Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wrecker grinned as he watched the trade ship touching down on Pabu’s landing platform. The sun glinted off its hull, giving it a brief halo of light. Fitting, he thought, given what the ship held within it.

A few other people were already lined up to receive their orders. He quickly joined the queue, mouth already watering as he imagined the contents of one specific package the ship was carrying.

Pabu was capable of growing a variety of food, but its residents also sometimes ordered goods from off-world through small independent trade companies. A few days ago, Wrecker had been in the middle of ordering some necessary goods for himself and his brothers, when something had caught his eye on the holosite. The company he was shopping from sourced some of its goods from Ord Mantell, and from that oh-so-limited list were words he hadn’t dreamed of ever reading again: Mantell Mix.

His excited shout had been loud enough to wake up half the house. When all the confused shouting died down and the drawn blasters were lowered, he was left with an annoyed, then reluctantly amused Hunter.

“I guess we have enough left in the budget to buy one pack,” he had said, staring thoughtfully at the holopad Wrecker shoved in his face.

Wrecker had been waiting on that pack for almost a week now. He grinned as the ship’s ramp lowered, and a droid appeared to begin distributing cargo to the people lined up. A few minutes later, and it was finally his turn to receive his box.

“You are ‘Gleek Jafson?’” the droid questioned with a tilt of its head. They always used aliases when ordering supplies, just as an extra precaution.

“Sure am!” he all but hopped in place.

“Please wait here while I retrieve your order.” It disappeared back inside the ship. Wrecker tried to contain his excited fidgeting. He had already waited a whole week, what were a few more minutes?

An eternity, apparently.

When the droid finally reappeared, it was to roll a huge crate strapped to a hover cart down the boarding ramp.

“Whoa! That sure is a big box for such a small bag,” Wrecker laughed. Grabbing the edge of the lid, he wrenched it open. His eyes widened.

The warm rays of sun illuminated the contents in a dreamy glow. It was mantell mix, alright. So, so much mantell mix. A beautiful, crunchy, perfect sea of mantell mix…

“Please sign.” The droid’s mechanical voice broke through the angelic choirs that seemed to have sprung from nowhere.

Wrecker blindly held out a hand, unable to tear his eyes away from what was possibly the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Yeah…Yeah,” he finally glanced down at the holopad in his hand–

–and nearly leapt out of his skin.

1,500 credits?!

“What?! Uh– There must’ve been some kinda mistake,” he laughed nervously. “I ordered 15 credits worth of Mantell Mix, not 1,500.”

The droid just stared at him.

“You’re gonna have to take this back,” Wrecker said, sending a rueful glance at the visage of deliciousness in the crate.

“That is not possible. This order was final sale. No returns, no refunds.” The droid pointed at the holopad. “Please sign.”

“Wha? No, there’s gotta be something you can do. My brother’s gonna kill me if he finds out I spent this much money!”

The droid’s blank blue eyes did not flicker. “Please sign.”

Wrecker glanced around desperately. When no solution jumped out at him, he groaned, accepting the holopad and lifting the pen to sign away his fate. “Oh, poodoo.”

Wrecker walked along the pathways winding between Pabu’s houses. A heavy cloud of worry hung above his head, blocking out the clear blue sky. What was he going to do? He couldn’t dump the mix or hide it, because the thought of wasting all that glorious food hurt his heart. Attempting to eat all of the mix on his own, as appealing as it sounded, probably wouldn’t work either.

He was going to need help.

At least Hunter was off-world right now, off with Echo to do Rex some favor. Unfortunately, he was meant to return that night, which didn’t leave him much time. That left Tech, Crosshair, and Omega. Tech could honestly be even scarier than Hunter when it came to wasting resources sometimes, so he decided to seek out the advice of the latter two.

He had already lugged the crate down to the cave beneath Pabu earlier, so he sent a message to the two of them asking to meet him there. Omega arrived first, brightly-corded shell necklaces that she and her friends wove jingling as she raced into the cave.

