Chapter Text
Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka kept a firm grasp on the upper arm of his charge, hustling him gently but firmly into one of the First Order's smaller shuttles, which had parked on the roof of the complex. He gave the command to the pilot to launch skyward, and breathed a sigh of relief as the blighted cityscape of this particular planet fell away below the viewport.
This hellhole of a world had been even more corrupt and revolting than most of the New Republic. Mitaka rejoiced that, now the First Order had arrived, the planet's abusive gang leaders and criminal warlords would be summarily punished, and its citizens freed to lead lives that would contribute to, rather than detract from, the overall order of the galaxy.
He glanced at his charge — a tall, painfully thin young man with ratty, greasy hair and rags for clothes. He was twisting his hands in the filthy sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt and gnawing on his lip, staring out the window as his homeworld disappeared from view.
"Wh — what is to become of me?" the man breathed out, and Mitaka's heart lurched in his chest.
The problem was that Mitaka didn't quite know.
Well — that wasn't true. The General had been very clear in his orders.
'It seems my father's cloning experiments bore more fruit than I had heretofore realized,' General Hux had said, staring at his datapad. His flinty greenish-gray eyes had risen to Mitaka's, and he had added, 'You will proceed to this 'Peach Trees' complex, liberate my clone, and deliver him to me here. Dismissed.'
Liberate his clone, Mitaka thought. Such a simple command, but with so many repercussions. Repercussions that General Hux must definitely have foreseen.
"You're all right now," Mitaka reassured the man — General Hux's clone. The clone of Mitaka's impossible, unthinkable crush. "You'll be just fine."
The clone, who had been known in the Peach Trees gang complex as 'Techie,' stared back, seemingly on the verge of tears, before wrenching his eyes away and blinking rapidly. He looked so defeated, so pathetic, that Mitaka couldn't help laying one friendly hand on his knee.
He was about to say 'There, there' — not that hearing 'there, there' was particularly comforting, but he didn't know what else to say. But then he saw how Techie flinched away, then forced himself to hold still. He was barely breathing, his eyes fixed on where Mitaka's hand was touching him.
As though I'm going to hurt him, Mitaka thought.
He drew his hand back.
"It's all right. You've been saved by the First Order," Mitaka said, infusing his voice with as much assurance as possible.
"The First Order?"
Mitaka was briefly even more saddened at the thought of an entire world, ignorant of interstellar events to the point that Hux's clone had never even heard of the First Order. Had he been living under a rock?
Then again, Mitaka had seen the inside of the 'Peach Trees' complex, and had some familiarity with how its cruel overlord, 'Ma-Ma,' had run her operation. No doubt she had controlled access to outside information for all of her underlings. Techie had been one of her special tools — her technician — but Ma-Ma had not been the type to take good care of her tools.
"Yes," Mitaka explained, turning his best reassuring smile towards Techie. "We are a planet-independent fleet, working as one to bring peace and stability to the galaxy, and topple abusive overlords and tyrants. Our goal is nothing less than unity, peace, and security for all."
Techie stared back at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. It was unclear how much of that he had taken in. No doubt the man was still in shock after the tactical team's brutal yet efficient takedown of Peach Trees' defenses.
It occurred to Mitaka that General Hux really should have sent someone else on this job, rather than him. He had no training in handling people with complex trauma. Techie was taller than him; if he went into a blind rage, it was possible he could injure Mitaka seriously.
Still, he would do his best to accomplish the mission.
He cleared his throat and licked his lips, refreshing his smile. "My name is Dopheld Mitaka — Lieutenant Mitaka. And I'm taking you to meet your brother, General Hux."
Techie stared at him with those arresting blue eyes. Their pupils did not look perfectly round. A tiny whirring sound betrayed that Techie's skull contained more than mere organic matter. At some point, the tyrannical Ma-Ma had replaced his natural eyes with tech.
Mitaka swallowed. It was revolting how so many warlords and criminals in the Outer Rim abused those under their protection. The horrors and abuses he had seen only strengthened his resolve to serve the First Order to the best of his abilities.
