Chapter Text
The next week passes by in a blur.
The Mantis crew, or at least the ones not currently recovering from two severe lightsaber injuries, spend a good deal of their time working and doing odd jobs for Maz to work off the expenses they would otherwise be racking up. Greez is a fantastic cook, and bounces between helping out in the kitchen and lending a hand or four to the spacers requiring ship repair. Cere turns out to be a great bartender, having gained experience in her quest to survive following the Purge. Merrin, who has the least amount of experience, alternates between helping the kitchen staff by hunting for food, running errands and, since she often has the most spare time, visiting with Cal.
Cal, by contrast, spends much of that same week sleeping, floating in the bacta tank, or learning about his altered body. With the high grade bacta that Maz has somehow defied logic by managing to smuggle it into her castle, his healing (already enhanced by his connection to the Force) speeds by even faster than the med-droid has predicted. While the wound in his chest is still tender at times, the pain in his stump is mostly gone, although he finds that it may flare up with changes in atmospheric conditions.
And with Effa’s knowledge and programming, BD’s ability to show helpful videos from the holonet, and his friends’ (mostly Merrin’s) encouragement, Cal learns other things, too. He makes best friends with the wall, as he discovers it can become his second hand for holding things in place when buttoning or zipping up clothes. Cutting food is daunting, but possible--he’ll get better as time passes, though he needs to check if any of the crew owns a rocker knife*. Even washing his hand afterward turns out to be much simpler than he first thought; some small scrub brushes attached to suction cups, and then attached to a sink, make that problem non-existent. The holonet is a treasure trove of useful tips and tricks, Cal fully agrees with BD-1 when the droid proudly tells him about his success at debugging an old article directed at upper-limb amputees.
But it can’t solve everything.
As much as Cal finds his confidence growing in mastering everyday tasks, he cannot simply ignore the larger ones looming over his head. They may have gotten the holocron back, and prevented those children from falling into Imperial hands, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Galactic Empire is still standing strong. Greez has told him that, from what Cere has managed to uncover, the Empire believes them to be dead. Laying low is of the utmost importance so that they keep believing that.
But Cal is a Jedi. He’s not made to sit still while the galaxy suffers. Only, how can he help anyone else when he hasn’t figured out how to do anything beyond the basics of taking care of himself?
It’s as Cal is attempting to meditate on this (he’s not stewing on it; really, he’s not), that Maz Kanata barges into his room. Perhaps ‘barges’ isn’t the right word--he can sense her coming after all, and comes out of his trance just in time to hear the knock on his door.
“Come in,” he starts, but there’s no need. The door is already open, and their short host is already making her way across the room to where he sits on the floor. In no time at all, she’s crossed the room in its entirety and is peering into his face.
“Er...hello,” Cal tries, unsure as to why Maz has chosen to visit him so early in the morning.
“Morning. Here,” is the grunt he receives in return. “I have something for you.”
Something is thrust in his face and Cal jerks back to avoid being struck on the nose. It’s a testament to the work he’s been doing over the past week that he doesn’t lose his balance any more than he would have before his injury. The object is being waved up and down impatiently, so to avoid the potential for further injury, Cal extends his hand and accepts it. He blinks. It’s a...crisper*?
Cal is not exactly sure why their host is bringing him a crisper, but Jaro Tapal did not raise an ingrate.
“Um...thank you?”
Maz snorts. “You’re welcome, kid, but you’re a little premature on the thanks. Your crew says you’re not too bad at fixing things. This crisper just gave out on me, and I got a breakfast crowd coming in. Everyone else is busy. I figure your crew’s been working pretty hard, it’s high time you pitch in. Fix it.”
Another item is thrust in his face and Cal hurriedly drops the crisper to grab it. It’s a small bag of tools. Very useful, that doesn’t change two inescapable facts: BD-1 is out helping Greez, and Cal has no idea how to fix a crisper with one hand.
There’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and Cal jerks his head up, belatedly realizing that the small woman is no longer standing by his side.
“Wha...wait!”
But it’s no use. Their host is already out the door, and Cal is left alone with only his doubts, a bag of tools, and a broken crisper sitting in his lap.
“Well…” Cal highly, highly doubts that the opinionated woman is going to accept her broken crisper back in its current state. He looks at it. It looks normal from the outside, meaning he’s going to have to take it apart to see what’s broken inside.