“Hi, Wrecker! Did you get your mantell mix?” she asked, looking around eagerly. Omega had been almost as excited as he was to try the rare treat again.

“Yep. Sure did…” He gave a smile that was more of a grimace.

Before either one of them could say anything else, Crosshair all but skidded into the cave’s entrance, slightly out of breath and signature scowl in place. Batcher bounded after him, tail wagging excitedly at the opportunity to race. The sniper looked between the two of them sharply, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t see anyone bleeding out. What was so important that you sent a message saying, ‘URGENT: Come asap, and don’t tell anyone’?”

“There’s uh, been a bit of a mistake,” Wrecker replied.

“What kind of mistake?” Omega asked, petting Batcher.

“Well, what happened was…I was ordering mantell mix. Which Hunter told me I could do!” he reminded them. “Except, I, uh…kinda selected the largest size by accident.” Wrecker rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.

Crosshair stared at him.

“What? It was an accident!”

“Where is it?”

Wrecker led them to the corner he had stashed the crate in, pulling off the tarp concealing it and lifting the lid.

Crosshair muttered a curse under his breath.

“Whoa.” Omega stared at the crate with stars in her eyes. “There’s so much.”

“Yeah. It is pretty amazing.” Wrecker joined her, a smile growing on his face.

“More than you could possibly eat.” Crosshair popped their dreamy bubble with a jab of his toothpick. “You’ll be eating it until you’re ninety. That’s not a good thing,” he added as he spotted the gears turning behind Wrecker’s eyes. “It has a shelf life of, what, a couple of days? You need it gone fast.”

“You’re right.” Wrecker nodded solemnly. He turned to Omega. “Between the three of us, how much do you think we can eat every hour?”

“Oh for kriff’s sake, we’re not eating it! We can’t return it, and we need the money back. The solution is obvious.” Crosshair nudged Batcher back from the hound’s curious investigation of the crate. He shoved the lid shut, turning to face them. “We sell it.”

Wrecker’s eyes widened, mouth forming an ‘O.’ “Whoa. That’s– That’s a brilliant idea! Except…I’m not sure anyone else on Pabu would want this much, either…”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. He turned to Omega. “Do you still have all that paper Echo bought for your school project? And the paints?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“We’re going to need it.”

An hour later saw the trio at the marketplace on Pabu’s peak. Batcher had been deemed too much of a risk to the safety of their merchandise, so she had been dropped off at home.

It had been a pain in the shebs lugging the crate up here. At least one of their neighbors had been kind enough to lend them a cart.

Crosshair surveyed their little setup. It was a bit…rustic (please see: painfully DIY’ed), but it would get the job done. Wrecker angled the crate’s lid over it in a way that would serve as a makeshift table top while they could still access its contents. Omega was hard at work painting neat lettering onto a plank of wood they were using as a sign. To make it seem more like the other booths in the market, they had set a few smaller crates on the sides behind the big one, forming a sort of ‘C’ with them in the middle.

“Ok,” Crosshair said, pointing to each of his siblings in turn. “How much are we charging again?”

“Ten credits,” they said in unison.

“Good. No cheaper than that, or the math probably won’t work.” He’d done a rough estimate of how many people were likely to buy from them. With it being such a small island, they would be lucky to sell to the 150 people he planned for.

Finished with her sign, Omega propped it up in front of the crate, coming to join her brothers on the other side of it.

“We’re in business,” she grinned.

They stood and waited.

And waited.

Finally, they got their first 3 customers. All at once.

Crosshair narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Mox, Deke, and Stak as the younger clones surrounded their booth.

“‘Mantell mix?’ What’s that?” Deke asked.

“It’s crunchy and sweet and really good,” Wrecker supplied.

Crosshair swatted away Stak’s hand as he started to reach for the tub of kernels. “10 credits.”

