"Let's have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us,to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it."
-Abraham Lincoln
The Clone stood on the crest of a red sand dune. He could have been doing anything, looking for anything. The calm, deliberate efficiency with which clones conducted their business was often over-looked, mainly because they did a textbook job of things. A little more or less experience might change their strategy, but had little effect on their work ethic as a rule. This clone was little different from any other, and what he was doing was far from unusual. In the grand scheme of things, it was the self-same thing all clones spent all their time doing. Surviving.
Barring orders to the contrary, it was the exact same thing every other clone in the Galaxy was doing. How they went about it varied with circumstance, and this particular clone's circumstances were rather dire. The desert planet spread all about him, appearing devoid of life. Two suns hung hot overhead, a third had just set. The coming night would be a short one.
Looking all around, The Clone was still unable to see anything resembling any kind of shelter. He checked his canteen for the third or fourth time, just to make good and sure it was as useless as he had first supposed. There was a hole right through it, and no water remained in it. He sighed.
Bleakly, he turned back the way he'd come, sliding down from the dune somewhat awkwardly, courtesy of a piece of torn metal from the fallen ship lodged just above his right knee. He limped past the bodies of clones less fortunate than he, ones who had been crushed by the ship when it landed, or thrown from it while it was still high in the air. The Clone was the only of his kind to survive this crash.
There had been a Jedi with them, who was still alive but unconscious, very probably dying. There wasn't anything he could do, not really. He'd tried to stifle the bleeding, but that was about the best he could do. Out of all the pieces of equipment he carried on his person, his med kit was the smallest.
The radio wasn't working, probably something about the sand, something in it. He'd already checked the bodies of his comrades. Their equipment was, for the most part, destroyed, missing or already used. It could be a long time between resupply runs, and they had to make whatever they were given last. Such was the lot of ground troops. Although, this was not exactly where they were intended to have been deployed. Best The Clone could figure, their intended destination was a good forty miles Northeast of here, if not more.
They'd been shot out of the air by a fighter on the way. Just one of many ships. Chances were they wouldn't be missed. There was some consolation in thinking their absence wouldn't make much difference in the outcome of the battle. Small consolation. The clones were, of course, expendable. That's what made them such useful soldiers. The Jedi, on the other hand, were too few in number to afford losing even one.
The Clone had his mission, even without verbal orders. This Jedi was going to survive. He had to get them some help, and to safety. Assuming either one could be found somewhere in this place. He had no reason to go anywhere but towards the battlefield. Doubtless the battle would be over, and the field likely even abandoned, by the time he got there. He wouldn't be able to travel swiftly with his leg as it was. Knowing this, it was only logical to take the Jedi with him. No sense leaving them here to die. Maybe he'd find water along the way. Now that was just wishful thinking.
The next order of business was to get the metal fragment out of his leg. He wouldn't have bothered, but he knew he couldn't get far if he didn't do something about it. Besides, night was fast approaching, and maybe it would be a little cooler then. Maybe.
He knew better than to just pull the fragment out. If he wasn't careful, he'd do more harm than good. He couldn't afford to damage himself further, the price being potential loss of a valuable Jedi.
Being a clone, he had long resigned himself to his own fate. Chances were, he was going to die. That's what clones were for. To fight, and to eventually die. It was the reason they existed. But experience had taught him that a clone shouldn't be too quick to let himself fall. Living to fight another day could be more valuable than sacrificing his life. It all depended on the circumstances. Being what they were right now, there was no sense in him increasing the likelihood of his own demise.
After tending to his wound, The Clone set about making some kind of sled so he could pull the Jedi along with him. While it was true that he could carry them, or just drag them by a limb, that was far from the easiest, or most practical, method of transport.
He found a piece of wing which was nearly sheered off that looked to be about the right size, and set to work prying it the rest of the way loose. It was dark by the time he'd accomplished this and created a makeshift harness from a collection of wires and cables which had formerly composed the ship's innards. As gently as he could, The Clone moved the still unconscious Jedi from the ground to the sled, using more cable to secure them to it.
Exhausted by his efforts, The Clone had to rest for a time before he was ready to travel. He could have used some water too, but there wasn't any of that around for miles, so he did without. As he was about to set off, he realized the Jedi's light-saber had fallen to the ground. He picked it up and set it on the sled near the Jedi, hoping it would stay there. Quite frankly, he didn't want to touch it again.
He had an almost instinctive aversion to light-sabers. He couldn't make use of them, they belonged in the hands of Jedi. In his world, Jedi were superior to him and all his kind, and he had absolutely no business handling anything which belonged to a Jedi, least of all a light-saber.