There goes his meditation session. Not that it was doing him much good. Maybe this will help (and it does cross his mind that that is exactly what Maz intended). Shoving his doubts aside, Cal puts the crisper down, and reaches for the bag of tools. He’s a Jedi Knight (albeit one that was Knighted only a few weeks ago after years of not-Jedi-ing), and he is not about to be defeated by a damn crisper.
******
Fifteen minutes later, Cal is ready to call it quits.
He’s worked on starships. He’s worked on weaponry. He’s worked on kriffing AT-ATs, for Force’s sake, and they’re basically shaped like giant crispers with legs themselves! But thanks to the Sith Lord he encountered nearly two weeks ago on a tiny moon called Nur, Cal cannot, for the life of him, fix the real crisper currently sitting in his lap.
The young Jedi groans in frustration. This is not supposed to be so difficult. Perhaps if the parts were not so small...He’s been making good progress on his crash-course in being an amputee, so why doesn’t that translate over to this, too? Mechanical skills are the only things he has besides fighting, if he even still has that. If Cal can’t do something as simple as this, how is he going to be a contributing member of the crew again. The last thing he wants is to be a burden to his friends.
It’s as he’s ruminating on these dark thoughts that something else penetrates his awareness. There’s a presence moving down the hall, and a very familiar one at that. Merrin. Cal wishes, somewhat inanely, that she wouldn’t see him like this. The Nightsister is an absolutely fascinating figure to him. Merrin is beautiful, yes--Cal may be a Jedi, but he’s also a young heterosexual male who has spent years living outside the Order, in a place that exposed him to far more than the Council ever would have approved of. But beauty is more than skin deep. The Nightsister is strong; she is strong physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Her powers, steeped in the passions of Dathomir, are a match for his own. They’re a balance, too, Cal thinks, reflecting on the conversation they had on the Mantis only weeks ago. Merrin is shockingly blunt, but underneath all that is kindness. Cal suspects he’s one of the few people in the galaxy, and possibly the only one living, to ever experience such kindness from such a person. His face heats at the thought.
Cal resigns himself to being caught out as having been defeated by a crisper. Before Merrin’s fist can even make contact with his door, Cal beats her to the punch.
“Come on in, Merrin.”
The Nightsister appears in front of him, then, not bothering with the door. Cal has become accustomed to this, and doesn’t even flinch. He does wish, though, that he’d had a chance to clean up a bit as she kicks a wayward tool out of the way before sitting down.
“I forget how easily you seem to sense my presence,” Merrin states by way of greeting, giving him a small, rueful smile. Cal’s heart warms, and he prays it’s not showing on his cheeks (though he doesn’t hold out much hope there). “Even Malicos did not sense me so easily. My shields must be in need of repair if you are able to. I shall have to take better care to mask my presence more thoroughly.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Cal says dryly. He teases her gently, and mock-brags, “Or maybe I’m powerful enough to be able to see through them. You kinda stand out as far as I’m concerned.”
Force, that sounded a lot better in his head than it did out loud.
But Merrin is having none of it. She scolds him, “You should not joke about such things, Cal Kestis. We are not so far removed from Nur that I wish for any of us to stand out to that black behemoth of a Sith Lord you and Cere have described.”
At that, Cal sobers up immediately. “You’re right, Merrin. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked about that.” And he knows better than most just how much one doesn’t want to catch the attention of the Sith.
Still, Merrin does not appear convinced that she has made her point. “You were nearly dead,” she bites out, the venom in her voice surprising him. “I watched as you were fading beneath our hands, as my sisters did from wounds very similar to yours.”
Cal looks up, stricken. Throughout all their conversations, it has never once occurred to him that Merrin’s experience of the time immediately after his wounding would remind her of the loss of her sisters. But how can it not, he wonders. Lightsaber wounds don’t differ much based on who inflicts them, after all, and what else would the sight and smell of them remind the young Nightsister of, but the massacre of her sisters?
Immediately, Cal is struck with a sense of urgency. Not on-par with when he has gone into battle, no, but urgent nonetheless. He doesn’t want Merrin to hurt, and he especially doesn’t want to be part of what causes her pain. So Cal sets the crisper aside and reaches for the Nightsister instead.
