Chapter Text
Waxer slowly scans the jumble of rocks ahead of him at the end of the tunnel, the lights from his blaster and his bucket barely piercing through the gloomy darkness. The only sign that anyone was ever here is a twisted heap of metal that might have once been a staircase, barely visible underneath the rocks.
Boil’s voice crackles through his internal comm - their connection anytime they’ve gone underground has been finicky.
“All dead ends here,” his static-riddled voice says in Waxer’s ear. “You?”
“Same up here,” Waxer replies. “Meet you back at the entrance.”
Boil grunts an affirmative, and Waxer turns around to head back out of the tunnel, resisting the urge to break into a jog. Considering that they haven’t found any signs of activity so far on their assignment, Separatist or otherwise, it really shouldn’t be such a relief to see the light from Boil’s helmet bob into view ahead of him, but it’s getting hard to ignore the dread that’s been hanging over him since they got here.
Waxer really, really doesn’t like this place.
As far as he knows it doesn’t have a name. The briefing they received only listed a long numeric designation, but in the system it’s apparently known as the dead moon. The title seemed accurate - no sentient population for perhaps a thousand years, no flora to speak of, and an unbreathable atmosphere. And the only reason he and Boil and several other ARF teams are here at all is because of rumors that the Separatists may be trying to reactivate old mines with dense metal deposits that were once used for making ship fuel.
After the briefing, Boil had grumbled at Waxer all through mealtime that it was a long shot - mining the moon’s metals and synthesizing fuel from it wouldn’t be efficient for current starships. Waxer didn’t think Boil was wrong, but there’s nothing they can do about their orders. Surface scans of the moon had proved inconclusive - the strange density of the moon’s rocky crust interfered with any attempts to scan it - so the only way to be sure was to send scouts to check for any Separatist activity. At this point, though, Waxer’s hoping that Boil’s right, that the Separatists wouldn’t be dumb enough to try to mine potentially useless fuel, and that they can leave this place as soon as possible.
Waxer quickens his steps until he reaches where Boil is standing. Boil’s bucket swivels slightly in his direction, keeping the beam of his helmet light forward so he doesn’t blind Waxer. Boil tilts his head slightly in question, and Waxer shakes his head in answer.
“Same as the first one,” he says. “Evidence that there was something here at some point, but… I don’t think anyone’s been here for a long time.”
Waxer can hear Boil’s answering huff through his helmet’s speakers. “‘Course not. Why would anyone spend time digging out all this for outdated, thousand-year-old fuel metals?”
Boil’s been sore about that ever since they learned about the mission, and Waxer doesn’t disagree, but he’d rather focus on accomplishing their checkpoints and getting out of here. He gives Boil an obligatory hum of agreement and then nods his head towards the exit.
“We should have enough daylight to make it a few klicks towards the last checkpoint.”
Boil follows him back to the mouth of the cave, which was once the entrance to one of many underground mining facilities on the moon. It’s the second one on their route that they’ve checked, and both have been mostly caved in with no signs of activity. The entrance to this one was almost entirely covered by what must’ve been a rock slide at some point, and he and Boil have to clamber back up a pile of boulders to reach the outside again.
While it is a relief to be out of the mine, the landscape of the dead moon is just as desolate as ever. The majority of the surface is covered in sharp, twisting rock formations that rise and fall across the moon’s pebbly soil, like the waves of a roiling black sea frozen in place, all bathed in murky gray-green light under the overcast sky.
After half-climbing and half-sliding down the rockpile to a little clearing in front of the entrance, Waxer checks their maps of the area on his HUD. The maps they have are a combination of old records of the mining facilities and air reconnaissance data, which were used to plot the best route to get between their checkpoints.
“Looks like due south,” he says, voice sounding tinny to his own ears through the speakers. “And then we should reach a pass.”
“A pass, huh,” Boil deadpans as he follows Waxer towards the next rise of jagged stone they’ll have to scramble over. Getting over the formations that seem to cover almost the entire moon’s surface has proven treacherous. Navigating the landscape is incredibly tricky on foot, untenable with a speeder or even an AT-RT, and landing a ship on it is near impossible - they had to cable down from their larty to make it to the surface. The terrain in every direction is covered in ridges of sharp rocks, topped by tall forbidding spires and riddled with hidden crevasses that could easily break an ankle, or perhaps swallow one of them entirely.
The so-called “passes” that have been marked for their routes between the checkpoints are barely more than narrow ravines, and often require scaling sheer precipices and picking their way across uneven slabs of stone jutting out of the ground at odd angles. Oftentimes it’s difficult to even identify the path they’re supposed to be following, as various potential “passes” veer off in multiple directions in some areas.
Thankfully, this pass seems slightly wider and flatter than the others they’ve encountered, but they still travel in silence so they can focus on carefully placing their feet and testing footholds as they climb. The only sounds for a long time are Waxer’s own breaths inside his helmet and Boil’s footsteps behind him.
