Clone identity

„We, unexpected"

I see the excited joy of my brothers, I feel it, I share it... but surprise doesn't hit me nearly as much as the others. General Master Yoda, head of the Jedi Council, has arrived to take the Grand Army to our first battle. It is a great event for us, and great honor, but this visit was not as unexpected as my brothers seem to think. We were created for this day, and finally it came.

I settle in the left transparasteel turret bubble of the LAAT/i, my brothers board behind my back. During battle, the vessel is relatively vulnerable, so it is up to us, gunners, to defend the entire crew. If we are in a weapon's firing range, then whatever it may be, it's also in my or the other gunner's firing range. The entire crew has to rely on us for protection, and until they're deployed, we are the only troops with real firepower. The Kaminoans picked the ones with the best reflexes for this position – and our batch truly excels at that.

The journey from Kamino to Geonosis is short, but it still feels like ages. We all focus on the fact that we are elites and professionals, and on our desire to give our best performance. The Venator exits hyperspace and I soon feel the familiar tremor of the LAAT/i as the vessel leaves the cruiser. A large, orange-brown planet's sight fills my field of vision, and as we pass the asteroid belt, battle instincts take over us.

Our first battle.

I look around, my armor's ventilation filled with the orange dust. I jumped when the LAAT/i was shot down. I can't tell how I could make it this far. The radio fills my head with static, the visor is blank, but I don't need sight to know that my brothers in the transport are dead. I am only alive because the transparasteel bubble was far enough from the main engine that got the direct hit, and because I was already in the air when the bulk of the LAAT/i went. I take off my damaged helmet, and attempt to stand up. As I pull myself to scramble, I see the vessel's still burning wreck on my right. And suddenly, with the certainty of my own eyesight, I'm also aware of the other survivor in there.

I drag myself to my feet, and stumble closer. My entire body aches, but that is easily ignored as I'm still in the best shape from the entire crew. I look around: the advancing army's gunships fly over my head, into the cloud of dust on the horizon. A rock-like Geonosian building's wall is behind me, I only distantly hear the bombing on the other side.

I make it to the burnt-out wreck. No armor could have protected my brothers from this explosion, not even the high-quality Katarns the commando units are given. They are dead, our fast reflexes weren't quick enough to defend us. The horrible smell of burnt flesh wrings my nose: the reek of failure and guilt. These brothers died because I wasn't careful enough.

Half buried under the wreck, in the transparasteel bubble similar to mine, I spot some minor movement. The other gunner, now trapped between the composite-beam laser and the frontal half of the cockpit, is apparently alive and at least mostly conscious. As he sees me, he lifts up his right hand, pointing at the weapon's dead bulk, asking me to try and pull it away from him. With that out of the way he would be able to climb out.

I try and I fail. Best would be to open the bubble and drag him out from under the useless metal, but with half of the cockpit on him, it's near impossible. The transparasteel is too strong, and I have nothing to cut it with. My brother in there needs medical help, but all I can do is to tap on the transparent surface and ask with hand signals if he can reach his painkillers and inject them on his own. As a reply, he slightly turns to his side, showing me his armor on which he already indicated the self-given medication. I rest my palm on the surface, trying to give some encouragement and support. I cannot hear him inside the bubble, my radio is gone, we have no better way to communicate but this meek reassurance.

Suddenly I feel alone and helpless. I am here, trying to save my brother, the only survivor of my vessel, and there's noone else in sight, only the cracking wall behind us, and the wreck of the LAAT/i which was shot down because we gunners weren't good enough.

I let out an uncontrolled cry for help. What do I expect? No radio connection. Noone to hear us. Whoever would pick us up will not return for maybe several hours. Perhaps the bugs would find us before them...

But my brother needs help. He needs to get out of that unbreakable bubble trap, he needs to see a medic, preferably a well-programmed IM-6 like the one we had our own transport. Ours, along with the rest of the clone crew, was destroyed.

Somebody, please help my brother. This time I don't form words, I'm only talking to this cruel Existence. He is a survivor, I cannot leave him here. I cannot let my brother be killed.