“Merrin,” he calls softly, laying his remaining hand on one of hers. When she looks up, he wraps his fingers around hers and squeezes reassuringly. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
After a moment, Merrin takes a deep breath and nods. Cal notices she doesn’t drop his hand. “Yes,” she agrees at last, seeming to reassure herself of that fact. “Yes, you are here. I am glad for that.”
“Me too.”
Merrin takes another moment to gather herself. Cal is perfectly content to wait patiently. He’s rewarded for his patience when the tension finally melts from her shoulders, and Merrin shakes herself out of whatever dark place she had fallen into. She refocuses on him.
“And how are you recovering?”
It’s the same question she has asked every day, and sadly, today is one day where Cal can’t give her a glowing answer. He reclaims his hand, momentarily mourning the loss of Merrin’s warmth and noting that, just for a moment, she appears to do the same. But he rallies, and refocuses on the question at hand.
“Not so great, I’m afraid. The pain is mostly gone, and I should be fully healed within a few days, but,” Cal gestures towards the broken crisper and the pile of tools at their feet, and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “I just can’t figure this thing out.”
Merrin peers down at it. “What is it?”
“A crisper.” Merrin gives him a look, and Cal belatedly remembers that this isn’t the sort of thing one would find in a Dathomiri kitchen. With how quickly Merrin has been learning, and how easily she appears to adapt to her newly-expanded universe, it’s easy to forget that some of the knowledge he takes for granted has not yet made its way to Merrin. Flushing, Cal vows once more to never forget that, and elaborates, “You...crisp things in it. Like bread, usually, but sometimes other things. It’s a way of cooking things so that they get harder and crunchier, but still easy to eat.”
“And a crisper does this?”
“Yeah. Or at least it would, if it weren’t broken.”
“Ah.” Merrin nods, and looks down at the device by their feet again. “And what is wrong with this one?”
“I don’t know!” That comes out louder than intended, and Cal takes a moment to calm himself. But he can’t keep the frustration out of his voice when he says, “Maz brought it to me and told me to fix it, but I can’t seem to do it. Every time I try to hold one thing in place to move something else, I drop the whole thing. I haven’t even figured out what’s wrong with it yet. I just feel so useless.”
“The whole reason we brought you here was to treat your injuries,” Merrin reminds him. “You are recovering and doing exactly what you are supposed to do. I am learning as well, and some days it is a slow process.”
At that, Cal takes the opportunity to take a break and steer the conversation away from the crisper. “And what are you learning?”
“Cere is teaching me how to, how did she say, tend the bar.” A touch of pride colors Merrin’s voice as she says, “I have already learned cocktails she says have taken her many tries to master.”
“Oh yeah?” A small grin appears on Cal’s face. “There wasn’t much variety back on Bracca. You’ll have to bring me something you mix, then.”
“I will have to bring you something I mix?” Merrin sniffs haughtily, though Cal can see a hint of a smile on her lips. “I think not. You will just have to come up and try it.”
At that, Cal’s grin fades a little. He hasn’t ventured into the upper levels yet, too self-conscious about his altered and newly-vulnerable body. He knows it’ll have to happen soon, though--probably very soon, if his recovery is nearing its end. Maybe…
He shakes his head, and refocuses on the pile of metal on the floor. “Maybe after I’ve figured out what to do with this crisper,” he mutters.
Merrin dips her head in acknowledgment. Then she looks at him, and queries, “Why do you not just use your Jedi powers on it? I have heard you say that your younglings assemble your lightsaber in this way, would it not work on the crisper as well?”
That...is an absolutely wonderful idea. And Cal is absolutely mortified that in all the time he has spent cursing this Force-damned crisper, it has never once occurred to him. Face reddening, he mumbles, “Because I didn’t think of it.”
Cal reaches for the crisper. Then he thinks again, and sighs once more. “But I think that defeats the purpose of the exercise. I need to learn how to do this using just my hand, so I don’t stand out whenever I need to do something around other people.” And another thought occurs to him. “And when we do that with our lightsabers, we’re still using the kyber crystal as a focus. There’s no kyber crystal here.”
“I doubt Maz is going to wait much longer for her crisper. To prevent her from returning and finding it in much the same state as she left it, perhaps I can be the focus, just this once.”
