#Kandria

[kybercrystals94]

Come Back (part 4)

Read here on Ao3!

Rated: T | Words: 2436

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KANDRIA

“I will answer your questions to the best of my capabilities,” Tech says, a strength in his voice that wasn’t there before. 

You don’t have to worry about me, kid, us clones are more resilient than we look, Jaunt had told her while he lay on the cobblestone street, a smile on his lips even as blood trickled from one side and Kandria frantically tried to wipe it away with her sleeve. 

Tech continues, “However, I am more valuable than you realize. Information can be misconstrued and outdated; therefore, I can offer you something greater in exchange for your assistance making contact with my brothers.” 

Kandria’s heart thuds violently in her chest, and blood throbs in her ears. She tries to keep her breathing steady, her feet firmly planted, but she is trembling.

Uncle Garo walks forward and shoves Kandria roughly aside; however, she is ready for the impact, moving with the force of the push to sidestep and keep her balance. She turns and just catches Tech’s eyes shift to her briefly, before focusing on her uncle. 

“You are in no position to bargain with me, clone,” Uncle Garo sneers. He pulls his blaster from his holster. “I could shoot you right now and be done with you.” 

Kandria bites the inside of her cheek to keep from protesting. Something in Tech’s voice tells her that she needs to trust that he knows what he’s doing, that he understood her whispered warning. She prays to Maker he does. 

“You are correct,” Tech tells Uncle Garo. “You could shoot me; however, that would not be in your best interest. I can build you equipment.” 

Uncle Garo lowers the blaster. “What kind of equipment?” 

“With the proper materials, I could construct almost anything you might be in need of,” Tech tells him. “I am an engineer by design, and my mental capacities have been enhanced. I have memorized hundreds of schematics in my lifetime.” 

The fist around Kandria’s lungs loosens when Uncle Garo reholsters his blaster. “Is that so?” 

“But I will need your word that I can make contact with my brothers.”  

“We do not have a transmitter,” Uncle Garo tells Tech. 

Tech nods. “I thought as much. I will build that as well. I will be sure that it has the capability of secure encryption.” 

Uncle Garo is silent, and Kandria knows he is trying to decide if he should take Tech at his word or not. Finally, he nods before turning sharply and leaving the storeroom. 

It is as close to an agreement as Tech will get, although Uncle Garo will never keep his word on such a thing. But Tech has bought himself time, plenty of time, to heal. Kandria can help him escape later. She will not think about the consequences. The consequences don’t matter. She can save him. She will save him.

Kandria releases a shaky breath of frail relief. 

TECH

After proving his usefulness, Garo allowed the girl to use the correct dosages of medications. It has made him sleep for long hours, surfacing consciousness only long enough to drink water and the nearly flavorless but warm broth he is offered before sinking again into dark, dreamless depths. 

This time, when he comes to, he finds his mind more alert than it has been since he made the decision to sever the connection between the railcars. Although he thinks he might be able to manage on his own, the girl insists on helping him sit up, and offers him the mug of broth to hold in his own hands. She then sits on the edge of the cot. 

“Can you really do all the things you told Uncle Garo?” she asks him.

“I can,” Tech tells her. 

Kandria tips her head. “And you’re an enhanced clone?”

“That is also true.” 

“Are there other enhanced clones?” 

The girl seems genuinely curious, pale eyes watching him intently. He is not accustomed to natborns being particularly interested in clones or their development outside of vague fascination. Then again, Clone Force 99 rarely worked directly with civilians for any substantial length of time to allow such questions to appear organically. Perhaps this is a common line of conversation.

“Few survived,” Tech tells her. “My brothers and sister are enhanced in different ways.” 

“What kind of ways?” 

He did not anticipate the subject of his siblings creating a sharp twist of emotional discomfort under his broken ribs. While he has every intention of finding them again and relocating Kandria to Pabu, there are variables outside of his control. Clone Force 99’s perfect record has ended spectacularly, starting with the loss of Crosshair to the Empire. Failure is as likely as success. 

He may find his family again. 

He may not. 

He may save Kandria from the man she calls uncle. 

He may not. 

He may die, either from an unforeseen complication of his injuries, or a blaster bolt between his eyes if Garo should have a change of heart. 

Do you ever cry, Tech? Omega asked him in another lifetime. 

“Hunter has heightened senses and is able to detect electromagnetic fields. This makes his sense of direction far more accurate than any map you might have,” Tech says, answering Kandria rather than Omega. “Crosshair…” he hesitates a moment before pressing on, “Crosshair’s mutation is that his vision and marksmanship capabilities have been enhanced. I have yet to witness a shot he does not have the ability to make. Wrecker possesses superhuman strength and is larger than the average clone. We once watched him wrestle a young rancor until he wore the creature out, as an example.” 