“What? No family discount?”

“No. Not since Wrecker blew a couple hundred credits on getting it.”

“Hey! That’s supposed to be a secret!” Wrecker elbowed him.

“We’re good at keeping secrets,” Mox said. He eyed the mantell mix thoughtfully, before glancing around the rest of the market. “Seems like you’re running low on customers.” Leaning forward conspiratorially, he added, “We can help with that.”

Crosshair exchanged a skeptical glance with Omega. She crossed her arms, leaning forward as well. “How?”

“Marketing.” He grinned. “Here’s our offer: give each of us two servings of mix for free, and we’ll make sure everyone in this marketplace knows how great it is.”

“Through what means?” Crosshair asked.

“Leave that to us.” Mox crossed his own arms, as did his brothers.

Omega pursed her lips. “Give us a moment,” she said, before pulling Crosshair and Wrecker a few feet over to huddle up. “What are we thinking?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Wrecker said.

“I think they’re hungry and willing to say anything to get a free snack,” Crosshair said, keeping a watchful eye on the other three clones while they were away from their stall.

“I think it could work,” Omega said. “No one’s really showing any interest anyway. The investment could be worth it.”

“We got you two to three,” Wrecker smirked at Crosshair.

The sniper sighed. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when they run off.”

The three turned back to the waiting boys. Omega offered her hand, which Mox accepted with a hardy shake.

“We accept your terms.”

“Great. You won’t regret it,” he smirked.

They doled out the agreed-upon amount to the other clones, and then watched their marketing campaign start.

“Wow! This mantell mix is amazing!” Deke loudly proclaimed to Stak as the two sidled up to a small cluster of people.

“Mmm! You’re right! Sooo good!” Stak beamed, tossing a handful in his mouth. He held the cone out to a perplexed Ishi Tib, shaking it tantalizingly. “Wanna try a bite?”

Crosshair face-palmed, while Wrecker and Omega watched in fascination. The Ishi Tib hesitated—then took a kernel, popping it in his mouth. It was difficult to read his expression, but he was suddenly leaning over to his partner to say something. Then he turned to Mox, who pointed him toward their stall.

Wrecker, Crosshair, and Omega gaped as the Ishi Tib walked toward them. Another two people followed.

“Start scooping mix,” Crosshair said, grabbing a cone.

Throughout the next hour, they had a steady stream of customers. Omega folded the cones, Wrecker scooped the mix, and Crosshair managed the credits.

“Quit scooping so much,” he told Wrecker as another happy child left with an overflowing cone. “You put too much, and we won’t break even.”

“It makes the kids so happy though!” Wrecker complained.

“And Hunter will be so very unhappy with you.” He sighed dramatically, flicking mantell mix dust off his fingertips.

“Aw, fine. You’re no fun.”

“Heads up,” Omega said, drawing their attention. “We’ve got competition.”

The two clones looked to where she was staring. The market was made up of two lines of stands facing each other, and someone had just rolled up a cart in the spot mirroring theirs.

Wrecker groaned. “Not her.”

The ‘her’ in question was Lunta, an aged woman that carried a cantankerous reputation on the island. She tended to be cranky with everyone, but for some reason, she seemed to have a particular distaste for clones.

Just as they were eyeing her, she was eyeing them. Reaching for the chalk board attached to her cart’s side, she wrote on it, then propped it up.

Pabu Pretzel Pack, 9 credits

“She’s undercutting our prices!” Omega cried indignantly.

Crosshair muttered a choice word under his breath. “She’s here every day selling those stale womp rat droppings, but the one day we’re out here, she has to compete with us?”

“Get your Pabu Pretzels,” Lunta called to the shoppers browsing the market. “Special sale today, just 9 credits a pack.”

A couple that had been walking toward their booth paused, then turned and headed towards Lunta’s.