They end up stopping a little earlier than planned when they find a flat, stable ledge along the path in the rocks that’s just large enough to fit their little pressurized tent. It’s the first place they’ve found where one of them can lie down without tons of rocks sticking into their back. The light hasn’t quite started to fade once they’ve got their tent assembled, and while Boil sends an update on their progress to command, Waxer ducks inside. He rapidly chokes down a ration bar before he slides his bucket back on, resets his respirator, and crawls back out to take first watch.
Sitting on the end of the rocky ledge, Boil tilts his head at Waxer when he emerges from the tent again. “You eat something already?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Waxer replies as he straightens. Boil looks at him for a moment, his gaze just visible through his visor, but he doesn’t say anything else. He stands and steps toward the tent, but he stops next to Waxer. Putting a hand on Waxer’s shoulder, Boil presses his thumb between the seams of Waxer’s spaulder and chest plate, so he can feel the pressure of the touch. Waxer puts his hand on the back of Boil’s wrist and squeezes, and they stay like that for a moment before Boil pulls away and stoops down to go into the tent. Waxer listens to the soft whoosh of the tent’s interior re-pressurizing, and then sits down in Boil’s place on the end of the ledge.
The flat spot that they’ve found is just high enough that, in the last few minutes of waning daylight, Waxer can see above the spires around them to a distinctly different formation - sleek towers rising high above the twisting sea of rocks, surrounded by a cluster of rectangular structures dotted with windows like empty eyes. It’s one of the pockets of city remains left on the planet from whoever lived here hundreds of years ago.
Waxer idly picks up his binocs to take a closer look. They’ve observed the abandoned structures in the distance previously, but the omnipresent green-gray haze of the upper atmosphere makes it difficult to see anything in the distance too clearly. This is the closest they’ve gotten, and with the binocs Waxer can observe more details of the ruined city. Many of the rectangular buildings are sitting slightly askew, as if the ground underneath them has shifted and sent them lurching to one side or another. The little bits of ground that he can see between the buildings seem to be the same sandy, pebbly ground that they’ve seen in patches between the constant rock formations, with a few flat, dark spots that might be the remains of roads.
Scanning the base of the buildings as best he can, Waxer spots the apparent edge of the city ruins, where the straight lines of the buildings meet the jagged edges of the stone surrounding them. There doesn’t appear to be much space between the edge of the ancient city and the edge of the rock formations - in fact, a few sharp columns of rock seem to be pressed directly against the side of some of the buildings, as if they’re actually some kind of growth creeping up their walls. As Waxer stares, it oddly seems as if the buildings are all tilted away from the black spires, like the formations are an oncoming wave and the structures are making a futile attempt to escape.
Waxer tears his gaze away from the edge of the old city, looking instead toward the center. It’s completely devoid of the rock formations that dominate the rest of the planet’s surface. Nestled amongst the many rectangular buildings, there’s a group of towers rising from a wide, cylindrical structure. It seems more ornate than the other buildings, though the structures surrounding it make it difficult to get a good look at its base. Waxer flicks at the settings on the binocs to zoom in on the towers, and he can see the outlines of detailed, dark swirls painted or etched into the surface of the metal, or whatever the towers are made of.
Continuing his scan, Waxer spots a similar tower along the opposite edge of the city, but it’s larger and appears to be free-standing. It’s the tallest structure in the city that he can see, rising high above any other buildings and far above the encroaching rocks - perhaps a watchtower of some kind. It has the same bold pattern of swirling lines curving up the tower’s side to end in points below the cupola at the top. Part of the cupola’s roof is gone, but the tower looks fairly intact otherwise. The metal spire rising out of the cupola has also been wrought into the same curving design, and Waxer wonders if it meant something particular to the people who once lived here. It’s possible that a closer look would reveal more, but despite the quiet and utterly abandoned state of the city structures in the distance, he and Boil were given only one rule about the ruins – go around them, not through them.
A few minutes later the light has faded and Waxer can only just make out the vague shapes of the city in the distance. He puts the binocs away and settles in for watch, turning his head slightly to sip from his hydration pack. The nights are just as quiet as the daytime, and the near-constant cloud cover means that there isn’t even any light from the stars. Even though their mission has been relatively smooth so far, everything about this place puts Waxer on edge.
While it certainly has its dangers, scouting through the wilderness alone with Boil has been one of Waxer’s favorite things since they went into ARF training. It feels so different from the way Waxer lived most of his life. Waking up in a lush forest, or sprawling desert, or swaying grassland, full of strange and unique creatures and often stunning views, where they can forage and prepare their own food and, to a degree, plan their own routes through the landscape. It feels… freeing.