The girl laughs. It in no way sounds like Omega, but it is painfully reminiscent. The emotion in his chest twists again, and were it made of flesh, it would surely be bleeding. 

“He fought a rancor?” Kandria asks incredulously, still smiling, oblivious to Tech’s invisible wounds. 

Tech blinks. “A young one,” he reiterates. 

“Why?” 

“That,” Tech says, “is a long and complicated story.”

“We have time,” Kandria tells him with a grin. 

And Tech cannot argue with that logic. 

KANDRIA

Her father used to tell her stories about when he was a ship medic, traveling the galaxy. Granted, most of his stories centered around an injury or illness of some kind, but Kandria didn’t mind. You’d be surprised how much trouble a crew can get into, he’d tell her. Some of the stories were secondhand from his patients, excuses and explanations for the ailments they’d bring to the med bay. Lies, most of them. I felt like a detective trying to root out the truth in all the malarkey. And it was funny that he said that, because Kandria was almost positive that he embellished his own stories liberally, even if it was just to make her smile or laugh. 

Tech does not tell stories like her father did, and she does not have to worry about any sort of malarkey. 

“...we were criminally underpaid for the job,” Tech tells her as he finishes his account of the rancor incident. 

Kandria shrugs one shoulder. “But at least you got a good story out of it. My dad always said that as long as you have a story to tell or a lesson you learned, no experience is wasted.” 

“Hmmm.” Tech regards her thoughtfully for a moment. “Your father…where is he?” 

If Kandria has learned one thing about Tech in the little time she’s known him, he is well spoken but blunt. Painfully honest; however, it is a fair question. And she brought her father up in the first place. “He died,” she says, keeping her voice as even as she can. The admission still feels as fresh as the day she told Jaunt the news. “During one of the Separatist attacks on my home planet.” 

There had been chatter about Separatists in the area; but there was always chatter. After all, they were close to a major trade route and were under Republic protection. And yet, her father had told her to stay home that day, to keep the door locked. It had made her so angry, and like a small child, she’d pouted and didn’t tell him goodbye. She can still feel the warmth of his palm on top of her head as he told her he loved her, that he’d come straight home after his shift. I love you, sweetheart. I won’t get caught up in conversation with Mister Roolek today, I promise. She hadn’t wanted his promise. She’d wanted her way. And it had cost her any final happy memory with him. 

“Is that when you came to be with your uncle?” Tech asks. 

Kandria shakes her head. That is a part of her history she is not willing to tell. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Are you finished with your broth?” she asks, shifting the subject away from raw, stinging memories.

“Yes, thank you,” he says, and lets her take it from his hands. 

Kandria turns to leave. 

“I apologize if my questions were insensitive,” Tech says behind her, briefly stopping her retreat. “I did not mean to cause you any sort of emotional discomfort.” 

And she knows he means it, which somehow makes her emotional discomfort worse and better in the same aching heartbeat. No one has cared about her for a long time. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have the real thing and not just threadbare memories of those now out of reach. 

“I’m fine,” she tells him, and leaves the room before she starts to cry. 

<<>><<>>

“You look a little young to work here, kid.” 

Kandria startles and looks up from her data pad to find a clone staring down at her from the other side of the counter. Flustered, she begins rambling, “Oh. I don’t. I’m just sitting here reading while I wait for my dad. He’s finishing his rounds.” 

“Ah, I see,” the clone says. He takes off his helmet. “So, your dad’s a doctor? Would his name happen to be Doctor Terrand?” 

Kandria nods. 

“Fantastic, just the man I wanted to see. I have a delivery of medications for him.” 

“Oh.” Kandria didn’t know that soldiers made deliveries. 

The clone looks past her at the door leading to the main ward. “You said he’s just finishing his rounds?” 

“Yes, sir. But I can go get him if you’d like.” 

“I’d appreciate it, kid,” the trooper says with a grin. “And you can just call me Jaunt. ‘Sir’ makes me sound more important than I am.”

Kandria smiles politely as she slips down from her chair. “I’ll go find my dad,” she tells him, hugging her data pad to her chest, before she whirls around and flees the front office for the sanctuary of the clinic.

One of the night nurses catches her the moment she gets through the door. “You know better than to run,” she scolds. 

“There’s a clone trooper here with a delivery for my dad,” Kandria tells her. 

The nurse frowns. “No excuses. Walk.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Kandria sighs. 

Her father’s clinic is small, specializing in long-term elder and end of life care. As Kandria walks past open doors, some of the patients call out greetings, and she makes sure to smile and wave back. As she suspects, her father is in Mister Roolek’s room. She stands in the doorway, patiently waiting for a lull in the animated conversation between her father and the Rodian. 

Mister Roolek’s dark eyes fall on her almost immediately. “Little Star! Apologies, I have kept your father longer than I should.” 

