Author: Jedi Ani Unduli PM
When Luminara's Padawan is cruelly cut down, what does she do? And how do they survive in the aftermath of Order 66? Please R & R. Thank you! :DRated: Fiction T - English - Sci-Fi - Chapters: 6 - Words: 8,052 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 02-27-10 - Published: 04-03-08 - id: 4174962
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Here, I FINALLY updated! I hope you guys enjoy! I also hope you like the ending, 'cause I wasn't exactly sure if that would be good enough or not (90% yes; 10% no...)
Disclaimer: No it's not mine, and never ever x 10 million will be. However, I'll keep Ani... and Wrecker! ;-)
The city gates remained closed even as Wrecker approached them at full speed. The Jedi Padawan, limp and still, was strapped to the back of his speeder bike, standard trooper issue. As he neared the lifeless black metal wall that loomed over him, the clone felt a sense of unease. Would they let him in? How many questions would they ask him? Would he get through everything alive and, perhaps, without the necesity of medical supplies in order for him and the Jedi to escape?
A thought nagged him at the back of his mind, saying You could always turn them in. What harm could it do? However, he shoved it aside. I won't betray them, no matter what may happen to me, he told it firmly. After all, perhaps I can somehow help them through the coming years, maybe even fight to bring back the Republic. After all, I can't be the only one who wants freedom.
"Halt, trooper," his communications link barked, pulling him out of his reverie. He stopped his bike, merely meters from the duracrete wall looming over him. "Identify your name and number, and the reason why you need to gain entry."
"I am Wrecker, No. 112789-214, and I request entry to rejoin my fellow clones in the city. My work outside is finished, per Commander Fai's orders."
"Wrecker, our sensors indicate a body, gender: female, on the back of your speeder bike, no life signs available. What is her history?"
"Sir, she was a half-blood female, Mirialian/Alderaanian. Age: 15.98 years of age. Height: 1.42 meters. Weight: 115 pounds. She was also, and you can check with Commander Fai for confirmation, sir, a Jedi."
"One of those traitors we brought down earlier?" Wrecker tried not to grimace.
"Yes, sir." A chuckle sounded over the comm, the system crackling slightly.
"Hang on, trooper, the gates will be opened shortly. After entering the city, you will report straight to the main operations building, center of town. There will be a commander and two lieutenants awaiting your arrival. After you park your speeder bike, they will escort you to our medbay. Bring the girl. We will run some tests on her to check whether or not she really is dead."
Why does it have to be now that my brothers hate the Jedi's guts? This complicates the mission to an almost impossible level. Before this, they used to worship the ground they walked on, Wrecker thought as the doors cranked open. He gunned the engine and flew in, barely glancing at the passerby. Well, okay, not that extreme, but still… The clone soon became so absorbed in his thoughts that he forgot to look where he was going. He would've crashed head-on into another speeder if not for the "dead" padawan behind him, who machine-gunned him with several stones.
"Ow – SORRY!!!" he yelled to the irate driver behind him, gawking at a standstill in the busy intersection. "You may want to move eventually."
"Obviously he didn't," a voice remarked behind him, as sounds of horns blaring and the screeching-stop of speeders reached his ears. He tried not to start, surprise almost overwhelming his brain.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?!!!" he hissed, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him
"Well…maybe." She paused. "Okay, technically, yes, I'm supposed to be "dead." However, I certainly don't feel like doing so." Wrecker gritted his teeth.
"One twitch and this mission will go into the sewers," he warned. "'Sides, you're not supposed to move until after nightfall. As it's still daylight, you're at a greater risk if you move one little millimeter."
"Okay, okay, I'll be good," Ani promised. "Are we almost there?"
"Yeah, so stop your jabbering. We'll both be closely monitored by my brothers, so no moving," he emphasized.
"Crap." He felt her body begin to stiffen again. "Just let me know when –" The doors to the clone compound opened, effectively cutting off her talking (thank goodness, he thought) as he zoomed on through.
"Halt, trooper!" Wrecker yanked on the brakes, mindful of his superior up ahead. It would not go well if he ran the commander over. Once at a complete stop, he let go of the brakes and punched in the code, which every clone – now known as a stormtrooper – used. "Explain yourself."
"Sorry, sir. I was…distracted."
"Inexcusable, soldier. After years of training, you should know by now to concentrate only on what is happening now. If you're so concerned about something, go see a psychiatrist about it – after you're done with your duties."
"You're dismissed now, trooper."
"Yes, sir." He couldn't help but glance at the "dead" padawan. "Uh, sir, what will happen to her?"
"A full autopsy will commence shortly, and if she is found to be truly dead, we will burn her in the square here, so that she may be an example to anyone else who might even be thinking about rebelling."
"When will that happen?"