He looked back, trying to radiate all the calmness, serenity, and positive energy he could.
"I have — a brother?"
"Genetically, yes, you do," Mitaka said. "This may come as a slight shock to you, I fear — but you're an intelligent man, Mr., ah, Techie. So there is no use in keeping the information from you. It seems that you were the result of rogue cloning program. I am taking you to meet your — well, your genetic donor, for want of a better term for it. You can think of him as an older brother."
Techie regarded him with those bottomless eyes of his, and Mitaka tried not to notice how red and bloodshot they were. The angry pink around his eyes stood out against the unhealthy pallor of the rest of his skin. Both clashed horribly with the limp reddish-orange of his hair, so filthy that it was brown.
"And — Ma-Ma?" Techie whispered through chapped, cracked lips.
Mitaka leaned forward slightly, noting how the man's eyes dilated to take him in.
"Dead," he said with assurance. "I witnessed it myself; she is dead, quite thoroughly and finally. Don't worry — she'll never hurt you or anyone else, ever again."
Techie closed his eyes and slumped in his seat, just slightly. It might have been in sorrow — Mitaka had reason to believe that he and Ma-Ma had been intimate in many ways — but Mitaka was already picking up on his tells.
And in this case, he was almost certain that Techie was melting back into his seat not in sorrow, but in pure, unadulterated relief.
Mitaka would have put Techie through the standard processing used for new recruits to the Order, but something about the man's barely-hanging-on demeanor led him to surmise that he wouldn't even make it through the first gate of the process. He ventured to guess that Techie would end up curled into a fetal position, twitching in a corner somewhere.
So instead, he took Techie straight to General Hux, without even the benefit of a shower first.
The door hissed open, and Mitaka led Techie through into the sitting room where he loved to spend as much time as possible — whenever the General allowed it, that is.
"General," Mitaka said, snapping into a salute.
Hux waved one slender hand at him from his ice blue couch. "At ease, Lieutenant."
"Sir, here is the asset you requested be liberated from the Peach Trees complex," Mitaka said. "He was known there as the Peach Trees Clan Techie."
Hux rose from the couch and approached, examining Techie with great interest. His gaze started at the top of that greasy, uncombed head, and traveled down his gaunt, grayish cheeks and curiously mechanical eyes, to his chapped lips, filthy clothes, twitching hands, emaciated body, and gangly legs, and then back up, seeming to miss nothing.
Mitaka stared from one to the other. Where Techie was unhealthily thin, the General was svelte; where Techie was sallow and sickly, the General was elegantly pale, like an alabaster statue lit by rays from a rosy dawn. One had been neglected, tortured, abused, while the other was in perfect command of himself and his ship. Yet they were breathtakingly alike — both of a height, both with the same face.
Everything about the one was mirrored in the other — one right-side-up, and the other upside-down.
Mitaka couldn't help looking at the General even more than usual. The effect of having his almost-self standing right in front of him only made Hux shine more brightly, like a true diamond hiding among handfuls of cheap paste.
"Hello there," Hux finally said. "I assume the good Lieutenant informed you of our relation?" He flicked his eyes over to Mitaka.
At Mitaka's slight nod, the General continued, "I am, apparently, your elder brother, in a way."
Techie swallowed painfully and tried to speak, but failed. After at least ten seconds of watching him gape, Hux took pity on him and continued.
"I find it unacceptable that anyone with my genetic — heritage — should be abused or harmed. The First Order has dealt with the criminal gang who enslaved you. You will never suffer under them again. Is that clear?"
"Y- yes, sir," Techie managed to stammer.
Hux rocked back on his heels, with a nod of self-satisfaction. "Good. Well, then — welcome to the First Order. Lieutenant Mitaka here will take care of you."
I will? Mitaka thought, stunned. He had thought his involvement with this matter would end once he had brought Techie back to the Finalizer.
"He will?" Techie asked, then seemed to shrink back into himself, obviously afraid of being chastised for speaking out of turn.
