-so-secret hiding place. Determined to keep up the charade, Dexter had laced his words with enough exposition to plant in Gizmo the knowledge that he and Baxla were trying to betray him. The plan had gone off without a hitch, Dexter knew.
Now the real game could begin.
No stranger to strategy, Dexter, a chess champion from a young age, lauded for his advanced tactics and unshakable demeanor, felt comfortable ensconced in the web of intrigue he had carefully spun. While he did see Baxla as something of a victim in Gizmo’s maniacal quest for the schematics, he knew it could only benefit him to keep his tentative ally in the dark--to leverage all available information into the best possible outcome. He did not share Gizmo’s opinion about the disposability of his allies, and would protect Baxla with all the strength his meager abilities could muster if it came to it, but at the same time he knew the pilot, with his propensity for drunken ramblings and his inexplicable servitude of the bald Prime, was a liability he could not afford. Everything the history books could teach him meant little in the visceral reality of combat. Dexter was smart, but he was not prepared to do straightforward battle with Gizmo and his four enormous, mechanical spider legs.
The next phase of his plan would prove difficult. Dexter had to play both sides of the coin now, treading a fine line between success and disaster. His apprehension almost defeated him as he made his way down the corridor toward Gizmo’s private laboratory. Yet he did not falter, stepping up to the door and rapping on it with his knuckles.
Dexter heard the crash of metal falling on stone, followed by a, “Stinking crud… hold on!” Despite himself, he smiled at Gizmo’s quirky choice of insults. Perhaps beneath the veneer of his profoundly advanced intellect lurked a child after all.
A moment later a spider leg flung the door open. It met the stone wall with a loud smack, rebounding from the force. Dexter stopped it with an outstretched palm.
Gizmo could not conceal his surprise at Dexter’s appearance. “What do you want?” He seemed to remember suddenly that he had no reason to treat Dexter with such disdain--at least, no reason about which he wanted Dexter to know. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Busy. What’s up?”
“I have to talk to you about something,” Dexter said solemnly. “Something important.”
“What?”
“Well, I talked to Baxla this morning…” Dexter paused to choose his words carefully.
“And?” Gizmo blinked furiously behind his goggles, his short legs jittery with impatience.
“And, well, he told me about the reconnaissance mission you have for me. At least... that’s how the conversation started.” Dexter feigned nervousness, his gaze flitting around the room before settling on the ground at his feet.
Gizmo seemed to understand where Dexter was headed, but he was equally unwilling to give up his perceived advantage. “And?” he pressed again.
“And… and then he told me it was a ruse,” Dexter said. “He told me your whole operation is a cover so you can get some schematics. He said you were using me as a diversion, that I might get locked up or killed if I helped you. He tried to help me escape, but I wouldn’t go.”
“Liar,” Gizmo muttered. Then, louder, “Stinking liar!”
Dexter took an uncertain step back and braced himself against the impact of the crushing spider leg. It didn’t come. When he opened his eyes, Gizmo regarded him with a wide grin, although his round cheeks were still flush with anger.
“I knew Baxla couldn’t be trusted,” Gizmo said, “and you just proved it. That pit-sniffer’s been trying to take over my operation since the day I saved him from a lifetime in Palpatine’s stinking dungeons. That must be why he snagged you from the fountain. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to take me down himself.”
The lie started small but built momentum into a thundering crescendo of dishonesty. Dexter ignored the slip in Gizmo’s logic--if Baxla had brought him here to defeat Gizmo, why then would he have tried to help him escape?--and played his final card, the one he knew for certain would endear him to the egotistical Prime.
“I came straight to you, of course,” Dexter said. “I didn’t believe a word of it. He stank like alcohol, and, well, I’ve seen him kill with one of those HARPYs before, so I played along as best I could. There’s a shelf in the hangar with a secret tunnel dug out of the wall. Do you know about that?”
“You did well, Dexter,” Gizmo purred. “It was the right thing to do, coming to me. I’ll kill that little crud-muncher myself.”
“No!” Dexter said. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth at the slip-up.
Gizmo’s spider legs clanked and creaked, bringing the bald child to within a few inches of Dexter’s face. “Why not?” he asked.
Dexter searched for the right words. “If I’ve learned one thing about the Omniverse,” he said, weaving a tale to placate Gizmo’s suspicion, “it’s that there are worse things than dying. You can use him.”
He could see the suggestion made Gizmo curious.
“Use him how?” he asked.
“Well you do want the schematics, don’t you? To help take down the Empire? I know Baxla’s story is a lie, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.”
Now came the most dangerous part of Dexter’s scheme, the moment that would either ingratiate him to Gizmo or leave him as a smear of gore on the ground, just like the Empire guards outside the gate.
Gizmo narrowed his eyes and waved a hand for Dexter to continue.