Droids march out from behind the wall roughly twenty meters away, but in a very odd way, as if they were backing away from something, and they don't yet seem to notice us. I turn so that my trapped brother can see them. He slightly moves his head, says something, then realizes I cannot hear him so he simply gives an 'all right' signal. I wish I could share his optimism. We are about to be caught in some crossfire, unless the droids are running away from some arena beast that somebody foolishly set loose, in which case I would end up as monster feed.

But no, somehow I feel that's not the case. Whoever is (or are) chasing the droids, they are on our side.

From the cover of the building, I only see a hand throwing a cylindrical piece of metal into the way of a droideka. I expect it to explode in some way, although the device is most certainly not a detonator. With that elaborate handle, it looks more like some utility tool. The droideka rolls past it and unfolds, opening fire at our unseen allies from inside an energy shield.

I recognize the tool for what it is at the same time when the droideka does: when an elegant blade of pure blue light activates on it, and slices the robot from behind. As the shield deactivates, the lightsabre flies back to the Jedi's hand.

To say I'm impressed would be a great understatement. Perhaps 'astonished' doesn't match, either.

We've been told that the Jedi can pull many tricks with the Force that the average people of the universe cannot. Telekinesis, mind control, healing, just to name a few. But I have never heard about such an elegant way to slice a shielded droideka in half.

I hear knocking on the transparasteel bubble, and my trapped brother signals for me to help him move the turret of the composite-beam laser. I see his point: the weapon is not connected to the LAAT/i's main engine, so it might still operate. And my brother, although trapped on his side in the closed bubble and perhaps with an arm broken, still wants to join the fight. I assist him from the outside, and prepare my DC- 15S for combat. I hear strange, humming-like noises along with the footsteps of marching droids, but I cannot identify them yet.

I can only guess that the droids on the other side of the wall are getting reinforcement against the two Jedi. What I see, however, are only the laser shots deflected by a blue and several green blades, and a steadily growing pile of destroyed droids on the ground. My small DC is not effective enough against the heavier battle droids, but it takes out the fragile ones and my brother, although in a lying position, takes out everything I cannot.

We were created to fight, and we are doing just that. If a clone trooper is really worth twenty droids in battle, I think we live up to the expectations. I have a feeling that the Jedi on the other side of the wall are also cornered. I hope our efforts add up somehow to their survival...

A super battle droid's shot takes out the composite beam's generator, ending our little moment of triumph. The weapon in my brother's hands gives out, and the two of us are left with only my small riffle. He still cannot move from the bubble, and the super battle droid is marching towards us...

Then I see a yellowish grey creature jump on the droid, one limb holding on to its built-in gun as two other hands grab its dark shoulders. Green blades activate, one of them slices off the gun with ease, another burns the metal through, down to the red sensor on the droid's chest. The robot freezes in its position, the Jedi on it is now deflecting the farther robots' fire with no less than four separately moving green blades.

I only have a moment to examine the Jedi. Six limbs, long neck: either a young Quermian, or an adult xexto. I move aside from my brother to get a better aim at the approaching battle droids, and I only see her head from the corner of my left eye. The cranium is tipped rather than rounded. Xexto, then.

Before the Jedi would jump off the disabled droid to continue the fight elsewhere, she turns to me. I see appreciation in her purple eyes, and at the moment, that means more than an entire speech of laudation would.

"Catch!" she says before leaving, and she throws a thin cylinder straight into my hand. The next moment she's out of my sight.

There is no time to ask questions. Both its ends seem dangerous, so I carefully hold the lightsabre parallel to my shoulders' line before activating it. Brilliant green blade rises from one end with a soft humming, and it cuts the transparasteel with ease. When I'm done, I just open my palm with the lightsabre on it, and its rightful owner takes it back without even giving me opportunity to thank her. Finally I drag my wounded brother out from the bubble.

Now that he's free, we take up better positions at the wall and we fire continuously at the droids until the area is clear of them. Next to us stands an exhausted young humanoid in pale brown undertunic and impressive field boots. Her head is symmetrically decorated with small horns, and she has a thin braid twined on them, her eyes shine in a brilliant shade of orange. She must be the one with the blue lightsabre, the one who took out the droideka.

