.

Star Wars

Sentence of Death

Chapter 1

The moon sat high in the sky over Darmoth, indicating that patrol still had several hours before relief. Clone trooper CC-9991, or "Edge" as he prefered, shouldered his rifle once he exited the cover of the jungle and the main camp was in view.

"Sector clear," he stated on the command channel of his comlink, before he added "another uneventful night, as are more to come," on the local feed. The camp looked like a ghost town now that major operations had discontinued, and the bulk of the troops had been reassigned.

Just as Edge neared the perimeter, there was movement in his peripheral, and he drew his pistol in favor of the cumbersome rifle. Before he could aim to fire, the pistol was ripped from his grasp by an invisible hand, and he was knocked off balance by a sudden burst of kinetic energy which sent his rifle tumbling. A young man sprung from the shadows and lashed out with a high kick, but Edge managed to duck and counter with an elbow thrust towards his opponent's head. The assailant diverted the strike and caught Edge with a sharp jab in the throat. The stiff undersuit of his armor absorbed most of the attack, but Edge still wheezed at the blow, and stumbled to regain his balance.

The melee was cut short by the sounds of primed blaster rifles as a squad of clone troopers responded to the disturbance. They pointed their weapons at the young man, who raised his hands in surrender, but Edge interjected.

"It's okay!" Edge coughed. "We were sparring, false alarm boys."

The troopers acknowledged him and cautiously lowered their weapons. Darmoth had been host to intense fighting throughout the war, due to the wealth of untapped resources necessary to the production of the Separatist droid army, but recent events had left the territory uncontested. Now the Republic was just playing guard duty, while Separatist resources continued to dwindle. The troopers weren't used to the stillness of the jungle yet, or the possibility of an end to the Clone Wars.

The promise of a round of drinks was enough to send the troopers grumbling back to their posts, leaving Edge alone with his troublesome companion. The padawan had always expressed a fondness for him, likely due to Edge's equally deviant personality. Clones were bred to be loyal soldiers, but they were also designed to think independently and were only identical up to 99.7% of the time. Edge had always felt different. "You've got too much Jango in you," was the common joke; it was true though. The original genetic host was a strong willed Mandalorian, and one of the most successful bounty hunters in the galaxy. If Edge had assimilated a greater degree of Jango's craftiness, he wasn't complaining. It had allowed him to survive most of the war, but his mouth seemed to get him in an equal amount of trouble.

"That wasn't an invitation Padros, don't pull this crap while I'm on patrol. Duty and ego are not one in the same."

"You yourself say that if you don't use it, you lose it, and you sounded bored," the young man shrugged as a slight grin appeared on his face.

"I do say that, fair enough. It was a good exercise in responsiveness, but don't be making a habit of it." Edge chastised.

"I won't," Padros chuckled, "...but can't I have a little fun while Charren is away?" The young man reached out with the force and levitated the pistol back to Edge.

"Where is he, Padros?" Edge pushed, curious to know where the Jedi general had disappeared to over the last few days.

"I'm really not supposed to talk about it, but seeing how the Separatist fleet jumped system… He led the squads that went down into the mines, to clear out the last pockets of resistance."

"I don't get it, what's special about that? Why aren't you with him?" Edge paused. "I thought masters and padawans were supposed to work as a unit."

"We are, but this war is already taking a turn towards politics. Chancellor Palpatine is concerned the Jedi are too few now. He has recommended that we rely on troopers and special forces instead of leading the assaults ourselves. Padawans in particular are to be held in reserve, which is why Charren left me with the battalion."

"Raiding the mines is dangerous work. The potential collapses, lack of comms, ambushes... I see he didn't want to cause a fuss with high command." Edge agreed.

"He told Commander Joran he would be unavailable, "meditating" in his private chambers. I'm supposed to be meditating, but I guess he isn't setting the best example," Padros grinned again.

"Well I respect his loyalty to his troops. Come on kid," Edge waved Padros to follow him on the next patrol.

The pair returned to camp an hour later, and decided to pause by some storage crates just near the perimeter. Edge would have one last patrol before he was relieved for the night, and he still felt wide awake.

"I'll have to head out again in fifteen," he told the young Jedi.

Padros yawned and hoisted himself up onto a crate. "Sounds good, I think I'll return to my quarters. Maybe I'll even do some meditating," he chuckled.

Edge glanced around to make sure there were no officers nearby, and hopped up on a crate adjacent to Padros. He then unsealed his helmet and took a deep breath of the unfiltered, fresh air. He smiled at Padros, who returned the expression.

"What are you going to do after the war?"

The question caught Edge by surprise. "Me?" he stammered. "Uh, I dunno I guess I never thought about that."

"The war will end," Padros replied. "We won't need the Grand Army of the Republic forever. And what about when you retire?"

Retire. The idea had never occurred to him before. As a clone, he had been bred for one thing, and that goal would soon be accomplished. He could feel the contortions on his face and looked back at Padros who was focused on him intently.

