“Do you have it?” a pilgrim asks the rotund neutral, who replies with only a nod.
“Excellent,” the one from before says. “We brought the hecation. He and his assistant are putting the final pieces in place.”
“I can’t believe it,” another pilgrim muses. “After seven millennia, it’s finally happening!”
“It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you,” both junkion specters immediately respond, solely on instinct.
“Frak!” Salvage immediately reacts, doing a doube-take.
“The fascists are gonna rule the human race!” Bootleg laments.
“Oh, we have frakked up!” Salvage wails, bringing his hands up to his face.
“Hey!” Bootleg tries to console his friend. “Maybe we can fix this! ‘Sides, what’s Primus gonna do, smite us? Ain’t he dyin’ right now or somethin’?”
A rumbling sound, like the roll of distant thunder, echoes around the scene. Bootleg and Salvage quiet as they take on worried glances.
“Heheh…” Bootleg laughs nervously.
“D*mmit Bootleg!” Salvage whines, “when will you learn that taunting the almighty never works in your favor!”
The two specters begin to fade away as Bootleg utters his retort.
“I’m a rebel, buddy! I dedicate my life to stickin’ it to the man!”
“Crewman Zepar sighted,” Motherboard promptly alerts Wildsong.
Salvo shrugs.
“Saw some ruins when we were flying over here yesterday,” she notes.
Redstocker, with the rest of Salvation’s population of prisoners, had been moved onto a series of platforms outside of the Fleetcarrier, as she was no longer fit to house them all in her current, dismantled state.