"Now, would somebody please tell me what's going on?" she demands, apparently not for the first time.

"Both sides are following their politicians instead of some common sense" was the reply. I turned to the voice's direction.

It was the xexto Jedi, this time without the tornado of green lightsabre blades. She's moving on the wall, swinging from edge to edge instead of walking on the ground. Her lightsabres, now connected into one piece, are attached to her back diagonally. Two other clonetroopers follow her.

"So, let's clear something" she says as she settles on a small rim on the wall. It's more like a crack, really. "You belong to the so-called Army of the Republic? The one that was founded roughly fourteen hours ago?"

Positive.

"We were announced officially fourteen hours ago" one of the newcomer clones replies. Like me, he doesn't appear to have any markings of rank or function.

"But we were ordered by Master Jedi Syfa-Dyas" the other one adds.

"Yes, I heard that story" the xexto Jedi says with an apparent grimace. "He had a few wild ideas he didn't feel like getting approved of. But then..."

She looks at us, then at me in particular. I can't find a word for how she makes me feel: my doubts, my worries elliminate. I take the opportunity to thank her, she says welcome with a knowing smile. Then she glimpses at my fellow gunner.

"My padawan will see to your ruptured shoulder soon" she promises.

Padawan. I have never heard the word before, but of course we all know what it means. The xexto just confirmed that both of them are Jedi, she is the senior one, the humanoid (zabrak, I suppose, or maybe human-zabrak hybrid) is her apprentice. We are to follow their orders without question –only the entire Senate or the Supreme Chancellor outrank them.

"I need to talk to Master Windu, we can't leave before that. Do you have weapons?"

The newcomers lift up their DC-15A heavy riffles. Those identify them as infantry troopers, like those who were on our LAAT/i before it was blown up. I give my relatively small DC-15S to my brother, whose own hand-weapon was left in the bubble, and I pick up the droideka's cut-off arm. After setting a few wires straight, I get a blaster with acceptable aim and convenient firepower, although it's not as easily triggered as the composite-beam laser I used before.

"This way, then" the Jedi padawan sighs, activating her lightsabre. She charges after the retreating droids, and we follow her close. After yet another droideka's demise, we also get to see a close-up of her eliminating a sonic blaster: she pulls the metal pieces apart on the containment sphere just the moment before the bug would fire at us. Her method appears easy and convenient for someone with such telekinetic power, and for a second I forget I have seen other Jedi killed in the arena with this type of weapon. I look around to find her master, but she's gone again.

It's only after half an hour and several dozens of battle droids that we finally reunite with the xexto Master. She is holding on to the hydraulic pole of a civilian spaceyacht's ramp, with six other clones around her. The still-raging battle is now only a distant cloud on the horizon. I sense her weariness and disappointment with the turn of events, but at the same time she appears to be satisfied with us, and happy to see us all return to her without further injuries.

"Come in" she greets us. "I know it's just a Santhe Skipper and not nearly as big or fancy as those cruisers, but it's homely and the storages are full with shuura syrup, naqrin cheese, muja-filled donuts, and if you want I can always make a few slices of peffi."

The mention of food steers our thoughts away from the battle our brothers are still engaged in...

"There's not much more the ten of you can do for the Republic right now" the zabrak (or half-zabrak, I'm still not sure) reminds us. "You need a rest, I need time to heal Geith's shoulder... I'm sorry, clone, do you mind if I call you Geith? It means 'survivor' in Meri. Your persistent firing reminded me of a Meri I met years ago."

"My name is CT-01833/71, general" my brother bows. "But I am overwhelmed and I will answer to that designation."

Now the Master Jedi speaks up.

"If any of you wants to go back to the battle, now is the last chance. If you decide to come with the two of us, we would both be honored, and your continued assistance in this wermo situation would be highly appreciated. But you were raised as an army: if this team looks too small for you, and you decide to go back, I won't keep you with us against your will."