“Send me on the mission,” Dexter said. “More specifically, send both of us. Baxla might be a traitor, but he’s right about one thing. A distraction really is your best chance to get the schematics and get out of the Archives safely.”
“How does that solve my problem, idiot?” Gizmo sneered. “What if Baxla escapes?”
Dexter marveled at the little maniac’s ability to shift between emotions in an instant. “Because I’ll be there,” he said firmly. “I won’t let him. Stealing the schematics has to set off some kind of alarm system, right? The place will be crawling with troopers and marines. Right now Baxla trusts me. He thinks we have a shared plan to take you down. I can exploit that, and when the time is right I can make sure he ends up in an Empire cell.”
Gizmo stared at him for many long moments, his expression grim. Then he burst into gleeful laughter. “I like you, Dexter. We think alike. I can’t think of anything more satisfying than seeing that pit-sniffer back in the dungeons.”
“A fitting punishment,” Dexter agreed, filing away the clue about Baxla’s past for later evaluation. “And when he’s gone, you can make me your second in command.”
Gizmo cackled again. “Deal!” he exclaimed. “We go tomorrow. Keep up your charade with that stinking loser pilot till then, so he doesn’t get suspicious, will ya?”
“No problem. We’re meeting tonight.”
“Good. Now get out of here, crud-muncher. I have work to do.”
Dexter backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, struggling to hide his grin. His plan had worked. It had been the only way, he figured, to get both him and Baxla out of Gizmo Labs at the same time. As expected, the sadistic Gizmo was overjoyed at the notion of making Baxla suffer. All Dexter had to do was suggest a method, and Gizmo seized on the idea.
Still, there were many variables for which Dexter had to account. It was true that he was not so strong yet, just scratching the surface of basic abilities such as mind reading. There seemed in this case to be no other options before him. If he had not set his clever scheme into motion, he would be forced to accept Gizmo’s mission and try to escape without Baxla or the schematics. This plan came with a greater degree of risk, no doubt, but Dexter couldn’t ignore the upside. He had no intention of handing himself over to the Empire once he escaped Gizmo’s tiny clutches, nor of allowing Baxla to remain in Gizmo Labs any longer. By his estimation, having an ally knowledgeable in the underworld of Coruscant could only benefit Dexter in the time after their escape.
He had sensed Gizmo in the tunnel behind the hidden crawlspace, the bald child’s surge of fear setting off telepathic alarm bells as soon as Baxla began to drag the concealing shelf out from the wall. As soon as he and Baxla exited the chamber, Dexter hurried back to his room and sent out the pulse, which had become child’s play in the ensuing days since his first attempt. He had listened in as Gizmo spat his curses into the empty room.
The conniving little maniac doubtlessly thought he had the upper hand now, having overheard Dexter and Baxla’s conversation from his not-so-secret hiding place. Determined to keep up the charade, Dexter had laced his words with enough exposition to plant in Gizmo the knowledge that he and Baxla were trying to betray him. The plan had gone off without a hitch, Dexter knew.
Now the real game could begin.
No stranger to strategy, Dexter, a chess champion from a young age, lauded for his advanced tactics and unshakable demeanor, felt comfortable ensconced in the web of intrigue he had carefully spun. While he did see Baxla as something of a victim in Gizmo’s maniacal quest for the schematics, he knew it could only benefit him to keep his tentative ally in the dark--to leverage all available information into the best possible outcome. He did not share Gizmo’s opinion about the disposability of his allies, and would protect Baxla with all the strength his meager abilities could muster if it came to it, but at the same time he knew the pilot, with his propensity for drunken ramblings and his inexplicable servitude of the bald Prime, was a liability he could not afford. Everything the history books could teach him meant little in the visceral reality of combat. Dexter was smart, but he was not prepared to do straightforward battle with Gizmo and his four enormous, mechanical spider legs.
The next phase of his plan would prove difficult. Dexter had to play both sides of the coin now, treading a fine line between success and disaster. His apprehension almost defeated him as he made his way down the corridor toward Gizmo’s private laboratory. Yet he did not falter, stepping up to the door and rapping on it with his knuckles.
Dexter heard the crash of metal falling on stone, followed by a, “Stinking crud… hold on!” Despite himself, he smiled at Gizmo’s quirky choice of insults. Perhaps beneath the veneer of his profoundly advanced intellect lurked a child after all.
A moment later a spider leg flung the door open. It met the stone wall with a loud smack, rebounding from the force. Dexter stopped it with an outstretched palm.
Gizmo could not conceal his surprise at Dexter’s appearance. “What do you want?” He seemed to remember suddenly that he had no reason to treat Dexter with such disdain--at least, no reason about which he wanted Dexter to know. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Busy. What’s up?”
“I have to talk to you about something,” Dexter said solemnly. “Something important.”
“What?”
“Well, I talked to Baxla this morning…” Dexter paused to choose his words carefully.
“And?” Gizmo blinked furiously behind his goggles, his short legs jittery with impatience.
