Beneath the Surface

by Jade Rhade

PROLOG...

Rain hissed as it vaporized on an indigo blade. It fell in torrents, soaking everything clean through. The slightly salty taste on her red lips was the only clue of the warm tears that threatened to overwhelm her. This betrayal cut deeper than the lightsaber she held loosely in her slender hands. The deep purple-blue of the light all but masked the color of the delicate lines tattooed on her hands and face. The fire in her eyes was the same color and intensity as the saber she gripped.

"How could you do this?" she cried, feeling fresh tears building in her eyes. "Zeke, no!" she pleaded.

Seemingly moving of its own accord, the lightsaber batted the ruby blaster bolts out of the air.

The clone approached her mercilessly, cutting loose another hail of bolts that were also batted out of the air.

"I trusted you! Zeke, I was willing to give up everything for you!" Her lower lip trembled, threatening to unleash another wave of tears. "Why?"

His blaster ceased firing for a moment, an eternity. "I have no control over myself," he said softly. "I was bred like this, Barriss! I have to follow orders!"

"No, you don't! You have free will, Zeke! Fight it! I won't kill you!"

He twitched violently and raised his rifle.

"No!"

CHAPTER ONE...

REPUBLIC CRUISER GEMINI'S FIRE, IN ORBIT AROUND CORUSCANT

(one standard month earlier)

"You thoroughly understand your mission perimeters, Commander?"

"Yes, sir." Recon Commando 5391 'Zeke' stood at attention in full armor, holding his helmet in the crook of his left arm.

"Good. Your identity as a cl- as a soldier of the Republic must not be discovered."

"Yes, sir."

"You'll be disguised as a refugee fleeing Coruscant because of fears of an impending invasion. You are going to seek passage aboard the refugee transport Beka's Pride, which will be stopping in several systems. Tutaka One is the last stop. You'll meet up with a Jedi Knight there, who will brief you on any changes."

"Yes, sir."

"Any questions, Commander?"

"Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Wouldn't an ARC be more suited for this particular type of mission?"

"I suppose so, Commander. You'll just have to show that Advanced Recon Commandos aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

He saluted and left, putting his helmet back on.

Zeke shouldered his way down a busy corridor until he came to the living area, and his assigned quarters. The door hissed closed behind him. A civilian duffel bag sat on the bed, and he frowned. How am I supposed to fit anything in that?

The door hissed shut, and Zeke began removing his armor. Bending down to unbuckle his calf-plate, he suddenly went into uncontrollable spasms. He clenched his teeth and put a hand on his heart as he collapsed to a sitting position on the decking. "Ah. Ahhh," he groaned as the pain spread across his chest.

He pulled his shirt off with twitching fingers, revealing a jagged, raised scar running from his left shoulder, across his heart, and down his stomach. If standing with his arms at his sides, the similar scar across his right forearm linked in a line. "Ahhhh!" he wailed through his teeth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was in reality only a minute or so, Zeke felt the pain subside. The scar was a product of a week ago, from his last mission on Xankatra Four. A normal man would still be recovering from his wounds in a hospital, or perhaps in a mental institution because of the trauma.

Drifting in and out of awareness, Zeke heard the surgeon tell a nurse there was enough scrap metal in him to build a complete astromech droid. "My... team," he groaned before drifting out again.

"We're losing him!" he heard as if through a dream.

Then his heart stopped, and Zeke died.

The doctors weren't sure what had brought him back, but a smiling Twi'lek Jedi did.

"The Force is with you, Commander," she had said when he awoke later. "I stabilized you as they removed the rest of the metal and jump-started your heart. You're lucky to be alive."

"My team?" he asked. "RC-5389, RC-5390, and RC-5392?"

The rest of his team was not fated to survive that day.

Neither, it seemed, was he. The medical bay was attacked shortly after he spoke with the Twi'lek Jedi. The shuttle they escaped on developed engine problems and crashed back to the surface.

"Come on!" he shouted through his helmet. "Leave them!"

"But they're injured!" the Twi'lek screamed back. "The Separatists will kill them if they're discovered!"

"We don't have time! The droids are coming!"

"Leave me here!" the Twi'lek yelled.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I can't." Zeke grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him.

"No!" he felt the shove of something against him that sent him flying backward. "I won't leave them!" She ran back-

And the shuttle exploded. "No!" she screamed, falling to her knees.

"Come on!" Zeke grabbed her arm and pulled her into the trees to avoid a battalion of battle droids coming to investigate the crash.

They stole a Separatist ship and eventually escaped that planet for Coruscant, where they were nearly pulverized by a turbolaser battery before they could get a message out.

And so here Zeke was, less than a week later, preparing for another mission. This time he had no backup. The men with whom he'd trained his entire life with were gone. And they were never coming back.

And no one shed a tear but Zeke. No one cares about clones- sometimes not even other clones. Zeke did. They were his team.

And they were gone. Blaze, Max, Apollo- all dead. Killed instantly by the exploding droid that had given him that scar.

Shouldering his duffel, into which he had crammed his armor and blaster, Zeke left his quarters behind him. He would complete this mission to the best of his ability, without his team.

After all, he was bred for success.

A/N: well, that makes a total of seven drafts I've gone through to get here. review and let me know what you think! constructive criticism is appreciated because this is my first SW fic that's ever gone beyond 3 sentences. thanks, all!