"I guess I have some meditating of my own to do, eh?" he finally replied.

Padros merely smiled, and jumped off the crate. "Well you have five more minutes to sit and think, and then you get to take a nice long walk. I'll leave you to it." The Jedi then turned and began to head towards the base.

"Padros!" Edge called to him. "What do you plan to do after the war?"

"Restore peace. And order," and Padros was gone.

For a moment, Edge considered the response. Wasn't that what they were doing every day? It was likely a political answer he figured, and more referent to the aftermath than the actual violence of the war. A light wind picked up and he decided to simply enjoy the peaceful moment before his final patrol.

He took a deep breath before he jumped to the ground, slung his rifle and then picked up his helmet to examine it. The helmet was considered "Phase I," and more Mandalorian in appearance than the reissued "Phase II" equipment. Not many clones chose to continue wearing the older design, but he had seen it as a means of expressing his heritage and likeness to Jango Fett. As an ode to his "father", and as part of the joke, he had painted his helmet to match Jango's Mandalorian clan design, with a blue border around the "T" shape of his visor and contours that resembled cheekbones.

He instinctively began to put it on, but hesitated as he thought about his conversation with Padros and ran his fingers along the painted contours of the helmet. He had been bred for war and to serve the Republic, but genetically speaking, he was Mandalorian. The same blood flowed through him as Jango Fett. He even wore the markings of a Mandalorian clan, and yet for all of this, he didn't know which clan it was, or what their people were even like. He wasn't like Jango Fett, who had been born into his rightful culture. It made him feel strange, like he didn't really know himself, or have a family. Sure, he had his clone brothers, but now he couldn't stop wondering what it was like to be a true Mandalorian.

Edge sighed.

The paint on his helmet wasn't even the right shade of blue to match Fett's. It was chipped, and there were scuffs and dents all over the helmet. He had fought countless battles in it, and even though the war was winding down, he suspected it would see plenty more wear and tear for years to come. For a moment, he considered trading it in for new and improved Phase II model. He wasn't a Mandalorian; he was a soldier of the Republic. He was also behind schedule for his final patrol.

He looked around the camp, surprised there were still no officers to be seen. It seemed strange, but that also meant his tardiness and improper display of uniform would go unnoticed. A gentle breeze rolled in, and he allowed himself to relax again. He decided not to wear the helmet, but carried it along. Tonight he would just be himself.

He was only a few paces from the perimeter when blaster fire erupted from within camp. Edge spun on his heels, dropped his helmet to the ground, brought his rifle to bear. He scanned everywhere, but no hostiles were in sight. He paused for another moment, confused at the direction from which the firefight had erupted, and watched as stray bolts spewed from the main complex.

"An ambush? Here?" he thought. He needed to get back on comms, and reached for his downed helmet. He could hear the chatter before it was even over his head.

"The Jedi is running!" "Men down, we have one hostile!" "Where's the general?" "Traitors!"

"Find them! Spread out! Vanguards ready, kill on sight!" Commander Joran sounded harsh over the feed, and the base alarms started to blare. Edge felt the hair on his neck stand up, bewildered by the words his brothers had uttered. He leaned up against a crate and continued to watch the base interior from the perimeter.

Had the foolish boy attacked another guard out of boredom? He questioned himself. No, Padros would never go as far to kill innocent beings. It wasn't characteristic of any Jedi, even a reckless padawan. Something had happened, and he considered hailing the commander, but he caught movement in his peripheral. It was Padros, and he was sprinting with supernatural speed, despite an obvious limp. Edge felt fear in his gut, unlike anything before, but managed to stand up and flag Padros' attention. The Jedi altered his course and stumbled into the cover Edge occupied. The fear grew worse as he regarded the wild-eyed Jedi, who's robes and armor were singed by blaster fire.

"What did you do!" He blurted out.

"I...what? I was meditating and suddenly there were murderous troopers everywhere! What are comms saying?"

"I just put my helmet back on, all I know is they are trying to kill you, and your master." Edge rambled, while silently cursing himself for breaking protocol.

"Charren, we have to warn him! He's cut off from comms down there!"

"But so are the troopers," Edge corrected. "Let's worry about you right now."

It didn't make any sense, why the others had turned on the Jedi so abruptly. "Something must have happened, Padros. Maybe the Jedi did something you don't know about, but you need to hide until we can prove your innocence."

The sound of troopers could now be heard in the distance, and they needed a plan.

"How bad is it?" he said more to himself as he inspected the Jedi's wounds. The body armor had been incinerated at the lower right section of the chest, and the skin was severely burned. "How are you still conscious Padros?" he gasped. You need to be rushed to a bacta tank!"

"I'm not sure that's an option... The force can give me strength for now."

"More like adrenaline will give you strength. Let's get you into the jungle. I'll come back for medical supplies and try to figure out what the hell is going on."

Edge hefted Padros to his feet, and did his best to ignore the painful look on his face. Shock and fatigue were already setting in for the young man. The odds were slim he would make it, but Edge had to try and save his friend.