“It’s okay,” Kandria says, stepping into the room. 

“Did you need something, sweetheart?” her father asks. 

“There is a trooper here that says he has a delivery for you,” Kandria says. 

“Oh,” her father says, turning back to Mister Roolek, “You’ll have to excuse me, Siero.”

“Of course, of course,” Mister Roolek says, waving one long fingered hand. “Go do your work, Doctor. Our conversation will keep until tomorrow.” 

As her father passes by, he pats Kandria’s head. “Thanks, kiddo.” 

Kandria moves to follow after him, but is stopped short by Mister Roolek’s voice. “How’s your new book, Little Star?” 

Kandria turns back and goes to Mister Roolek’s bed, holding up her data pad. “Very good. I’ve almost finished it,” she tells him. “Then I can read it out loud to you if you’d like.”

“I would like that very much,” he says. “You are an excellent narrator.” 

Kandria beams. “Thank you.” 

“You know that your mother was one of my students when I was a teacher?” 

Kandria does know this, has heard it a hundred times; however, as she always does, she shakes her head, letting Mister Roolek tell the story again for what he thinks is the first time. 

“Such a bright student, your mother. Kind and diligent. You are just like her when she was your age.”

“Thank you,” Kandria says. 

Mister Roolek sighs, sinking back into his pillows. “Taken too soon, your mother.”

Kandria nods. While she does not have any of her own memories of her mother, she feels the loss deeply through the voices of those who knew her. It feels strange to miss something she doesn’t remember, but it is there nonetheless, a tender, hollow emptiness. 

“Go catch up with your father, Little Star,” Mister Roolek tells her. 

“I’ll come read to you tomorrow,” Kandria says. “I think I’ll finish the book tonight.” 

He smiles at her. “I look forward to it then.” 

Kandria returns to the lobby just as the trooper is putting his helmet back on. “See ya around, kid,” he says with a nod. 

Her father turns to her. “I’ll go lock this up, then we’ll be ready to go.” 

“Okay, Dad,” Kandria says, watching the clone trooper leave. 

She wonders if she’ll ever see Jaunt again…or how she’d even know since he looks the same as all the others. 

TECH

Kandria takes the distraction of her presence with her, leaving Tech’s hyperactive mind entirely to its own devices. He should be thinking about how to escape, how to bring Kandria with him. He should be thinking of his own survival; however, melancholy claims his thoughts instead. 

Tech misses his data pad. He misses his goggles. He misses the structure of the war, the certainty of success, and the defying of failure. He misses his squad. He misses Hunter’s quiet leadership and Wrecker’s unconventional brilliance. He misses Echo’s hard won wisdom and Omega’s determined optimism. He misses Crosshair and hopes that they still search for him. 

Do you ever cry, Tech? 

And he thinks he might. 

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[wigc]

Survive to Shape the Future in Pixelated Platformer 'Kandria'

Ever been told how "the future is what you make of it", "sky's the limit", or "you can do anything you set your mind to"? In Kandria, that's totally the case, as nothing and no one will stop you from going... well, wherever. (Except your own skill level.)

Continue reading

[shinmera]

1921

Small sketch to advertise the launch of Kandria

https://studio.tymoon.eu/view/2076

[fullcry]

Itch.io game bundle (373 titles for $8) in support of Palestinian Relief

From the bundle page:

Palestinians are being persecuted from their homes in an ongoing genocide. Due to the armed actions of Israel, they lack access to essentials such as food, water, electricity and medical care. In response to this crisis, all proceeds from the Palestinian Relief indie bundle will be donated to the PCRF (Palestine Children's Relief Fund). PCRF describes itself as "the primary humanitarian organization in Palestine, delivering crucial and life-saving medical relief where it is needed most". By donating to the PCRF, Palestinians will have better access to medical relief, food and water. If you enjoy TTRPGs, you can also contribute to the similar ongoing bundle TTRPGs for Palestine.

Titles include:

A Short Hike

Under hero

Zeroranger

Kandria

Anodyne

Brush Burial

And tons of others (these are just some of the games I was familiar with and excited about!)

Please head on over to Itch.io and consider supporting!

[grimoire-ink]

Basing Commission for Kandria (#293)

[all-the-things-2020]

Continuing the Way - Chapter Three

Summary: Din gets a visitor from his past.

Rating: PG

The doorbell rang and Din instinctively glanced toward the drawer where he kept his blaster hidden. He took a moment to unlock it and slip the blaster into the waistband of his pants before he went to the door. With two curious boys in the house, he never carried a weapon on his person anymore, but there were several stashed around the apartment, just in case.

Right now, the boys were playing tauntaun races under the kitchen table, so Din felt comfortable opening the door. He immediately regretted it.

“Jado Isard,” he said as soon as he recognized the man standing in the hallway.