"At sunrise, approximately 08h00 tomorrow morning." Great. More burning, Wrecker thought, barely keeping a grimace from fixing itself on his face.
"Do all of us have to attend, sir?" he asked, trying to not sound desperate. The commander raised an eyebrow.
"Do I detect sympathy for the rebel?" The veiled threat vibrated in his throat, bordering on a growl.
"N-no, sir," Wrecker gulped, trying to erase everything upon his face that might appear defensive. "I'm not… I'm not used to seeing bodies burn, and from what I've seen at our med bases, it isn't pretty" Somehow, he knew that he didn't succeed in keeping his features repressed, and would be hearing it later. For now, his superior merely nodded and said, "20h00. Tonight. At my quarters. Be there."
"Yes, sir." Wrecker nodded back, and quick-walked to his quarters, dreading the almost-certain tongue-lashing he'd get from the commander.
Well, you were going to get talked to anyways…eventually, he told himself, walking down the winding corridor to his assigned bunk. After accidently unleashing almost the entire stock of explosives on both our army and the Separatists yesterday, not to mention hotwiring the wrong cannon, would have gotten me into trouble anyways. This just deepens the pit.
"Hey, Wrecker." One of his brothers, a tall, dark-haired clone with Mandalorian markings on his trooper outfit, caught up to him. "Uh, you look as if you just lost a bet during Sabaac. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Klanker." He tried to smile. "I'm perfectly okay." His best friend snorted.
"Yeah, right. As okay as a Sarlacc forced to eat a Hutt. Wrecker, I know you better than that. What's really up?"
"Well…" he looked around, trying to see if anyone else was listening in on their conversation. "I'm… I'm not sure eh – exactly."
"Well, let's go to the mess hall. Since it's after lunch, almost everyone will be in their bunks snoring away, while the ones left will be on guard duty. The place is almost guaranteed to be deserted," Klanker said. "And no, I'm not giving up. Come on; I haven't eaten yet, and I'm betting you haven't either." Wrecker gave in, and a smile lit up his face.
"Thanks, Klanker. No, I haven't eaten yet, and it would be nice to have a slight break before my watch tonight."
"See?" His fellow clone slid an arm around his shoulders. "I am actually worth something. Oh my stars, I think I might actually be able to read my best friend!" Wrecker responded with a sound slap upside the head. "Ow! Hey, what did I do –"
"Klanker, behave yourself please." He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of his friend trying – and failing – to keep himself out of trouble. "If not for our common preference for heavy ammo, we're friends because both of us get into trouble…more so than anyone else."
Punching Wrecker in the arm, his friend couldn't help but agree. "We are two of the most unfortunate clones in the galaxy. Now, joking is good and all, but if we hope to actually have a somewhat serious conversation over real food, then we'd better hurry to the cantina."
"Kark it, Klank, you have the stomach of a Hutt!" laughed Wrecker. "Let's go, then. I'm starved anyways." The two friends walked down the hallway in comfortable silence, greeting their brothers as they trickled in from various corridors and rooms.
From the corner of his eye, though, Klanker secretly scrutinized his friend. Even after their light-hearted banter he remained tight-lipped and serious. What turned him into Mr. Serious all of a sudden, he wondered silently. He vowed to find out later, once they'd sit down to eat an actual meal.
"Trooper 112789-214," his friend's wrist comm barked. "Report to Commander Fai in his office, five standard minutes." Wrecker sighed exasperatedly.
"He knows what I saw, and his fellow commander gave him my report already…most likely," he muttered under his breath. "Why him, though? Is it…no, it can't possibly be that, at least not yet."
"What?" Klanker couldn't believe his ears. "Wrecker, old pal, what are you talking about?" Not answering, his fellow clone and dearest brother turned on his heel and walked the way they had come, a stormy expression on his face. "HEY!" He sprang forward to grasp the plated arm. "What's going on? Wrecker –" The clone turned to face his friend, weariness now revealing itself in his eyes. Startled, Klanker shrank back.
"Go to the medbay, Klank. The answer's there – if you really want to know." After a moment of silence, he broke eye contact and returned to his path, his stride becoming more agitated every time his foot made contact with the duracrete floor.
Once his friend was out of sight, Klanker shook himself out of his stupor and made his way down another a hallway, towards the medical wing. Whatever his friend had seemed to be afraid of would be found there. However, he got the strangest feeling that finding "it" out would not close the matter. Instead, it would cause chaos, not only with him, but with his friend Wrecker, his cloned brothers, in the village where they were situated at, and even span the galaxy itself.
He wondered what in the name of space anomalies and black holes could cause such a disruption like that.
If you couldn't guess, Klanker is a little more logical (like Spock for all you Trekkies) than Wrecker. More on the accidents they get involved in will come later. For now.... review, please? (puppy-dog eyes, pout, and whine)