“Oh no you don’t,” Crosshair hissed. “Mantell mix!” he called to the stream of people walking by. “Fresh, delicious, cheap!”

No one looked their way.

“I think you gotta yell louder and more often,” Wrecker told him.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you do it, then? You’re the one always ranting about the stuff.”

“Oh. Ok.” Wrecker turned, and bellowed to the marketplace, drowning out Lunta’s next call, “GET YOUR MANTELL MIX HERE! THE BEST THING YOU’LL EVER TRY! TASTES DELICIOUS! LIKE YOU’VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN!”

Omega and Crosshair cringed at his volume. A few people down the row jumped. But more importantly, a few looked their way, then at Omega’s brightly-decorated sign.

Lunta glared at them as they got more customers and doled out more mix. Crosshair smirked back.

“Undercut that, shabuir.”

Two hours later saw them with half their inventory sold. The afternoon was beginning to bleed into sunset. Deke, Mox, and Stak had long since disappeared to go cause mischief somewhere else.

“I’m bored,” Wrecker sighed. “And hungry.” He stared longingly at the tub of mantell mix.

“No. We have food at home. Go eat there if you need to,” Crosshair told him.

Wrecker stuck his tongue out at him when he turned away. “Mantell mix!” he called to a small group passing by. He’d started using a lower volume, partially due to getting tired, but mostly because Crosshair and Omega had asked him to tone it down some. “Get your mantell mix here!”

Crosshair straightened as he spotted a familiar pair coming down the row. He preemptively folded his arms in defense.

“I wasn’t aware we had started a family business,” Tech said, leaning on his crutch as he came to a stop in front of their booth.

“We didn’t,” Crosshair scowled. “It’s only temporary.”

“Selling snacks as a side hustle? I respect it.” Phee grinned beside Tech. “You know, it reminds me of the time I had to hawk some of the ration packs from an ancient pirate ship’s galley in order to afford a key to—”

Crosshair mentally tuned out the rest of wherever that was going. Tech waited while his girlfriend spun her entire wild tale (honestly, they were kind of perfect for each other with their ability to ramble), before looking back to Crosshair and Wrecker.

“I take it this foray was unplanned given that you somehow failed to notify me, Hunter, or Echo?”

“Uhhh…” Wrecker nervously shifted from foot to foot.

“Wrecker kriffed up and ordered a huge crate instead of a small bag,” Crosshair said.

“Ah. That would explain the secrecy.”

“Mhm. Now are you going to buy something? ‘Cause if not, you’re blocking our stall.”

Phee gave a low whistle and laughed, while Tech reached for one of his many pockets.

“I intend to purchase some, yes. Although I hope you treat your other customers with a more positive attitude.”

“We do, don’t worry,” Omega smiled, scooping up a cone and offering it to him. Tech accepted it with a returned smile. He handed it to Phee, then forked the credits over to Crosshair.

“We have effectively swindled you,” Tech said.

Crosshair looked up from where he was tucking the credits into the box. “What?”

“We all share the same financial account, and I just paid you with credits from that financial account. You have made zero revenue from this cone.” He gestured to where Phee was popping a few kernels in her mouth. She gave them a mischievous grin, slinging an arm around Tech’s shoulders.

“What? It’s what pirates do.”

“Oh kriff you,” Crosshair grumbled.

Phee laughed, and so did Wrecker and Omega, the traitors.

“Here.” Phee flipped Omega a 10-credit bar, which she caught easily. “That’s on me.”

“Thank you, Phee!” Omega chirped happily.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved her off with her usual cavalier smile. “Let us know if you need any help with your entrepreneurial effort,” she added as the two walked away.

Crosshair updated their tally of how much they made. “We still need to sell to thirty more people.” He glanced around at the emptying market. A few vendors were packing up for the night. Some had already left. Even Lunta had given up and gone home half an hour ago.

“Hunter’s gonna be here soon,” Wrecker pointed at a chrono displayed on another table. “We only have like an hour!”