"Yes," Hux said, his greenish-gray eyes sweeping from Mitaka to Techie and back. "Lieutenant, I am placing you on Special Duty Leave, effective immediately, so that you can accommodate this special project. See to it that Techie gets everything he needs and begins to acclimate to the Order."
"Special Duty leave, sir?" Mitaka echoed. He had not anticipated this at all. "But, my station —"
"Your station on the bridge will be amply filled in your absence, I assure you," the General said, effectively silencing him. "During this special assignment, I expect regular updates on my — brother's — progress. I want to be assured that he's settling in well. Acclimating to his new life. And I'm sure you'll be able to do that. Won't you, Lieutenant?"
His eyes were keenly focused on Mitaka and Mitaka alone. For an instant, it was as though the entire ship held just the two of them. It was like being caught in a tractor beam. Mitaka was completely unable to help himself from being pulled in.
Mitaka was already unable to deny General Hux anything he might want, or even hint at wanting. There was no way he could possibly refuse.
"Yes, sir," Mitaka said, privately resolving that he would do his best — his very best — if Hux would only look at him like that one more time.
"Very good. Then, you are dismissed."
"Yes, sir," Mitaka said again, with another salute. He ushered Techie back out into the hallway before he let his shoulders slump out of their correct position.
Special Duty Leave. That meant — well, it meant exile from all his normal patterns and routines. He hadn't assembled a handoff dossier for whoever they'd get to replace him! He'd had no idea his final shift on the bridge would be the last one for the foreseeable future. If only he'd known, he could have worked another few hours to get things into a presentable state! What if whoever replaced him didn't take enough care in monitoring the cleaning shifts for the turbolaser fire control matrices? What if they didn't know the intricate backstory behind why the TIE deployment rack system was in the midst of being redone?
What if they messed everything up, and General Hux blamed him?
Mitaka did not want to take Special Duty Leave. He wanted to get back to normal — his post on the bridge of the Finalizer, a hard-won and dearly treasured position. The bridge crew was tight-knit and highly efficient, having all been hand-picked by General Hux himself. They prided themselves on being a model for the rest of the Order.
Working on the bridge, getting to see the General every day and interact with him almost every day, gave his life meaning.
Then again, he thought, taking care of General Hux's clone is a rare opportunity, as well as a great honor.
In any case — orders were orders, and Mitaka would make the best of things.
He should check on his charge, first. Techie looked shell-shocked, as though he didn't know which way to turn or what to do with himself. He was hugging his own ribs so tightly that it had to hurt. Other First Order staff passing in the hall were sending him curious glances before smoothing their faces back into place and proceeding past.
"Do you have any questions?" Mitaka asked, gently.
Technie flinched as though he'd been slapped. "Questions?"
"Yes — like — do you want to know anything about the ship, or General Hux? Or the First Order?"
"No," Techie said, half-stammering over the word. "No, sir."
His eyes were darting all around the hallway.
I need to get him out of this hallway, Mitaka realized. He's terrified almost beyond rational thought.
"Well, Techie — let me take you to my quarters. Let's get some food into you," he decided.
Techie followed him down the acres of black, shining corridors. Seeing them through the eyes of a stranger — metaphorically speaking — made Mitaka realize how foreboding and ominous so much black might appear to someone new. It wasn't as though the Peach Trees complex had been filled with light and color, either — but something about the endless, shining black did seem somewhat unnecessarily bleak, now that Mitaka was looking at it with fresh eyes.
To a complete outsider, the First Order might even look like a force for evil.
Mitaka led the way to his quarters and used his code cylinder to gain access. Then he keyed the door to open only when the code cylinder was used to gain egress. Typically, this was not done, but the last thing Mitaka wanted was to lose track of the General's clone.
Techie didn't seem to be paying attention to what he was doing with the door panel, but Mitaka resolved not to underestimate the man. He was, genetically, General Hux, after all. He was probably quite capable of attacking Mitaka and stealing his code cylinders.
I'll just have to make sure that he has no cause to do that, Mitaka told himself.
As Lieutenant, he had a modest yet efficient set of rooms. There was one general room in the front, meant for entertaining a guest or two during Beta shift. It had a minimalistic kitchenette along one wall, as well as a table and two chairs, and a couch. He also had a bedroom and a refresher unit.