A broad smile crept over the man’s face. There were a few more scars than Din remembered, but it was definitely the mercenary turned Rebel soldier turned arms merchant that he’d crossed paths with several years ago. “Kandria was right,” Isard said. “It is you.”

“What do you want?” Din asked curtly.

Isard held up his hands. “Can I come in? You can search me, I’m not carrying anything.”

Din carefully patted down the other man before stepping aside to let him enter the apartment. He was reluctant to let Isard into his home, but better to have the man behind a closed door than standing in the public hallway. “Sit down,” Din said, indicating the chair closest to the door. 

Isard laughed. His reddish blond hair was cropped close but his beard was as unruly as ever. “Nice place,” he said, settling carefully onto the chair. He did not fully relax, but neither did Din.

“Daddy?” Cabur called hesitantly.

Din flicked his eyes toward the boys, but kept his focus on Isard. “Yes, ad?”

“Need a go potty,” Cabur said, almost apologetically.

Isard laughed. “Go ahead, take care of the kid,” he said. “I promise I won’t do anything. Swear on my mother’s bones.”

Jado Isard was many things, but he would never disgrace his mother’s memory. Din sighed and gestured to Cabur. “Come on, son,” he said quietly. He nodded at Ad’ika, who was still sitting quietly under the table. The boy nodded back. He would keep an eye on Isard.

Din escorted Cabur into the ‘fresher and helped him use the potty. “Bad man?” Cabur asked quietly when they were done.

“Maybe,” Din admitted. “You and Ad’ika stay out of the way, okay?”

Cabur nodded. “Elek, buir.” Yes, father. He didn’t speak Mando’a as well or as often as Ad’ika did, but he knew enough. Din smiled. “Jate,” he replied. Good.

They returned to the living room, where Isard was still sitting awkwardly on the chair and Ad’ika was lurking behind the table leg, his huge eyes fixed on the stranger. Cabur scurried back to his brother, and Isard watched him go, his face showing his surprise as he noticed Ad’ika.

“What the hell is that?,” he asked, as Din settled back onto the couch. 

“That is my son,” Din said evenly.

“No, the other one,” Isard said. “The green one.” He leaned forward to get a better look, and Ad’ika shrank back behind his brother.

“They are both my sons,” Din said.

Isard raised an eyebrow. “How many wives do you have? Kandria said she’d heard you’d married but not who … or what.”

“Just one,” Din said. “One of my sons is a foundling. The other is not. Even you’re smart enough to figure out which is which.” 

Isard shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. The kids aren’t important.” He made a dismissive hand gesture and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I need your help, Mando.”

“I don’t answer to that name anymore,” Din said. “I’m dar’manda now. You can call me Djarin. Or better yet, go away and don’t call me anything. I can’t help you; I’m done with that part of my life.” He stood up, looking pointedly at the door.

“But you’re the only one who can pull this off,” Isard said. He ran a hand over his face. “And you’re the only one left who hasn’t said no,” he admitted. “Come on, for old time’s sake, help a fellow out.”

“No,” Din said firmly. 

“You don’t even know what the job is,” Isard said. “Let me explain …”

“I said no,” Din said. “Now get out of my house.”

Before he could take a step toward Isard, the door opened. Mariana froze in the doorway, her satchel halfway off her shoulder.

“What’s going on?,” she said, her eyes darting between Din, Isard and the boys, who were now easing their way out from under the table.

“This must be the wife,” Isard said. He stood up, a smarmy smile on his face and his hand extended. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jado Isard, an old associate of your husband.”

To her credit, Mariana didn’t take Isard’s offered hand. “If that’s the case, why is he telling you to get out?” Her eyes hardened, and Din felt pride swelling inside him. More than pride, if he was perfectly honest; tough Mariana never failed to turn him on.

Isard shrugged. “I made him a job offer. He turned it down. Simple as that.” He smirked. “I’ll be sure to tell Kandria you said hello; she misses you, you know.” With a lewd wink, Isard brushed past Mariana and left the apartment.

“You can tell me what that was about later,” Mariana said, shutting the door firmly behind Isard’s back. “And who Kandria is.” She gave him a pointed look that promised a reckoning later, then dropped her satchel on the table as she always did. “Right now, I want to see my boys!”

Cabur and Ad’ika rushed toward her and she knelt down to wrap them in a hug. “Get down here, Daddy,” she said, looking up at Din, her eyes much softer now. “Family snuggle time is definitely in order.”

Din dropped to the floor and embraced his family. He doubted that this was the last he’d see of Jado Isard, but for now, the threat was gone.