We just stood there for a second. It wasn't like we were often given a choice, unless it was a test and we had to tell the good option from the bad one. So which one is which, in this case? Should we go with the Jedi, or should we re-join with the main force of the Grand Army? Usually, this type of decision should have been made by a superior officer, but apparently, none of us holds any rank. So what?

But then, it isn't hard to decide. I am going to stay with my brother, the other survivor of the same transport, one from my batch, and trained along with me. And after just receiving a name from the zabrak Jedi, I highly doubt he would want to leave her. On Kamino, only the commandos and the drill sergeants had personal designations.

"Whatever you have in mind for us, I will follow your command. Now and in the future, wherever you send me."

"Me too!" one of the newcomer clones decided. Two who arrived with him followed without hesitation.

"It would be great honor. Yes, I'm coming!"

"Can I just contact my platoon, and tell them not to wait for me?"

Apparently, all ten of us chose to serve directly under the Jedi. Perhaps this is what we have been created for.

Roughly two hours later I'm done with removing the droid parts of my new-found gun. I still have no proper trigger on it, and we picked up enough weapons before take-off, but apparently our new generals don't mind me keeping it. The padawan with those beautiful orange eyes that seem to glow almost like embers (Litne Zorrind, I heard her name) is still working on Geith's shoulder, using the Force to heal the ruptured tissues and torn veins. Geith is conscious during the entire process, and he says it isn't painful at all. Somehow I still don't want to try it.

"I noticed your moves were very geel" I hear from above my head. I look up: Master Kalibar Iz-Rese'Dh is hanging from the low ceiling, holding herself with only one arm, while the other five are folded around her thin torso. Like before, she's wearing a dark brown robe, but her lightsabre is missing from her back. Wordlessly, I put the gun aside.

"I'm sorry, master Jedi...?" She told us never to address a Jedi as 'general'. That is a military rank, and Jedi have sworn to maintain peace even under unexpected circumstances: like, when they suddenly found out to have an army created for them.

"Geel is an adjective in the Argazdan language" she explains. "It describes fluid, swift and composed motion, often used to describe the work of a surgeon in a appreciative manner. I've been watching you for a few minutes now, refitting that shooter. You work so geel, it was a pleasure to watch. I don't think you have ever done this before, but you barely made a useless move."

"It's like..." How shall I say it?

"You know what to do without any intentional thinking directed at the repairs. Intuition. You seem to rely on it."

I nod. How should I explain her that it is the same as when I open fire at a target before it would actually show up in front of me? I tried to tell the Kaminoans, but they only called it quick reflexes when I knew it wasn't the exact case. And to my batch, I didn't need to explain. We all share this odd ability to a varying degree.

Suddenly, I am sure she understands, even before I would have said one single word. If Jedi are capable of mind control, why wouldn't she have telepathy?

"In fact, most xextos and Quermians are telepaths, Jedi training only makes reading people easier. Also, your thoughts are very clear, geel, and your focus on me is steady."

As I understand, that was commendation. And an explanation of how she unexpectedly got there to the fallen LAAT/i: she picked up my desperate call for help, and came to our rescue. I'm overwhelmed.

"You did well to call me" she says. "Which reminds me... would you mind if I took your Midi-chlorian count?"

I have no idea what a Midi-chlorian is, but I understand she wants me to extend my arm and let her prick it for a drop of blood. I barely feel the sting.

Then she places the tiny needle into a razor-shaped device, and turns her head so that she can see the communication monitor on the far side of the spaceyacht's room.

"Midi-chlorians are microscopic cell components" she explains. "They have both intra-cellular symbiont attributes, and liquid crystal attributes. What I'm doing now, is compressing them to a more solid form so that the analyzer can detect them and calculate their number per blood cell. Otherwise they are undetectable."

In that moment, the display on the monitor changed from a yellowish 'processing' sign to 'Estimation: 3800'.

"And you said, your entire batch is like this?" she stares at me with her large, dark purple eyes.

"We CT-01833 clones were a small batch" I tell shyly. "The end of the cell line. Prone to mutation, relatively far from the ideal genome set, likely to develop unexpected traits."

I have a strong impression she found one such trait to be very interesting, and I bet this wasn't what the Kaminoans had in mind for us.

To this, she nods happily.