"Please, take a seat," Mitaka said, gesturing towards one of the chairs.
Techie didn't move at all. To show that it was safe, Mitaka took the second seat, laying his hands on his knees, palm-up.
Techie was still standing by the door as though half of him was about to turn and run right through it — or try to. He would only end up with a concussion in that case.
"Would you like to look through the rooms?" Mitaka asked.
Techie gave a quick, jerky nod.
"Then feel free," Mitaka said. "I'm going to use my datapad to order us some food." He pulled out his pad and started the process of ordering food, studiously ignoring Techie.
Ordering a meal from the droid delivery system was a bit of an extravagance. But he couldn't imagine Techie, as beaten-down and traumatized as he was right now, managing to hold his own in a First Order cafeteria, even with Mitaka at his elbow.
Techie's mechanical eyes whirred, evaluating Mitaka and the living room. Then, tentatively, he made his way to the door of the refresher unit, and then to the door of the bedroom. He looked over both rooms without entering either one, his body language tense and wary.
Then he returned to the living room and looked down at Mitaka, who looked up to meet his inhuman eyes.
And Mitaka's breath caught in his throat, because there — just there — he had seen a glimpse of Hux.
He almost hadn't believed it, at first — they were so different. But that flash of resolve he'd seen — that was one hundred percent pure Armitage Hux, and no mistake.
He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to pull Techie down into his arms, filth and all, and just comfort him for a moment. But that would probably get Techie to panic and attack him.
Stars help me, Mitaka thought, pondering the myriads of traps that seemed to be springing into existence all around his feet. Special Duty Leave might end up being more taxing than I thought.
The food arrived quickly, thanks to the First Order's famed efficiency. Mitaka brought the trays inside, encouraging Techie to sit down at the table and placing one of the trays in front of him.
Techie stared at the tray in front of him as though it were a venomous animal that might strike at him at any moment.
"I'm not sure what you're used to eating," Mitaka said, settling in across from him and pulling a second tray towards himself. "This is one of the standard ration packs here. It contains all the vitamins, minerals, and raw material the human body requires for optimum functioning."
He winced slightly, remembering how difficult it was to get the General to eat anything. Some days, Mitaka worried he was wasting away, sustaining himself seemingly only with stim pills, caf, and his ironclad will. He hoped Techie would be easier to feed.
Techie was still looking at the tray in front of him. He made no move to touch it.
"Do you have any questions about the rations?" Mitaka asked, gently.
Techie looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I — I don't know how to open it."
"Here." Mitaka leaned over to grab his treasured bottle of hot sauce — one of his few indulgences — and then settled himself into his chair again, opening his own tray. "See? This is how to open the ration tray. Lift from this corner, then peel it back." He shook a few drops of hot sauce onto his food and smiled at Techie encouragingly.
"This is all — for me?" Techie asked, staring at his tray.
Mitaka's heart twisted. "Yes — this tray is for me, and that one is for you."
What had Techie been eating back on that accursed planet? From his unhealthy thiness, whatever it was, it hadn't been enough.
Techie peeled back the lid of his tray. He glanced up at Mitaka, seemingly in case being given his own tray was a trick, or a trap.
When Mitaka just smiled at him and took another bite of his own food, Techie wasted no time in tearing into his, He devoured the carbohydrate loaf, ripping it apart with his bare hands and using the bits to scoop up the protein slurry and stuff it all into his face as fast as possible. He ate so fast that Mitaka had a difficult time believing he was chewing.
Mitaka ate normally, using a knife and fork to portion out his loaf and slurry, and adding a bit of sauce from a bottle he kept in his quarters. He wasn't even a quarter of the way through his meal when Techie was already done, using his finger to swipe around the edges of the tray and then licking it to ingest every single molecule of food.
Mitaka winced again. Techie hadn't washed his hands. They would have to work on table manners later, as well.
"Would you like some more?" Mitaka asked, fork poised to take another bite.
