"It's your turn, Amir!" Kaharman shouted from inside.
"Shouldn't you rest for a bit?" Amir was sure Kaharman had to be exhausted too.
"Rest? For what? I'm waiting until he wakes up!" Kaharman bellowed through the door.
…Right. Of course you are.
Amir got up and headed back into the treatment room.
"I've already read what Paks sent me," Kaharman said, handing Amir a datapad—his file, without question. "If we go by this, the fact you're still alive—and intact, at least apparently intact—is even more bizarre than No. 032."
Amir glanced at Kaharman's expression. He looked oddly calm, and Amir finally let out a breath.
"Don't look at me like that, Amir. Your issue is mostly genetic—outside my specialty. And you won't let me convert you," Kaharman grumbled.
"Alright, alright… What about the tracking problem?"
"That part's… strange." Kaharman tapped the datapad. "You should know you and No. 032 both had foreign gene segments inserted. But your body isn't being shredded like his—almost no obvious external traits manifested. That's extremely unusual. Still, in your baseline scans, one trait did show up."
Amir was reading his "file" too, but it was all from before he was even born. On the surface it looked no different from No. 032's—standard, boring. He couldn't see what Kaharman meant, so he waited.
"This trait matches No. 032's. It comes from a creature called a purrgil—spacefaring life-forms, usually bluish-purple. They have massive tail-tendrils, lateral fins, and a dorsal fin. Legendary animals. They can travel through hyperspace. The invention of the hyperdrive was inspired by them."
"The tracking method that's been tormenting you likely comes from one of their abilities. When purrgil migrate through space, they periodically emit a kind of electromagnetic pulse to call to others of their kind. It's hard to detect—very close to your natural biofield. But with specialized equipment, it's easy to pick up and pinpoint precisely."
"You're saying I have a purrgil gene segment?" Amir still found it hard to believe. "That's insane. It'd make more sense if Gideon or John Morri were Force-sensitive and just hunted me with the Force."
"Maybe it's purrgil. Maybe it's another species with a similar capability." Kaharman shrugged. "I didn't believe it at first either. But my instruments did detect a signal pattern like that." He pointed at the datapad Amir was holding.
"You could try to feel that ability—try receiving signals from deep space. Heh… maybe you'll even locate a purrgil 'kin-group' and meet the legendary creatures everyone dreams about."
"Actually, you don't even need that. You can just sense No. 032's. He's right in front of you. You both have the ability."
Both? Amir's thoughts snapped to No. 032—dragging a body on the verge of collapse across an absurd distance to find him on this hidden station. Amir had assumed it was some strange Force technique. Now… maybe it wasn't only that.
"Fine." Amir accepted it, though he had no idea how to "receive signals," and wasn't even sure he could. He cut straight to it. "How do we fix it?"
"I don't know," Kaharman said bluntly.
"Nothing at all? Not even a way to suppress it?" Amir refused to let go.
"Oh, sure. Go ask a purrgil." Kaharman sounded irritated. "Spotting one is hard enough, let alone studying one. In the last few hundred years of public medical and bio records, there's only a single documented case—and the idiot who caught it didn't know how to research it."
Asking a purrgil was off the table. Even if he found one, it wouldn't exactly sit down for lessons.
If Kaharman couldn't solve it, no one else was likely to. Amir's headache returned—he couldn't wear a signal jammer forever. Long-term exposure wasn't harmless.
"Of course," Kaharman added casually, "you could just destroy every device that stores your signature-wave record. That would solve it."
"Brilliant idea," Amir agreed with a completely fake smile.
"It's still easier than finding a purrgil and having it teach you step-by-step," Kaharman snapped back.
Amir thought about it… and annoyingly, that was true.
If this was really the explanation, then Amir could only wait for Ahsoka's people to deliver results. Now that they'd cracked the data, they should be able to locate the main core facility. They'd launch an attack and free the kids still trapped inside.
The operation would be covert. Amir's custom exfiltration system would erase access traces entirely—no one would know the stolen data had been extracted by a captured test subject.
The resistance would scout and plan something airtight. Amir would just show up when it was time and help.
After these last few days, Amir could feel his Force growing stronger—strong enough that he was confident he could take part in an actual battle now.
"Come here. I'll run a more detailed set of tests."
They returned to the same room where No. 032's surgery had been done and repeated a similar diagnostic workflow.
When it finished, Kaharman stared at the results and fell silent.
Amir's heart sank. So there really is a problem? Am I on a timer? A few years, tops?
Kaharman looked up, frowning in confusion. "Do you know… your genetic similarity to No. 032 is extremely high."
Amir's eyes widened. What? Genetic similarity?
His mind flashed to what Tulio had revealed: they had used a hundred Force-sensitive donors as templates—one hundred, exactly. Amir had been grown secretly by Boris as the one-hundred-and-first. So where did that extra template come from?
"You're saying… I'm No. 032's clone?" Amir asked.
"Or he's yours. Doesn't matter." Kaharman waved it off, then nodded hard. "Yes."
Amir didn't really care about bloodlines, but this still hit like a shock. So he'd suddenly gained a "brother"?
Unbidden, Amir remembered the first time he'd felt No. 032's emotions aboard the cruiser—pain and despair, almost like a plea for help. And at the port, when No. 032 emerged—standing atop that space-slug's head—his eyes had been fixed on Amir.
Maybe he'd already sensed the truth.
Then Amir thought about No. 032's appearance. Bald, skin rotting away… but under that, the bone structure was still solid. Handsome. Like him. Yeah.