“I have an idea.” Omega grabbed up one of the boxes they had used to construct their stand. She began shoveling mantell mix into it.

“What are you doing?”

“Improvising. We need to sell to more people, but they’re not here. So…” she finished filling the smaller crate, proffering it to Wrecker “we go to them.”

“Ohhh. That’s smart,” he grinned.

Omega grabbed one of the harnesses they had used to secure the big mantell mix crate to the wagon when they rolled it up here. She clipped it onto the smaller crate, transforming it into a sort of backpack. Holding it up, she helped Wrecker sling it onto his front, like a baby carrier.

“Take these,” she handed over one of the scoops and half the paper cones, “and walk around the island looking for customers. Lots of people like to walk on the beach in the evening. You could probably find some luck there.”

Wrecker accepted the items, giving her a salute. “Yes Ma’am!”

“Hold on.” Crosshair lifted a hand. “We’re expecting him to walk around with a crate of the stuff right under his nose—and not eat it?”

“Hey! I resent that.”

“It’s the best chance we have,” Omega shrugged. “There’s still some people coming through the market that we can sell to, so leaving isn’t a smart move. Besides, I trust Wrecker. He can handle it.”

“You bet I can!”

Crosshair sighed. “Fine. But don’t blame me when he comes back with all of it gone and only half the credits he’s supposed to have.”

They watched as Wrecker jogged off with his precious cargo, disappearing down the long spiral ramp that led to the island’s lower levels.

Crosshair looked back at the rest of the market. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Omega smiling at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad we did this.”

“What? Damage control for his kriff-up?” he snarked back.

“Nooo.” She purposefully stepped on his boot, knocking into him. “Getting to hang out together. It’s been fun.”

Crosshair nudged her away by the shoulder, making her grin widen. “I suppose,” he said, eyes drifting away in feigned disinterest.

Through the next hour, they thankfully sold through the last of their share of the mix. There was still just enough left for one serving when a familiar ship passed overhead, touching down near the Archium.

“Kriff. We need to sell this to someone, fast,” Crosshair said. He waved at the stragglers browsing the market, trying to capture the attention of just one that they could pass the last of the stuff onto.

They barely accomplished their mission before the ramp of the Remora descended in the distance, and Hunter and Echo stepped out. Echo made to check over the ship, but Hunter almost immediately turned in their direction, probably sniffing them out or something.

“He spotted us,” Omega groaned. “What are we gonna tell him?”

“Let me handle the talking,” Crosshair said. “Just hide the sign.”

Omega snatched their pricing sign down, hiding it by their feet behind the crate.

Hunter approached their little setup, eyes roving over the makeshift booth, then them. “Hello, Omega. Cross. Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Hi, Hunter,” she smiled sweetly, the perfect image of innocence. “How was your trip?”

“Good.” His eyes narrowed a tiny fraction, enough that most people wouldn’t notice. Crosshair wasn’t like most people, though. “What are you two selling?”

“Advice.” Crosshair crossed his arms.

“Ah.” The corner of Hunter’s mouth tugged into a small smirk. “We all know you’re full of that.”

“Want some?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t poke your nose in other people’s business.”

Hunter gave a short laugh. He suddenly leaned forward, darting a quick hand into the crate. Crosshair went to bat his hand away, but he was too slow to stop him from swiping his fingers around the edge.

“You know what my nose is telling me?” Hunter lifted his fingers to his eyes, inspecting the light yellow dust coating them. He gave it a taste. “There’s been a whole lot of mantell mix around here.”

Omega and Crosshair looked at each other.

“Maybe your nose isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Crosshair raised a brow.

Before Hunter could reply, a distant shout interrupted them.

“GUYS! Guys! I sold almost all of it!” The three clones turned to see Wrecker running toward them across the platform. He skidded to a halt as he spotted Hunter. “Uh oh.”

“What’s going on here?” Hunter asked.