************************************************ “So,” Mariana said as she slid into bed next to Din. “Who’s Kandria?”

Din had already explained the reason for Isard’s visit, and a little bit of background on the man. A mercenary who’d joined the Rebellion but gone back to the underworld once it was clear he’d make more money there than in any legitimate business under the aegis of the New Republic. Din had bought weapons from him a few times and done a few side jobs for him when Guild jobs were in short supply.

Din traced his finger down her cheek. “Do we have to do this now?,” he asked. 

Mariana tangled her fingers into his hair. He needed a trim and she made a mental note to book him an appointment with the barber. “Yes,” she said, “we do. So tell me who Kandria is or I’m rolling over and going to sleep.” She tugged at a lock of hair to let him know she was serious.

He sighed and laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Look at me,” Mariana said. Din turned his head slightly, his eyes still not quite locking on hers. “Who is she?”

“A contact,” Din said. Mariana poked him gently but firmly in the chest with her finger. “She was my go-between when Isard wanted to make a deal, or hire me.” He paused. There was clearly more to the story and Mariana stared him down until he went on. “She worked at a brothel on Hokua.”

Mariana leaned closer. “Was she more than just a contact?,” she asked quietly. “Don’t lie to me, Din, I can tell.”

“On occasion we had … business … that didn’t involve Jado Isard,” he admitted.

Mariana kissed his forehead. “But she never got to do this, did she?”

“No.”

“Or this.” She kissed his nose, then his lips. “Or this.”

“No,” Din said, taking her face between his hands. “Only you.”

“Okay, then,” Mariana said, before pulling back and flopping down on the mattress with her back to him. “Good night.”

She didn’t have to wait long before he was whispering in her ear. “You’re a horrible tease, Mariana Djarin.”

She rolled over, bumping noses with him. “I know,” she said. She kissed him again, winding her arms around his neck. “Don’t worry, I can’t be jealous of someone you knew before you ever met me. And I wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin when we got together, either.”

Din slid his arms down her back, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her close. “You never had a choice,” he murmured. “I did.”

“I had a choice when it mattered,” she replied. “And I chose you.” She kissed him again and there were no more words that night.

[mauthings]

More (Common) Lisp complaints

Because they are like those people selling financial freedom.

Lisp feels so irrelevant in game dev (desktop, non-mobile). C++ dominates this field. Flash successors plenty abound. XNA alternatives all around. Even Java is there. But where is Lisp?

Naughty Dogs

FF7

Kandria

...?

Let's be honest. These are not success stories. These list feels more like they use Lisp because they are extremely familiar with it. The fact that Naughty Dogs used Lisp doesn't mean Lisp is viable - it just means they have built extensive tooling around it; it is their secret sauce, and they will not share it (it is their rice bowl after all). No games or companies (on the Sony platform) before or after them used Lisp in a major way. It is probably not practical.

And furthermore, with the explosion of indie gaming some time ago, no notable Lisp games was released. Lisp is supposed to be the secret weapon for single developers or small teams - yet I see none of it.

On performance, it is said that Lisp can be 1.5-3x performance of C, and there are even claims that it can go faster than C because the compiler + runtime are included. Now, on the "faster than C part", it's quite hard to believe, when Java with tons of engineering work, finds it quite hard to be on par with C.

Now, that being said, I present my pet peeves.

Lisps might need a lot of effort to reach "close-to-C" speed. Java can have moderately decent programmers with low to moderate effort, and produce "close-to-C" speed. That is the true achievement of Java in my opinion. I don't have to be damn fucking smart or spend a lot of time to achieve great performance, memory safety, easy-to-read code, and more, with just higher memory usage. And these days, I suspect it is even lower than SBCL if you limit memory and use parallel GC. That is a feat that is hard to beat.

What about C++? Lisp can reach "close-to-C" speed. There are claims that Lisps can beat C in speed because of compiler + runtime. Those are only claims. C++ has already beat C in performance, with zero overhead, using a poor mans macro (C++ template) https://stackoverflow.com/a/18004168.

On to the word "tooling", Lisp developers consider tooling as the ability to extend the language, create constructs that are simply not possible in other languages. In the rest of the world, tooling means... tooling.

Like the macro LOOP. If this is tooling, then it is a fucking monstrosity. We all have limited mental capacity. If my program is going to have multiple LOOP-like mental usage, well.. fuck me.

Toolings are like.. IDEs. And sometimes they are so damn good it is not even funny. But the most important thing they do is to reduce your mental load, by being as smart as possible. Tooling does the work, you do the coding. I sometimes wonder if IDE users realize you can do 99.9% of the same things with... | Hacker News (ycombinator.com)

And since I like Java, I will just say some things. Java the language is hilariously weak compared to Lisp, but the runtime, ecosystem, tooling, everything far outshines current Lisps. And the Java language are clearly designed by level-headed geniuses - at least they never claim that Java is the best full stop. Well, I consider them geniuses when I read Brian Goetz, Aleksey Shipilëv, or Ron Pressler when it comes to Java.