Before Cal can say anything, Merrin reaches out and takes the crisper from his hands. She focuses, and a brief flash of green appears around the appliance before dissipating a split-second later, as if it was never there to begin with. Then she holds the crisper out to him, and Cal takes it.
Immediately, he can feel the difference. It’s fading quickly, like distorted images one sees after a bright flash of light, but it’s there. And it’s enough. The light unlocks something in him, dredging up memories of his too-short lessons with Master Tapal about Force-sight, the ability to see past doors or in this case, into objects. It’s not as detailed as physical vision, but it does the job. It also draws his attention to an echo, one so inconspicuous that Cal has never been able to detect anything like it. Not on his own, anyway. The crisper is cobbled together, and whoever assembled it has left traces of their work, traces which Cal is able to follow. He closes his eyes and directs his newly-rediscovered Force-sight along the path that Merrin’s energy and the tiny echo have laid out for him, to find the weakness in the troublesome device. He finds it. Deep in the back of a crisper is a spring, one so small that Cal had no idea it was there. The bracket anchoring it is failing, which is causing vibrations up the spring, which in turn is sending the entire device into error mode.
“I see it!” the young Knight exclaims, and shoots the Nightsister a grateful look. “Thanks, Merrin.”
A small smile is his reward. “Will you be able to fix it?”
“Uh, maybe, but,” Cal surveys the tools spread out on the ground, and comes up empty. “I don’t have the tools here I need to do it.”
“Do you have them on the Mantis?”
Cal thinks about it for a second. “Yeah...yeah, I think so.”
“Then come, Cal Kestis,” Merrin rises to her feet, brushing non-existent dust off of her pitch-black leggings. She tucks the crisper under one arm, and offers him her other hand. “You must find those tools, then. I will go with you.”
For a moment, Cal freezes. He hasn’t been outside since he woke up. The farthest he’s gone is the hallway outside his room, and the two hallways connected to it. Going outside...that means being vulnerable.
But there’s nothing for it. He’s going to have to go outside eventually, and he may as well start now since the reality of having one arm isn’t going to change. And the only way to become less vulnerable is to make peace with that reality as quickly as possible. Plus, Cal very much doubts there’s a less-threatening way to do it than searching for tools to fix a crisper.
(Although, he suspects Maz Kanata can be very threatening when she chooses to be. More motivation, then, to fix the crisper).
Cal takes a deep breath. “Alright,” he agrees, and takes Merrin’s hand. She pulls him to his feet, and Cal is pleased that his balance remains perfect once he is up. He really is recovering. Still, he takes a moment to throw on one of his larger ponchos--he’s not totally comfortable with his missing arm being on full display, and the poncho helps disguise it. Small steps. “Show me the way.”
The sun is just coming up over the treetops as they make their way outside. It hits Cal, then, that he doesn’t remember the last time he actually witnessed a sunrise. Bracca’s sun was hidden by the clouds and he’s spent the past several months so focused on his quest that he never took the time to notice. So he stops for a moment, basking in the light as he enjoys being outside for the first time in over two weeks.
For her part, Merrin seems to respect this and she too, tilts her head up to appreciate the dawn. Cal is momentarily struck by her appearance as she does so. The soft golden light highlights her high cheekbones, throwing her tattoos into sharp relief while turning her hair into the lightest shade of silver imaginable.
It’s breathtaking.
“Cal?”
Cal starts. Merrin is watching him bemusedly and he flushes, embarrassed to be caught staring. He clears his throat. “Erm, yeah...the Mantis.”
“It is this way.”
Merrin leads him past the main landing zone that seems to function as a small spaceport on this planet. It doesn’t take long for a familiar long, silver fin to come into view, followed quickly by a short, grey-green alien.
“Cal!” It’s Greez alright, and he’s waving all four arms at them, almost jumping up and down in his excitement. Cal waves back, his gait steady and strong as lengthens his stride to meet the Latero jogging up to them. Greez stops just short of them, throwing his arms open wide in an exaggerated gesture, and Cal belatedly drops to one knee. He’s immediately enveloped in a bone-crushing hug, letting out a slight ‘off’ as three of the pilot’s surprisingly-strong arms force the air from his lungs. The fourth slaps him repeatedly on the back, and Cal can only be grateful that it’s striking him on the right side, not the left.