This world, on the other hand, seems to have done its best to avoid any of the things that Waxer enjoys about scouting with Boil. The atmosphere already makes everything more difficult - in addition to having to keep track of respirator equipment, they can only take their buckets off inside their pressurized tent, and although the respirator comes with a hydration pack that feeds into their buckets, they have to constantly trade off when it comes to sleeping and eating so that one of them can keep watch. And there’s nothing to be foraged here, so they have to rely on ration bars, which makes both of them grumpy.
And… Waxer supposes this is an especially trivial complaint, since it doesn’t interfere with them accomplishing their mission, but he’s gotten used to being close to Boil when they’re on scouting missions together. Seeing Boil’s bucket-tousled hair when he finally removes his helmet at the end of a long hike, eating meals together and watching the way Boil’s eyebrows shoot up at the taste of something new they’ve foraged, getting to sit and talk with Boil for a while as night falls while they clean up and brush their teeth, and sometimes even falling asleep next to Boil when they can find enough shelter that they can sleep at the same time. It’s their third night on this mission and Waxer’s never felt so stuck inside his armor, and so far away from Boil when they’re so close.
Plus, the silence on this moon is unnerving. On nearly every other planet they’ve scouted, there have been signs of life to observe - birds squawking from above, lizards and rodents scuttering about on the ground, the distant chirping or buzzing of unseen insects. Even on Kamino, there were aiwhas breaching the waves, the sound of wind and rain against the Tipoca City walls, the warbling of diikairhas flying overhead. It’s almost completely silent on the moon, except for the wind… and an occasional far-off rumble that Waxer tries not to think about.
“Hey - anything interesting out there?” The sudden sound of Boil’s voice in his ear doesn’t startle him - talking to each other a little before they go to sleep, even if one of them is on watch, has also become part of their routine. As much as he usually enjoys their ARF missions now, Waxer had an awful time sleeping on their first one - he’d never really slept without the sounds of dozens of brothers around him. After his second night of fighting to get some sleep, Boil had pinged his comm and just talked to him until he finally dozed off. A couple of missions later, they started doing it the other way around, too. Waxer doesn’t know if it actually helps Boil get to sleep like it does for him, but Boil’s never asked him to stop.
“Hey,” he replies, already feeling lighter at the sound of Boil’s voice. “Well, I guess if you count the same miles and miles of rocks as interesting, then yeah, we’ve got loads of interest.” Waxer pauses. “I did get a closer look at the city before it got dark, though.”
He describes some of the buildings and designs he saw to Boil - he leaves out his observations about the rock formations. Boil’s responses grow slower and softer until he stops replying entirely, and Waxer smiles to himself as he keeps staring out into the darkness.
Hours pass, and Boil gets up on his own to switch out for the watch. Waxer had honestly planned to let him sleep a little longer, because despite how boring the watch is, it’s still a little better than lying in his sleeping bag alone trying to fall asleep.
He gets into the tent, finally removing his bucket, to see that Boil has set out a ration bar and a pack of water for him, and has set a heat pac inside his sleeping bag to get it warm. Waxer feels a sudden rush of affection - as much as he hates this place, it would be a hundred times worse if he didn’t have Boil with him. Shucking his armor and sliding into his sleeping bag, Waxer grabs his wrist comm.
“Hey Boil?” he says.
“Yeah?” Boil’s voice crackles back at him.
“Thanks.”
Waxer can perfectly imagine the expression on Boil’s face, the way he’ll look down and to the side as if embarrassed that he got caught doing something so nice.
“Well… it is a C-ration, so don’t thank me too hard.”
Waxer chuckles as he opens the ration pack. “Oh well, I take it all back then.” Boil snorts and Waxer smiles at the ceiling of the tent as he takes a bite. They talk idly for a few minutes about their last scouting mission, about the giant winged insects that landed all over the local foliage in the evenings when the temperature dropped, chirping melodically as the sun set. Waxer has hardly realized he’s nodding off when he hears Boil’s voice as if from far away.
“Get some sleep, Wax,” Boils says, voice soft and warm even through the modulation of the speakers.
And Waxer does manage to get a few hours of sleep this time, enough that he feels adequately ready to get moving when he exits the tent the next morning. Boil gives him a hand up as he stands - Waxer squeezes his wrist in thanks, and Boil squeezes back.
Boil crawls inside the tent again so he can eat something before they break camp and head out. Waxer can see the ruined city structures in the thin, gray morning light, and while he waits for Boil he grabs his binocs and surveys the city again. It looks much the same as it did last night as he scans the cluster of rectangular buildings and encroaching spikes of black rock. Continuing across the landscape, Waxer finds the ornate building with the towers again. He stops on it for a moment - maybe it’s his imagination, but it seems like a couple of the towers are leaning further to the side than they were yesterday. It’s hard to tell from this distance, though. Waxer turns his gaze further to the right towards the edge of the ruins, looking for the cupola and metal spire atop the tower he’d seen last night.
The tower is gone.