“Promise you won’t be mad,” Omega blurted out, appearing far more guilty than the situation warranted.

Hunter gave her a puzzled look. “Do I usually get mad?”

“Yes,” Crosshair, Omega, and Wrecker said in synch.

Hunter sighed. “For the record, I get frustrated sometimes, not mad.” Then, at their pointed stares, “But fine, I won’t get mad.”

It was at that moment that Echo joined them from the ship. “Hello everyone,” he waved. “What have you been up to?”

“That’s what they were just about to tell me,” Hunter crossed his arms.

Faced with the two most responsible siblings in their squad, Wrecker cracked. “Iboughttoomuchmantellmixandwehadtosellit,” he said in one breath.

Echo stared at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

Hunter, who had more experience deciphering hasty confessions, relayed it back. “You ordered more mantell mix than we agreed on?”

“Not on purpose! I think the holosite bugged or something. They sent this giant crate,” he gestured to it, “and the droid wouldn’t take it back. So we decided to sell it to make the credits back. Crosshair figured out the math, and Omega made the sign,” he paused to point as she helpfully lifted the pricing sign, “and we’ve all been out here all day selling it to people.”

Hunter looked between the crate and them. “Wow,” he said finally.

“You promised you wouldn’t be mad,” Omega pointed accusingly.

“I’m not. To be honest, I guess I’m more impressed than anything.”

“Why?” Crosshair asked suspiciously.

“I would have figured you all would have tried to eat it or something,” Echo piped up.

“No? That never even crossed our minds,” Omega laughed a little too loudly.

“Sure it didn’t.” Echo smirked.

“Well, you all did the responsible thing. Good job.” Hunter gave Wrecker a pat on the back. “Next time, double check your order, though.”

Wrecker gaped at him, apparently in shock at the lack of negative reaction, then nodded vigorously.

“Need any help cleaning this up?” Echo asked.

“Nah, we’ve got it. Thanks,” Wrecker smiled.

And just like that, they were off the hook. They watched Hunter and Echo head toward home. Wrecker let out a sigh of relief, unstrapping the small crate from his chest and setting it down on the larger one.

“I didn’t manage to sell all of it,” he said, pointing to the mantell mix still left inside.

“That’s ok. Here,” Omega passed them each a cone. “I think we deserve a reward for all our hard work.”

They divided up the remainder, leaning back against the crate as they ate. Wrecker sighed happily, eyes drifting shut as he savored his favorite treat.

“It’s pretty good,” Crosshair admitted.

“Oh yeah, you’ve never had any before, have you?” Wrecker asked.

“No.” He averted his eyes, popping another kernel in his mouth.

“We’re glad you’re here to have it with us now,” Omega smiled. The sniper cracked his own small smile in return.

“Well, that was delicious,” Wrecker sighed as he downed the last of his snack. He stared sadly at the empty cone before crushing it up. “Wish I had more.”

“There might be a bit more,” Crosshair said vaguely.

Wrecker whirled to stare at him. “What.”

Crosshair took his time replying, swallowing the last bite of his mix. “While you two were taking Batcher home, I may or may not have taken some out of the crate and stored it somewhere in the cave.”

“Whoa!” Wrecker pressed his hands into the sides of his head. “You were holding out on us!”

“Don’t get too excited. It was only the amount you intended to order.” He dusted off his hand on his pants—then promptly swore as he found himself being dragged into one of Wrecker’s crushing hugs.

“Thanks, Crosshair.” He snagged Omega too, who appeared much happier about being smushed in the group hug. “Thank you both for all your help. I love you guys!”

“We love you too,” Omega grinned.

Crosshair hissed, attempting to push him off. “Now you’re making me wish I hadn’t saved it.”

His reward for his complaint was only getting squeezed tighter. The sniper groaned, resigning himself to his fate.

At least the food had been good.

…The company hadn’t been too bad, either.