"None of that matters," Kaharman said again. "Give me your hand."
Amir hesitated, but held it out.
Kaharman moved with lightning speed and sliced a small cut along Amir's forearm.
"The hell are you doing?!" Amir had seen the motion but couldn't stop it—four arms. Two pinned him, another held the blade, and it was done.
A sharp sting flared. Amir glared at him, waiting for an explanation.
"Heh. Anesthetics are a bit tight right now, but—look." Kaharman pointed at the wound.
Amir looked down. Blood welled up immediately.
Kaharman took an alcohol swab and wiped the blood away with practiced ease—and only then did Amir see what Kaharman wanted him to see.
"A membrane…?" Amir blurted, stunned.
He'd been injured before. He'd either never noticed it or had subconsciously dismissed it as nothing. But after No. 032's operation, Amir recognized it instantly.
"So my guess was right," Kaharman said.
"You mean…?" Amir already had the shape of it in his mind.
"Exactly. The two of you likely had very similar inserted segments. But something far more miraculous happened in your body." Kaharman's eyes gleamed. "Your mutation is the 'successful' version."
Amir stared at his wound. So I can do a spacewalk without a suit? The thought was… honestly kind of thrilling.
"I strongly advise you not to." Kaharman read his face. "Withstanding pressure only works if the membrane's seal remains intact. You don't have purrgil-grade hide. One small tear and you're dead."
"...Yeah. Fair." Amir sighed.
They kept talking details as they headed toward No. 032.
Millisyn and BD-4 came sprinting toward them. "He—he woke up!"
Both men hurried out.
No. 032 was sitting up in the bacta tank. The bacta fluid had accelerated the remaining organic tissue's self-repair, helping it integrate more tightly with the new machine interfaces.
No. 032 looked around in a daze, then shifted his gaze to his mechanical arms. The same hollowed, artful design—beneath the black exoskeleton, silver alloy "muscle" lines were clearly visible. With the slightest movement, you could see complex internal structures cycling smoothly.
Nano-scale neural couplers made the machine feel like it truly belonged to the body.
No. 032 lifted a hand and touched his face. His head—really, most of it—was no longer original. Alloy bonework and synthetic skin had replaced large sections. One eye had been nearly dead and had been swapped for a cybernetic eye; the other had been preserved because it was still healthy. And of course… the gleaming bald scalp.
He didn't seem bothered. He closed his eyes slowly, tilted his chin up slightly, like he was listening to something only he could hear.
In Amir's perception, the Force inside No. 032 was no longer dark and decaying. It had steadied—harmonized—alive.
Only then did Amir realize: from the moment No. 032 was born until now, he'd been tormented nonstop—body and mind. He probably had no idea what "normal" even felt like. With the shattered flesh replaced by machinery, the pain that had clung to him for his entire life had been cut down dramatically. He was savoring it—earnestly, quietly—like it was the first real happiness he'd ever held.
After a long moment, under the eyes of Amir, Kaharman, Millisyn, BD-4, and Euphemia, No. 032 slowly opened his eyes. He parted his lips, as if trying to remember how speech worked. Bacta fluid dribbled out through the gap.
"Come on, kid—give it a try!" Kaharman said, like a father waiting to hear his child speak for the first time. "I installed my proudest creation: a top-tier vocal module!"
No. 032 looked at Amir, found the words at last, and said, "Thank you."
Amir shook his head—it was nothing. He stepped forward with Kaharman and helped No. 032 out.
"Wait—you can talk?!" Millisyn yelped. "I thought you were a dummy!"
"Millisyn…" Amir's tone warned her—this habit needed correcting.
No. 032 looked embarrassed.
"My name's Millisyn! You heard it! And—me and Amir saved you together, okay?"
"Thank you…" No. 032 replied stiffly.
"You're welcome!" Millisyn beamed.
"Alright, alright—get down and test your new body." Kaharman could barely contain himself.
After those two thank-yous, No. 032 went silent again. Talking probably wasn't something he was used to. Or maybe the number of sentences he knew was… small. The file said he'd spent most of his life inside a medpod, unable to learn and live with the other children.
So the room ended up filled mostly with Millisyn's cheerful chatter. She found it fascinating that the half-dead person from yesterday had "revived" and changed completely.
No. 032 understood her, but mostly just nodded.
Before long, Millisyn ran out of steam. She curled up in a chair and drifted off to sleep without realizing it, a smile still on her lips.
"How did you find me?" Amir asked once No. 032 had settled and his movements looked steadier.
No. 032 pointed at Amir's pack. He reached in and switched off the signal jammer.
That was fine. Kaharman's treatment rooms were shielded against external transmissions—meant to prevent environmental interference with sensitive instruments. For Amir, it was perfect.
Then No. 032 pointed at his own head.
And suddenly Amir felt it—an unfamiliar stream of information, flowing toward him, locking onto a source with precision.
The source was right in front of him.
The same kind of pinpointing ability as the purrgil—no mistake.
Amir lit up. "How did you do that?"
No. 032's lips moved slightly. He worked at it for a while, then finally said, "Focus."
"Focus… on the brain?" Amir guessed.
No. 032 shook his head, then traced a gesture from his head outward into space.
"Focus… and push your attention outward?"
No. 032 lowered his gaze, thought for a second, then nodded—something like yes, that.
Amir knew his understanding might not be perfectly precise, but the core idea felt right.
So Amir closed his eyes and gathered his attention inside his mind.
Instantly, the pathways of the Force became crystal clear.
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🌌 Star Wars: Relics of the Past
📢 The Force Calls! 📢
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