And while there is a saying that Java needs a state-of-the-art GC because of all the garbage it produces.. well it is also because of this GC that you can have highly performant code with mediocre code, that won't blow your memory.

The funny thing is that from a purely technological point of view, Java (even th... | Hacker News (ycombinator.com)

JVM Anatomy Quark #11: Moving GC and Locality (shipilev.net)

Java is better than C++ for high speed trading systems | Hacker News (ycombinator.com)

A few more links to show why I feel these people are so delusional. If only they were more pragmatic

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=37458188

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=35006777 and https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=35006777&p=2, search for lisp

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=37308747 and https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=37308747&p=2, search for lisp

[hackernewsrobot]

Show HN: Kandria, an action RPG made in Common Lisp, is now out

https://store.steampowered.com/app/1261430/Kandria/ Comments

[kybercrystals94]

FANTASTIC fan art. My heart is absolutely BURSTING 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Thank you so much @blackseafoam — you captured Kandria perfectly ♥️♥️♥️♥️ And Tech is fantastic as usual 🥹

I don’t think I can ever express how much I love this!

Fan art for @kybercrystals94 ‘s fic ‘Come Back’. It has everything I love in a fic and is so well written ;-;

[kybercrystals94]

Come Back (part 5)

Read here on Ao3

<<Previous Chapter | Next Chapter>>

Rated: T | Words: 2109

TECH 

Tech, even for all his difficulty deciphering traditional displays of emotions, can feel the ire rolling off of his brother in waves. “I do not understand why you are angry with me,” he admits, trying to match pace with the cadet who seems determined to stay several steps ahead. 

“It wasn’t your fight, Tech,” Crosshair snaps.

“Your fight is always my fight,” Tech argues. “We are a squad.”

“You are a di’kut!” Crosshair groans, putting his hands to his head and grabbing fistfuls of pale hair. “Hunter is going to kill me.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t keep my mouth shut, can I? And now look at you!” 

Tech has no ability to look at himself as directed; however, he is aware that he does not look as he did when he and Crosshair left the barracks. He is trying to ignore the obvious crack in the right lens of his goggles, and his injuries likely match Crosshair’s: bruises, swelling, and split skin now covered in bacta patches. The Kaminoan medics had not been pleased when the trainers brought in an entire class of cadets. 

“We will tell him it was my fault,” Tech says.

Crosshair stops walking, grabbing Tech’s arm to make him stop too. “Why would we do that?” 

“It isn’t entirely a lie,” Tech tells him. “After all, you only said what you said because of me.”

“Stop trying to save me, Tech.” Crosshair shoves him. “You don’t always have to be the hero.” 

Tech stares at him. “What?” 

“I made my choice,” Crosshair hisses, shoving him again, hard. “You shouldn’t have to pay for it.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Tech asks. “Why are you pushing me away? Why won’t you let me help you?” 

Crosshair lunges forward, catching the front of Tech’s uniform shirt in his fists, pulling him close, and snarls, “I didn’t ask for your help. I told you to run. Plan 88. Did you hear me? Plan 88!” 

“Plan 88? What is Plan 88?” Tech tries to pull away, prying at Crosshair’s grip with shaking fingers, frightened by the sheer hatred in his brother’s voice. He’s never been scared of Crosshair. Not until…

And then Crosshair isn’t a cadet anymore. He is in the Empire’s armor. The Empire. Order 66. 

“Crosshair,” Tech gasps out, and he wraps his desperate, trembling fingers around his brother’s wrists instead. “We’re coming for you. We’re coming!” 

“I didn’t ask you to,” Crosshair reiterates, but some of the hatred has leaked out. “I didn’t ask you to die.” 

“I’m not dead,” Tech tells him. 

Crosshair tips his head. “You look dead to us.” 

Tech wakes gasping for breath, Crosshair’s voice raw and sharp still echoing in his ears. He moves to sit up, and while his entire body protests the movement, he doesn’t care. The pain means that he is awake. That he is alive. That he isn’t dead. 

You look dead to us. 

“Tech?” Kandria is standing a few meters away from him, her arms wrapped around a bundle. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he tells her, but his voice betrays him. He swallows and glares down at his hands still trembling in his lap. 

“Okay,” Kandria says. She steps closer. “I brought you some clothes. Real clothes, that is.” She sets the stack on the cot beside him and lifts the top article. She holds it reverently, her thumbs brushing over the heavy, knitted material. “This sweater was my father’s.” 

“Thank you,” he tells her, and he hopes she can hear the depth of his sincerity. 

“Do you need help?” she asks, replacing the sweater to the stack. 

“I think I can manage,” Tech says, offering a thin smile. 

Kandria nods. “I’ll come back in a few minutes then with your breakfast. And Uncle Garo wants me to make a list of the parts you’ll need to build a transmitter radio.” 