“And, well, he told me about the reconnaissance mission you have for me. At least... that’s how the conversation started.” Dexter feigned nervousness, his gaze flitting around the room before settling on the ground at his feet.
Gizmo seemed to understand where Dexter was headed, but he was equally unwilling to give up his perceived advantage. “And?” he pressed again.
“And… and then he told me it was a ruse,” Dexter said. “He told me your whole operation is a cover so you can get some schematics. He said you were using me as a diversion, that I might get locked up or killed if I helped you. He tried to help me escape, but I wouldn’t go.”
“Liar,” Gizmo muttered. Then, louder, “Stinking liar!”
Dexter took an uncertain step back and braced himself against the impact of the crushing spider leg. It didn’t come. When he opened his eyes, Gizmo regarded him with a wide grin, although his round cheeks were still flush with anger.
“I knew Baxla couldn’t be trusted,” Gizmo said, “and you just proved it. That pit-sniffer’s been trying to take over my operation since the day I saved him from a lifetime in Palpatine’s stinking dungeons. That must be why he snagged you from the fountain. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to take me down himself.”
The lie started small but built momentum into a thundering crescendo of dishonesty. Dexter ignored the slip in Gizmo’s logic--if Baxla had brought him here to defeat Gizmo, why then would he have tried to help him escape?--and played his final card, the one he knew for certain would endear him to the egotistical Prime.
“I came straight to you, of course,” Dexter said. “I didn’t believe a word of it. He stank like alcohol, and, well, I’ve seen him kill with one of those HARPYs before, so I played along as best I could. There’s a shelf in the hangar with a secret tunnel dug out of the wall. Do you know about that?”
“You did well, Dexter,” Gizmo purred. “It was the right thing to do, coming to me. I’ll kill that little crud-muncher myself.”
“No!” Dexter said. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth at the slip-up.
Gizmo’s spider legs clanked and creaked, bringing the bald child to within a few inches of Dexter’s face. “Why not?” he asked.
Dexter searched for the right words. “If I’ve learned one thing about the Omniverse,” he said, weaving a tale to placate Gizmo’s suspicion, “it’s that there are worse things than dying. You can use him.”
He could see the suggestion made Gizmo curious.
“Use him how?” he asked.
“Well you do want the schematics, don’t you? To help take down the Empire? I know Baxla’s story is a lie, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.”
Now came the most dangerous part of Dexter’s scheme, the moment that would either ingratiate him to Gizmo or leave him as a smear of gore on the ground, just like the Empire guards outside the gate.
Gizmo narrowed his eyes and waved a hand for Dexter to continue.
“Send me on the mission,” Dexter said. “More specifically, send both of us. Baxla might be a traitor, but he’s right about one thing. A distraction really is your best chance to get the schematics and get out of the Archives safely.”
“How does that solve my problem, idiot?” Gizmo sneered. “What if Baxla escapes?”
Dexter marveled at the little maniac’s ability to shift between emotions in an instant. “Because I’ll be there,” he said firmly. “I won’t let him. Stealing the schematics has to set off some kind of alarm system, right? The place will be crawling with troopers and marines. Right now Baxla trusts me. He thinks we have a shared plan to take you down. I can exploit that, and when the time is right I can make sure he ends up in an Empire cell.”
Gizmo stared at him for many long moments, his expression grim. Then he burst into gleeful laughter. “I like you, Dexter. We think alike. I can’t think of anything more satisfying than seeing that pit-sniffer back in the dungeons.”
“A fitting punishment,” Dexter agreed, filing away the clue about Baxla’s past for later evaluation. “And when he’s gone, you can make me your second in command.”
Gizmo cackled again. “Deal!” he exclaimed. “We go tomorrow. Keep up your charade with that stinking loser pilot till then, so he doesn’t get suspicious, will ya?”
“No problem. We’re meeting tonight.”
“Good. Now get out of here, crud-muncher. I have work to do.”
Dexter backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, struggling to hide his grin. His plan had worked. It had been the only way, he figured, to get both him and Baxla out of Gizmo Labs at the same time. As expected, the sadistic Gizmo was overjoyed at the notion of making Baxla suffer. All Dexter had to do was suggest a method, and Gizmo seized on the idea.
Still, there were many variables for which Dexter had to account. It was true that he was not so strong yet, just scratching the surface of basic abilities such as mind reading. There seemed in this case to be no other options before him. If he had not set his clever scheme into motion, he would be forced to accept Gizmo’s mission and try to escape without Baxla or the schematics. This plan came with a greater degree of risk, no doubt, but Dexter couldn’t ignore the upside. He had no intention of handing himself over to the Empire once he escaped Gizmo’s tiny clutches, nor of allowing Baxla to remain in Gizmo Labs any longer. By his estimation, having an ally knowledgeable in the underworld of Coruscant could only benefit Dexter in the time after their escape.