“Kid!” Greez is crowing, patting (pounding) him thrice more before finally releasing his death grip. His smile is as wide as Cal has ever seen it. “It’s good to see you up! How’re ya feelin’? What’re you doin’ out here?”
Cal smiles, touched by his friend’s concern. “I’m feeling okay, Greez. Nearly healed up. What about you? How’s the Mantis?”
“Eh,” Greez waves two of his arms dismissively. “The Mantis, she’s a tough old spacer, just like her pilot. Been using the downtime to work on a project or two that gets looked over when you’re runnin’ from the Empire an’ all. A few more days and she’ll be as good as new!”
The ship is certainly looking shinier, Cal notes, with many of her scratches buffed out and painted over. He walks over, running his hand over a section of her hull where Imperial fire from Bracca had left behind a deep gouge. Not a mark remains. She may not be fresh off the line but just like her pilot--and the rest of her crew--she’s got it where it counts.
“Beeeeep!”
A shriek of binary interrupts his thoughts, and Cal turns as a tiny white and orange blur comes flying down the ramp. BD-1 races up to him and with nary a pause, leaps high into the air. Cal’s not wearing his rigging gear and he has to scramble to catch his friend as the droid almost slides down his back.
Merrin tenses and Greez starts forward, calling, “Hey droid--” but Cal waves him off. His natural Jedi balance combined with the physical therapy that Effa has put him through--and the physical therapy he then put himself through--have paid off, and he automatically adjusts to BD-1’s sudden landing on his shoulder.
“Hey, buddy,” Cal laughs as the tiny droid emits a babbling string of binary in his excitement. “Yeah, I’m up. How’s it been helping Greez?”
Both the pilot and the droid start talking then, each pointing out the other’s strengths and idiocies (mostly idiocies) and behind them, Merrin rolls her eyes. A particular phrase catches Cal’s attention.
“You’ve been working on the comms station? Yeah, I guess it’s good to give Cere a break.”
Greez shook his head. “Trust me, kid, Cere ain’t taking a break. She’s been pulling double, triple shifts over at Maz’s. I think she’s getting the bar set up now.”
Guilt immediately assails Cal. He’s been so happy to be outside that he’s forgotten how hard his friends are working to look after him and keep food in their bellies. “Really? I...didn’t think it was that bad.”
The Latero snorts. “High-grade bacta ain’t cheap, kid, but it’s worth it.”
They believe he’s worth it, is what goes unsaid. After five years of looking after himself on Bracca, Cal is still getting used to that. He expels a breath, reminding himself that this is what friends do for each other, and he would do the same for any of them. “Thank you. All of you,” he amends, glancing at Merrin and BD-1 in turn. “I’ll have to tell Cere that, too, as soon as I have a chance. I’ve hardly seen her since I woke up.”
There’s an awkward pause then, which Cal barely notices as BD-1 starts in again about the repairs they’re making to the ship. He doesn’t see the way Merrin’s brows draw together, nor the glance she and Greez share. And he doesn’t hear Greez’s softly-spoken suggestion, “Might be time to do something about that now that he’s really up,” nor does he hear Merrin’s equally-soft response, “I agree. Your words did not reach her, so I will speak with her shortly.”
A quick nod is shared between them. Then Greez clears his throat. Loudly, he asks, “So kid, what brought you out here? I know you all love my cooking, but I ain’t making breakfast right now.”
Cal mentally kicks himself as he abruptly remembers their reason for coming out here. “Actually,” he gestures to the broken crisper in Merrin’s hands. “Maz asked me to fix the crisper, and I need my own tools for it.”
Greez blinks. Apparently, that’s not what he expected. Well, it wasn’t what Cal expected either when he sat down for his morning meditation. “Ah...okay. Well, go on in, then. I put ‘em back on your workbench.”
Cal nods, and enters the ship to make his way to the back. When he comes to his bunk area, chosen due to its proximity to the comforting noise of the engines despite having another roomette available, he finds it much the same way he left it. The only change is the addition of the toolset normally located on his person.
The redheaded Knight looks down at himself and sighs. Soon, he’ll don his rigger’s gear again, and figure out exactly what he’s going to do next. For now though, he has his assignment: fixing the crisper.
