Well, this is my first Star Wars fanfic I've posted, though it's not the first I've written. It's a one-shot, and sets up one of my favorite characters for a story I hope to post later. Captain (and eventually Commander) Scratch will be one of the main characters in that story. So r & r please!
Oh, and no, I obviously don't own Star Wars.
The creature was tall, reptilian, and the sort of brownish green you only ever see in the worst bogs. Its hide was covered in platelike scales, and it held a mean-looking blaster rifle in a manner that said it knew how to use it.
Though any blaster would look mean when pointed at you, speculated the clone trooper CT-204376. Especially in the hands of a Barabel.
"You are in this one's territory," the Barabel hissed, its narrow tongue flicking between its knife-sharp teeth. CT-204376 swallowed nervously and stepped backwards.
"I…I'm very sorry about that, ma'am…sir? Uh, I got separated from my squad. I need to get back, really, sir…ma'am? Ah, anyway, if you would be so kind as to tell me which way to go, I'll gladly leave you territory," he assured the creature. Is this thing male or female? He wondered. Or do Barabels not have gender? I can't remember! Ct-204376 holstered his blaster, hoping it would make him seem like less of a threat.
"This one is wondering if you are a droid to be dismantled or a trespasser to be punished," the Barabel hissed thoughtfully. CT-204376 didn't like the sound of either option.
"I am not a trespasser – not intentionally, anyway – and I am definitely not a droid!" he stated, his indignation steadying his voice. "I'm just lost."
"Your excuses only irritate this one! This one does not believe you!" The scaly being holstered its blaster, though, giving CT-2043276 the illusion of safety. Then the trooper noticed the glitter of deadly claws through the mists of Barab One's evening hours. He was reasonably sure that those wicked talons wouldn't be able to tell the difference between his armor and his flesh if the Barabel chose to attack him.
"I am telling the truth, I swear," CT-204376 insisted. He checked his homing beacon surreptitiously. It was active; hopefully, his squad would trace it and find him soon – before this Barabel decided to have a tasty clone-trooper snack. Did Barabels eat humans? "I'm with General Yaddle of the Grand Army of the Republic. She's a Jedi Master." It was worth a shot. The Barabel narrowed its eyes and tensed, ready to lunge.
"This one thinks you are a liar. Tell this one the truth or you will die!" it informed him coldly. CT-204376 tried to speak, but his throat closed with fear. Droids, he could handle. A blaster rifle and claws that would probably slice through him like he was just so much warm butter? The trooper reached instinctively for his own blaster. The Barabel saw the movement. "You threaten this one? This one will have your life!"
CT-204376 leaped away from the Barabel's sudden strike, but was too slow. One of those butcher knife claws punctured his helmet, then ripped through it like it wasn't there. It bit into his forehead and dragged down his face. It tore down, barely missed hie eye, then slashed his cheek. It trailed down his neck, then his shoulder, his armor parting like air before that terrible claw.
This is cheap scrap, not armor! CT-204376 thought desperately as pain flooded his mind. He tried to move backwards again but lost his balance. The blood from his forehead blinded him as he hit the cold, uncaring ground. And now I'm going to die, not in battle, but in some forsaken jungle on a worthless hunk of rock that disgraces the name "planet"!
"Shaka-ka, halt, you shall! With my troops, that one is!" cried an ancient and familiar voice. Green light blazed. CT-204376 could barely see the small green shape with its glowing weapon.
General! He wanted to shout, but he couldn't. He hurt too much to say anything. His faint vision dimmed. I'm dead, thought CT-204376. Blackness overwhelmed the pulsing green of his General's lightsaber.
"Ow," muttered CT-204376. The word made his face and throat burn, but it was a word! He could speak! Which probably meant he wasn't dead after all. The thought made him want to smile, but even thinking about the expression made his facial muscles scream obscenities at him. Owowowowowowowow!
"Ah, brother Scratch, 'ow' is right," agreed a cheerful voice. Uh-oh, thought CT-204376. "You almost lost an eye, brother Scratch, and we almost lost you – which would have been very bad, since the general wanted to promote you to Captain and assign you to her new Padawan." Such a ridiculously happy tone of voice could only be coming from the mouth and vocal chords of one clone: the field medic known affectionately (or angrily) as Chipper. CT-204376 wanted to groan and sit up, but Chipper pushed him down before he made a sound.
"Oh, not yet, brother Scratch; at the moment, you are about as strong and fit to get out of your hospital bed as an overcooked noodle!" Chipper informed him in a happy voice that should not be allowed in any infirmary anywhere. "And all this after several transfusions and a super-fun exploratory operation – just to make sure there wasn't anything nasty in your wound," the clone added cheerfully.
The only thing 'nasty' in my wound was your kriffing 'exploratory operation'! Ct-204376 stormed silently. He wanted to say it out loud, but didn't. His face hurt so much that he couldn't even keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time.
"Well, brother Scratch, you'll have a nice big scar, but you'll be back to blasting those walking tin cans in no time! And the boys have finally decided on a name for you: Scratch!" bubbled Chipper.
Fantastic. They named me for a wound I got because some idiot lizard was faster than me, thought CT-204376 – now apparently known as Scratch. At least people who don't know how I got my name will think it was in a real battle. I hope.
"Like I said, brother Scratch, you'll be up and about in no time – actually, I think you'll be back in your armor with a blaster in your hand by the time General Yaddle's new Padawan gets here," Chipper added happily.
That's right, the General's getting a Padawan. I hope the youngling isn't too annoying, especially if I am assigned to him or her, thought Scratch.
"I've heard some odd stories about this little one they're sending. According to the Coruscant clone I talked to, she can tell every one of us apart, and when she binds or lifts something with the Force, it stays bound or lifted," Chipper babbled.
Great. Now he'll never shut up. At least I'll recover quickly, thought Scratch.
A week later, a trooper stood in front of a small reflective section of the ship, his helmet under his hand. A long, white scar ran down his face and neck, then disappeared under his armor.
It doesn't look like much anymore, he thought, raising a hand to touch the scar. In fact, it just looks like a cut that didn't heal well. It looks like it was just a scratch.
He smiled at his reflection, then put on his helmet. He turned toward the shooting range some of his brothers had set up in an unused hangar of the ship; that new Padawan would be arriving soon, and Captain Scratch wanted to get in some practice before she showed up.