“Excellent. Thank you, Miss Kandria.” 

The use of her name seems to surprise her, and she grins. “You’re welcome, Tech.” 

He waits until she has left the room before attempting further movement. He examines the clothing. The trousers look like they will be too wide and too short; however, they are in far better shape than his blacks. The sweater is softer than he anticipated. It is mostly dark blue, but the collar, cuffs and hem are edged in an earthy yellow design.

It takes him far longer to change than he would like, and it makes him realize just how far he will need to come in his recovery before he is in any position of escaping himself, let alone with the girl in tow. He knows that he will not be allowed to freely make contact with his brothers, let alone simply leave. 

There is a tentative knock.

“I am done,” Tech calls out. 

The door slides open and Kandria comes in with a flimsi notebook and a bowl of something that somehow smells both savory and sweet. He is sitting on the edge of the cot, and Kandria sits next to him, handing Tech the bowl. 

“It’s porridge,” she tells him, then whispers, “My own special recipe.” 

Tech takes a tentative bite and is pleasantly impressed. “It is surprisingly good.” 

“Thanks,” Kandria says, smiling. 

Tech continues to eat while Kandria draws little doodles on the edges of the flimsi.

“Crosshair is your brother with enhanced eyesight, isn’t he?” she asks suddenly. 

Tech nearly chokes on the bite he was swallowing. “Pardon?” he asks, although he knows exactly what she said; he just needs a moment to compose himself. 

“You said his name in your sleep,” Kandria explains. “You sounded so sad. Did something happen to him too?” 

“Too?” Tech echoes. 

“Well, something happened to you,” Kandria says, as though it is obvious. 

And it is.

“Oh,” Tech says.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Kandria tells him gently. “I just know sometimes it helps to talk about things when you’re sad. But not always.”

Tech stirs at the remnant remains of his porridge. “Crosshair is a prisoner of the Empire. We were trying to get information as to his location when…when I fell.” 

“Your other family was with you?” Kandria asks.

Tech nods, because the words catch in his throat. 

“So they think you are dead.” It isn’t a question. There is no question. Who could survive such a fall? Tech isn’t even sure how it is possible…and he was there…is here…

You look dead to us.

“I’m sorry,” Kandria whispers. 

Tech clears his throat. “I will not be lost forever, and neither will Crosshair,” he tells her firmly, because verbalizing it might somehow make it true. 

Kandria nods, and there is a certainty to the action that Tech appreciates deeply. He wants to tell her that he intends to take her with him, that he will not leave her behind; however, he isn’t yet sure how she would take such information, if it would be well received. She is not safe here, and her uncle does not deserve to have her in his care. It is in her best interest that she be rescued. Victims don’t always realize. 

“I suppose we’d better get started on this transmitter then,” Kandria says.

KANDRIA

“Why don’t clones have normal names?” 

Jaunt laughs. “What’re you talkin’ about, kid? You saying my name ain’t normal?” 

“Yes,” Kandria tells him unabashedly.

“Rude,” Jaunt huffs, but the grin on his face tells her that he isn’t actually mad. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him mad. “You know, my name wasn’t always Jaunt. We used to have to go by our CT numbers. Still do on official documents and all that; however, unlike you natborns, we get to choose our names…or at least get given a name by our brothers that matches our charming personalities.” 

Kandria smiles. “Did you pick your name?” 

“Nope! It was given to me by one of my batchmates. We did a training exercise where we had to go on a thirty-six standard hour hike off-world. Afterwards, I said, sarcastically of course, ‘Well, that was a nice little jaunt.’” Jaunt uses both hands to indicate himself. “And just like that, my name was born.” 

“Do you like your name?” 

“Not at first. I was hoping for something more hardcore like Droid Slayer…but it’s grown on me.” 

“What name would you give me, if I were a clone?” Kandria asks. 

Jaunt stops walking to look down at her thoughtfully. “You want a clone name?” 

Kandria nods eagerly. 

“Well, then, you’ll have to earn it,” Jaunt tells her, then turns on his heel and continues on his patrol. 

Kandria gapes after him for a moment before jogging to catch up. “How?”

Jaunt shrugs. “I don’t make the rules, kiddo, I just follow them.” 

“Will you tell me when I earn it?” 

“‘Course I will. You can bet your bottom credit I’ll have a clone name picked for you by the end of the war.” 

Kandria grins and wonders what her clone name will be.

“Can you tell me about your name?” Kandria asks. 

Tech does not look up from the wire he is stripping. “What do you mean?” 

Kandria hesitates, then rephrases her question. “Did you pick your name or did your brothers?” 

“Ah,” Tech says. “Our names more or less identify with our enhancements. They are rather obvious.” 