Techie's eyes widened. He licked his chapped lips nervously.
Mitaka's heart twisted again. It was disconcerting to see someone who had so obviously been mistreated and abused. It made him angry at Ma-Ma and the sick society that had allowed her to flourish.
"It's all right," he said, trying for a hint of levity. "The First Order has many resources. You're allowed more food, if you need it."
Techie swallowed. "Then, yes please."
"All right." Mitaka pulled out his data pad and placed the order, noticing how Techie zeroed in on the screen. That tiny whirring sound was back.
At some point, we'll have to talk about his eyes, Mitaka thought. Specifically, how to take care of them — if they need any special parts — and perhaps whether they might give him an edge in finding a position here on the Finalizer.
But right now was not the time.
The door chime sounded, causing Techie to leap in his seat, obviously terrified.
"It's just the extra tray for you," Mitaka explained, getting up and scanning his code cylinder to open the door again. He took the tray from the droid and brought it in, placing it in front of Techie on the table.
His heart broke again from how Techie shrank away to the side, obviously wanting to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.
"Go ahead and eat," Mitaka encouraged him with as much gentleness as he could put into his voice. "Only, maybe slower this time. You don't want it to all come back up."
Techie frowned, staring at the tray, then nodded.
"I — I shouldn't waste food," he whispered. "A waster of food is a waste of space."
Now it was Mitaka's turn to frown. "Technically, if you did vomit your meal back up, we would merely send it to the composters to be recycled in the hydroponics program," he clarified. "Do you see that small hatch on the wall? Food waste goes in there, and is taken straight to the composting deck. Nothing on board a spaceship is lost, or wasted."
Techie looked at the hatch on the wall. His pupils whirred.
Now that Mitaka was looking at them more closely, he saw that they were tiny hexagons, surrounded by blue.
They stared at each other, Techie's hands poised to open the second tray.
"If it's not wasted..." Techie began, then petered out.
Mitaka waited for a few moments, but he showed no signs of finishing his sentence.
"What would you like to ask?" Mitaka finally inquired.
Techie cleared his throat. "Sorry, but if I threw it up... I wouldn't mean to, but, uh, I've done it before, it's happened before... if I threw it all back up, but it's not wasted, because you'd send it away, through that little hatch in the wall... would, would I still be punished?"
"Punished? Punished for what?"
"W-wasting, for wasting food," Techie breathed. "I've seen... I've, uh. I've seen people get. Punished for that."
Mitaka's heart broke for the third time over the past few hours.
"You would not be punished for wasting food," he said firmly. "Punishment in the First Order is defined by our Code of Conduct. Section Three clearly lays out the headings under which transgressions are categorized. And although wasting resources is categorized as a transgression, vomiting is a mere physical reaction, and thus would not qualify."
He couldn't help but remember that there were some edge cases in the Code of Conduct that could be used to categorize physical responses as types of treason or malfeasance. But Mitaka had never held to those overly-rigid interpretations of the Code. He preferred to think of the Code as a guideline to encourage correct behavior, rather than a cudgel to punish ill.
Techie was still staring at him. "And... can I, can I read it?" he asked. "Sorry."
"The Code of Conduct?"
At Techie's small nod, Mitaka said, "Of course you can read it. I'll get you a datapad of your own, and we can load it on first thing."
"Thank you," Techie whispered. "I'm so sorry, don't hate me — I forgot your name already, I'm sorry, I can't remember it."
He's going to just break my heart on an ongoing basis, isn't he? Mitaka thought. That had been at least the fourth time.
"I'm not angry. It takes a lot to make me angry," Mitaka attempted to joke. He leaned over, intending to give a friendly and reassuring pat to Techie's shoulder.
But the comment didn't land well, nor did the gesture. Techie flinched back, his eyes blinking and whirring, his hands coming up in front of him out of sheer reflex.
Realizing he'd made a mistake, Mitaka sat back and scrambled to recover.
"I mean — I can't think of a single thing you could do that would make me angry with you," Mitaka clarified. "We rescued you. You've been horribly victimized. I'm angry at Ma-Ma, the person who did all this. Not at you. Does that make sense?"