It does occur to him that the last time he sat down in this chair, he had two arms, but Cal shoves the thought from his mind. There’s no use dwelling on it--stewing over his lost limb will only slow him down and Cal had been taught early in life that yearning for that which one cannot have only blinds a person to that which they can. So he sorts through his tools, both the ones he brought with him from Bracca and the ones he’s acquired during his missions, and gets to work.
It feels awkward, using tools so familiar to him with only one hand, but as time passes, it feels less so. When a stubborn part jumps away from him, it lands on a long, thin, but sturdy rod on the table, and that gives Cal an idea. He knows he has a leather armband around here somewhere--ah! There it is. Cal doffs his poncho and unwinds the sleeve that’s pinned just under his left shoulder. He holds up the strap. Yep, it’ll fit. It takes a bit of finagling to secure it in place around his stump; the angle is a bit awkward, but he gets it done. Then he reaches for the rod and slides it underneath the band. It takes a bit more finagling to ensure it stays stable with the help of a roll of replacement wiring, but it works.
And Cal finally has something besides his legs, the wall, or the Force to aid him in his endeavors.
Cal’s primitive ‘prosthetic’ does its job. He puts his residual limb to work, using it to hold pieces in place or out of the way as his right hand does the work to make the repair. It’s not perfect, and it slips more than once, but it works. And fifteen minutes later…
“Yes!”
...so does the crisper.
Cal was raised by the most dignified people in the galaxy, so he very much does not do a victory dance (pumping one’s fist a time or three does not count), but it’s a near thing. BD-1 cheers with him and up at the front of the ship, Greez calls back, “Is that the sound of a working crisper I hear?”
“Yes!” Cal knows he probably looks ridiculous, grinning from ear-to-ear like he is as he emerges from the rear. It’s just a crisper but to him, it’s a major victory. It’s proof that he’s not useless, that he can actually contribute to his crew, his family, once again. The Jedi-slash-crisper-mechanic holds up the appliance in triumph. “It’s working!”
Greez slaps him on the back in congratulations. “Glad to hear it, kid! And just in time too, cuz I think our host is looking for it.”
He points outside, and Cal belatedly notices the Force-presence that’s moving towards them. It’s not Merrin--he’d felt her depart earlier--and it’s not as noticeable as Merrin’s presence is to him, but it’s there. And as scary as she kind of is, Cal still can’t bring himself to tamp down his enthusiasm as he makes his way down the ramp, and presents the crisper to their host with only a tiny flourish.
“Milady, your crisper, good as new.”
“Lady?” Maz snorts, and gives him a suspicious side-eye. “That’s a first. Don’t you start trying to butter me up, kid, it won’t work.” She turns the crisper over, inspecting it with a critical eye, then makes her way back up the ramp and into Greez’s kitchen to plug it in. It hums to life and she makes a pleased noise. Then she turns to him. “So, did you use the Force or did you figure out how to do it like the rest of us?”
“A little of both,” Cal admits sheepishly. He’s not sure how much Maz knows about the Nightsister, so he explains, “Merrin helped me figure out how to use my psychometry to find the problem. Then I figured out how to fix it without using the Force.”
The little alien nods, and a smile--a real smile, albeit a small one--crosses her face. “Glad to hear it, Jedi. Your kind are hunted, and I figured it’s best you know how to do it both ways.”
At that, Cal blinks. “Wait, so you gave it to me just so I could learn how to do it?”
“You’re welcome. And there’s plenty more where that came from. Your friends are working pretty hard to earn their keep, I figure you should work some, too. Doing PT all shut up in a room only goes so far.”
Cal flushes as he realizes she set him up. But he smiles. On Bracca, only Prauf had cared about what happened to him. But now he has friends, a family, and even the strangers he meets are doing their best to help him out. The thought warms him from the inside out.
Maz pats him on the wrist, tossing a, “Thanks, kid!” over her shoulder as she departs with her newly-repaired crisper tucked under her arm. Cal watches her go for a moment. Giving him the crisper to repair might sound like an order to work for some, but for Cal, it means the world. Maz--and Merrin, he remembers--have shown him what he needs to do to move forward. He may not be at the level he was before, not yet. But he’ll get there. He knows, down to the very core of his being, that he will.
It’s going to be okay.
Cal squares his shoulders and turns back to the ship.
“Hey Greez! Need any help back there?”