“Oh.” Disappointed by the short answer, Kandria continues stripping her own wire, carefully following Tech’s example. 

Tech hums thoughtfully. “You seem well acquainted with clone culture.” 

“I was friends with a clone trooper,” Kandria says. “He told me a lot.” 

“What was his name?” 

Kandria hesitates. “Jaunt.” 

“I assume his name has a humorous backstory,” Tech comments. 

“When he was a cadet, he called a thirty-six hour training hike a ‘nice little jaunt’.” Kandria is surprised at how nice it feels to talk about him. 

Tech chuckles. “That reminds me of my brother Echo…he was not originally a member of our squad; however, his name was similarly acquired. He had an unfortunate habit of echoing information to his original squad. He still does, if I am being honest.” 

“Echo,” Kandria says. “That’s a nice name.” 

“He was not always fond of it,” Tech says. “But he seems pleased with it now.” 

Kandria laughs. 

“Our sister, Omega, was named like a natborn in a way,” Tech continues. “As far as I am aware, she was decanted with that name. You and Omega will get along well, I think.” 

Kandria nearly drops the wire and blade in her hands, turning to look up at Tech. He has gone still as well, his dark eyes wide. “Ah,” he says, almost to himself, and she hears him swallow. He puts down the wire. “That is…I think that if the two of you ever met, you would get along.” 

A question burns on Kandria’s tongue, one she hadn’t even dared to hope to ask, hadn’t even considered a possibility. “You’ll take me with you?” Her voice comes out as a breathless whisper. 

She isn’t sure Tech heard her until he gives a single nod, a lift and drop of his head. “That is the plan.” 

“The plan,” Kandria echoes, and she feels the thrill of terrified excitement. 

“I have not been given the impression that you are safe or happy with your uncle and cousins,” Tech says, and his voice is quiet, even though they both know that the men in question are away from the warehouse. 

“My father would not have wanted me with them,” Kandria says, moving her eyes to the floor. “Jaunt tried to protect me, but…he couldn’t forever.” 

Tech nods again. “I know that it is a lot to ask, but I hope you will trust me.” 

Impulsively, Kandria drops her wire and grasps his now empty hand, gripping it tight. “I do!” she insists. 

Tech looks surprised by the sudden contact, but he does not pull away. “It will not be easy,” Tech tells her, “and there are risks.” 

Kandria nods. “I know.” 

“Good,” Tech says. “Then I can count on your discretion? We must not give Garo any reason to believe we have any sort of scheme.” 

Kandria nods again. 

Tech’s hand until this moment has been slack in hers; however, now, he curls his fingers around hers and squeezes briefly before pulling away. “I will give you information as you need it; otherwise, it is safer that you remain in the dark.” 

“Okay,” Kandria agrees, even if she longs to ask more questions. She does trust him. She has to trust him. 

Because there is no one else left in the galaxy for her to trust. 

Until now. 

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[prokopetz]

“Forthcoming metroidvania with Celeste style movement tech” is becoming something of a theme around here, but I’m highlighting Kandria in particular because a. by the developer’s own admission it literally started out as a Celeste hack, and you can really, really tell; and b. the protagonist is sporting the standard Early 1990s Cinematic Platformer Protagonist outfit, and that’s inexplicably funny to me.

[shinmera]

Wrote a lengthy yearly review article for Kandria. Lots to see, so check it out: https://reader.tymoon.eu/article/419

[kandriagame]

Concept tiles I made.

[grimoire-ink]

Basing Commission for Kandria (#293)

[xilacs]

me: im never gonna work for aywas again

me approx. 7 hours later: sketch was so fun tho 👀 👀 👀

[scroll-for-damage-blog]

Airships, man.

6am and I’m wide awake, I guess now is as good a time as any to start this.

Maybe it will help me be more creative with my writing, my plans, my world.

I don’t know.

Maybe I just don’t want to forget some of the silly business the players get up to.

It had been about a year since I last ran D&D, maybe less but I guess it doesn’t matter too much.

A friend of mine talked to me often about Critical Role, and how one day he hoped to play. I mentioned in passing that I used to run games and it took off from there.

This was probably four months ago at this point. A few players have come and gone, but the ones who have stuck with it are starting to feel more safe in their skin. I think that’s the best part of running D&D, at least it is for me.

I didn’t give the players too much information about the world, the most I gave them is that it would be a mostly human-dominated world and that there would be airships. I think I called them whirligigs because that word is fun to say and I’m not a very serious person.

What I tried was something I wish I had tried earlier. Instead of backstories for their characters, I asked the players to come up with details about where they were born.

Make up a hamlet, town, city, or even a kingdom. Tell me what it’s like to grow up there.

I was going to scribble down short bios for each of the Player Characters here too, but then I’d probably ramble on forever.

I’m out of coffee anyway.