The Clone's direction was chosen by the last readouts from the ship before it died. He could only hope they were accurate. If not, he doubted if they could get into worse trouble. The only thing was that it might be wiser to stay by the ship than to wander off. Someone would be looking for the Jedi. But he feared that they didn't have enough time for a search party. If they were still out in the open when the first sun rose in the morning, their deaths were virtually assured. The Clone had already felt the deadly heat of the day once, and he felt sure that another day of that would kill him and the Jedi both, especially with no water or shade.
Progress was slow and painful. Aside from his leg, The Clone had also suffered injuries beneath the surface, whose extent he did not know. The relentless up and down of the dunes didn't help either. When he could, he traveled along the top ridges, where the night wind made it cooler and the level ground made walking easier. But that wasn't always an option. He couldn't drift too far off course, or risk getting lost altogether, or at least taking himself so far out of his way that he'd never make it.
More than once during the short night, The Clone had to stop. His injured ribs rendered him continually breathless, unable to inhale properly. He deemed it best not to think about it, instead focusing on his objective. It was like locking on a target. Just keep on it, nothing else mattered until the target was eliminated. Or, in this case, the objective was achieved.
Dawn slowly turned the ashen, colorless world to a fiery red, and The Clone could feel the heat that was soon to follow. He knew that they had to find shelter. He left the sled in the temporary shade of a dune, and climbed to the top to look for some rocks, or a cave, or anything which might provide cover from the blistering rays of the oncoming suns.
There seemed nothing but sand, sand, and more sand. But as the first sun rose higher, The Clone spotted something in the distance with his binoculars. It might have been nothing, but it sure seemed to be something to him. It was all he had to go on.
He went and got the sled, then adjusted his course slightly, making a moderately straight march towards the distant blob of darkness which suggested a rock pile. A pile of rocks wouldn't seem like much to anyone else, but to the exhausted clone, it was everything. Shade was the difference between no chance of survival, and a slim possibility of it. And that was all he needed to keep going. Some chance was better than none at all.
The next time The Clone had to stop and rest, he arranged the Jedi's cloak to protect the Jedi's face and body from the sun as much as possible. He was half-tempted to take off his own armor, as it felt like he was baking inside it, but he knew better than that. It afforded him a small amount of protection from the sun, and from the heat, whether it felt like it or not. It was worth the extra weight. He knew that, but he couldn't manage to feel it right now.
The sun crept higher in the sky. It was getting hotter by the minute, not that it had ever gotten cool. The sand was still burning from the day before. The sled was feeling heavier all the time, though The Clone knew well that it was really that his body was giving way under the stress.
When the second sun appeared over the horizon, The Clone was practically crawling. Each inch of forward progress seemed to take an eternity, and it seemed like every step would be the last. But then another one would follow, and every time he fell, he managed to somehow regain his feet.
Just keep going. That was all he could think. The suns beat down unmercifully, driving all other thoughts from his mind, trying to drive him to his knees, force him to give up and die, as relentless and pitiless as any droid and as fully monstrous as a Sith Lord.
He almost didn't notice when a shadow fell across his path. Or, to be accurate, he walked into a shadow. In fact, he didn't notice until he saw the line between shadow and light. He stopped and looked to his left, then his right. Beside him loomed a huge boulder, one of several, lending shade from the rising sun. Relief coursed through The Clone, but he knew it wasn't over yet. He had to find a spot among the boulders that would stay shady throughout the day.
He couldn't maneuver the sled over the rocks, and so was forced to leave it, carrying the Jedi over his shoulder. After so long trudging through the sand, the rocks felt unfamiliar and treacherous. He slipped several times, nearly dropping the Jedi. More than once he bit back a cry of pain as his ribs were jarred or his sore shoulders struck against rock. In the center of the formation, he found what he was looking for. Gratefully, he set the Jedi down in the shade, and went back for the light-saber. Then, utterly spent, he practically collapsed into a heap. He didn't mean to go to sleep, and he didn't really. He quite simply passed out from exhaustion.
A/N: this so-called story is actually a brain-storming session which was later edited into a semi-coherent story. The story is told in 7 relatively self-contained plot-lines, each consisting of 3 chapters. Because there is an overarching plot which spreads across all seven parts, it is published here as a single story.
My knowledge of Star Wars is limited to the following: Episodes I-VI (the live action movies), the first season of CGI series The Clone Wars, anecdotes from my brothers (who actually play the video games and have read some of the books) and the extreme minimum of internet research (i.e. looking up the definition of "walker"). It is therefor advisable to consider this AU.
As per usual, I will upload one chapter per day, barring anything unusual (I will attempt to give readers a head's up via A/N). This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading. Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best. Or say nothing about it at all, if you would prefer.