Techie was staring at him. When the silence had gone on slightly too long, he whispered, "Yes."
"Good." Mitaka put another reassuring smile onto his face, and continued, "You've been through a lot today. It makes sense you don't remember every little thing, like my name."
Techie was still staring at him.
"My name is Dopheld Mitaka. I'm a Lieutenant here," Mitaka said. "You can call me Mitaka. All right?"
Techie swallowed, paused, then finally gave a small nod.
It was so like one of the General's nods that Mitaka almost couldn't stand it.
"Good. Go ahead and eat as much as you want," Mitaka said, picking up his data pad. "I'm going to see about requisitioning you some new clothes."
He knew the General's measurements, so he placed a requisition for several sets of plain black clothes that ought to fit.
Mitaka did not care to examine why he knew General Hux's measurements off the top of his head. In this instance, it would come in handy.
Not for the first time, he wondered how much Hux suspected of his ill-advised, disastrous crush. He thought he had been good about keeping it under wraps. But then again, the General seemed to know everything of import that happened on board his ship, and a great many things that happened off it.
It wouldn't surprise Mitaka to know that General Hux had known about his ridiculous feelings this entire time — perhaps before he had even recognized them in himself.
I've worked so hard, Mitaka thought. And all I want is a position on the bridge, where I can see the General every day, and be of service to him.
The more he observed Techie, who was now eating his second tray of food — more slowly than the first tray, at least, which was to the good — the more Mitaka was realizing that he would not be able to return to the bridge any time soon. Techie was deeply traumatized. He needed multiple interventions.
Really, Mitaka ought to find a task force of experts here on the Finalizer to help bring Techie back to baseline functionality — doctors, nutritionists, someone to look at his technological eyes and see if that tiny whirring sound was a problem...
I'm not qualified to help him. Not really, Mitaka thought, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. If I make mistakes, I might end up doing more harm than good.
But, since General Hux had given the command, all Mitaka could do was obey to the best of his ability — and try not to make any mistakes.
And now, I'll have an excuse to write to him, Mitaka reassured himself, perking up. He told me to write to him with updates.
I can even write to him every day.
This might be even better than getting to serve on the bridge and observe General Hux up close. This way, Mitaka would have a guaranteed inside line to him — a line that he knew Hux would both read and pay attention to.
On the bridge, Mitaka couldn't count on having the General's undivided attention that often — certainly not every day.
He swallowed, feeling a fluttering of excitement in his chest.
It was probably wrong to think about helping Techie as a way to get the General's attention — but Mitaka was quite certain that he wouldn't be able to help it.
Techie was just finishing with his second tray. His speed had slowed down considerably, and he seemed to be almost forcing himself to finish the last few grains of his carbohydrate loaf.
It was an unusual assignment, but clearly, one that needed to be done.
Mitaka wrinkled his nose, looking at Techie's general unkempt state. Before he let Techie and his greasy hair and filthy body fall asleep either in bed or on the couch, he really needed to get him clean — or at least cleaner.
The door chime sounded again, and Techie jumped again — although, Mitaka thought, a bit less than he had jumped the first time.
It was another droid, this one with the new clothes Mitaka had just requisitioned. He brought them inside and placed them on the end of the couch.
"All right — your new clothes are here. Next up — let's get you clean," Mitaka announced, hoping that this suggestion would turn out to be a non-issue.
Techie's head snapped up. His eyes widened in seeming betrayal, staring from Mitaka to the bundle of black clothes and back.
He burrowed his hands inside the sleeves of his ratty, disgusting shirt and clutched at his own sides, starting to rock back and forth.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, screwing his eyes closed. "Sorry. But — I don't, I don't."
Now it was Mitaka's turn to frown. "You don't want to get clean? Send those filthy clothes through the hatch and use them in the composting program?"
Techie opened his eyes again. "I can't, I —"
Mitaka gazed at him worriedly, unsure how to help him.
"I. Ma-Ma gave me this shirt," Techie whispered. "I have to keep it. Because — what if, what if she comes back?"