Sergeant Rafe hadn't expected the pick of available squads to be transferred into when he got promoted, but it seemed a bit cruel to give him the one infamous for being completely impossible.
The team leader from fireteam one -PFC Caden- was known for his silver tongue, having once convinced the GAR to let him keep a wild animal from Onithera; not as a pet, but as a member of the squad. It was close enough to a Jedi mind trick that nobody trusted the bastard as far as they could throw him, which wasn't far since the aforementioned Onitheran creature would savage anyone who laid so much as a finger on his master.
Fireteam one, also known as Fortune, had another oddball, a guy they called Private Phisher, who wasn't even a clone at all. Theran was considered a member of this fireteam as well. Rounding it out was an astoundingly ordinary fellow called Onoff, and somehow he managed to be the most unsettling member of the fireteam just because he was so completely... well... normal in comparison to the others.
The leader of fireteam two -Corporal Volk- was reputed to be every bit as feral as the Onitheran. He was said to be ruthless and endlessly bad tempered and without even an iota of respect for the chain of command. He would just as soon kill you as look at you, and was just as likely to bite you as Theran himself was.
The rest of fireteam two, Actual, was a mechanic with medical experience -Private Doc-, a standoffish and particularly unpredictable clone -PFC Garm- and a rather nondescript kid who by all appearances suffered from ADD or something similar. That was Private Damyu.
Staring at the lineup of... well, he supposed he couldn't entirely say men as one of them was most assuredly not a man... but whatever they were, they stood in formation, stiffly at attention, riveted to the spot as any clones ought to be on meeting their new sergeant, and yet... he sensed they were not bound by any word from him.
He cast his gaze on Corporal Volk, who had been the acting squad sergeant for some time now. The squad had needed a sergeant ever since the end of their posting on Onithera, but there hadn't been one available. And too, there was Caden to consider. He had argued vigorously in place of Volk, claiming the squad already had a leader, and that he would return for them. They didn't need another.
It wasn't true, and yet Rafe could tell that it was not Volk who held sway over the squad. He was the bearer of their orders, but was not their master any more than the lead dog in a sled team is master of the others. He led the pack, but it was at the behest of his master.
Rafe wondered if Volk understood that Tavis was never coming back, that he was almost assuredly dead, that at the very least no member of Fortune Actual would ever see him again and, even if they did, he would never again lead them.
Hell, that monster would never lead anyone. Never again.
Better he died than lived, but that was not for Rafe to decide.
Water didn't so much rain from the clouds as plunge downward like a skydiver without a parachute, hitting the ground at terminal velocity and shattering into myriad crystal fragments that bounced and flew as if they intended to return to their point of origin, only to be hammered back into the hard dirt by relentless gravity which slammed them, crushed them into the mud and there beat them into submission with yet more droplets of stinging cold rain, the icy wind whipping until the storm itself seemed to howl with pain.
You might expect a planet whose surface is eighty-five percent water to appear blue from space. You'd be wrong. Morassis was no ocean world, but was instead a marsh planet. The water was mostly brown, or brownish green. In a few scattered areas the water was clear enough to see to the bottom, but these areas were few and far between. It was a planet dominated by algae, more varieties of which could be found there than on any other single planet in the galaxy. Coming in every imaginable color, the algae also could be anywhere from deadly toxin to serving medicinal purposes almost on the scale of miracle cures. It grew on absolutely everything, including much of the wildlife of the world. From green slime found on rocks to free flowing seaweed, algae was everywhere. In many places, even the land area was damp enough for algae to survive and even thrive. And the clones' armor seemed to be prime real estate, insofar as the more successful varieties of algae were concerned.
At its core, the weather had two conditions: Raining, and About to Rain. But there were a thousand different kinds of rain. Rain with thunder and lightning, pounding rain that seemed to be trying to knock you down with sheer velocity, pouring rain that soaked you through all in an instant, humid rain where the air felt like it was made of liquid you could drown in, misting rain that lowered visibility, stinging rain with small droplets fired like bullets from the clouds, and a plethora of others.
By the same token, the entire planet being a wetland didn't mean every bit of it was the same. Far from it. There were river networks, marshes, bog forests where tall trees provided the illusion of land (and someday might also bring it to reality as silt, dirt and seaweed became caught in the tree roots and slowly formed a decomposing soil), mires where the water was thick as mud and twice as dangerous, quicksand swamps where a single misstep would find you sinking to your neck in mud and swamp water in a moment, semi-stable fens and dangerous flood plains. Water depth ranged from a few inches to hundreds of feet deep, sometimes the line between the two was paper thin.
Here, the mud was cold as ice and just as hard.
Time had done to PFC Tavis what heat, hunger and mere weariness could not. In surviving the trial by fire that had been Onithera, Tavis had cursed himself to lose everything that he held dear. The family that he'd become a part of there was gone now, gone perhaps forever.
He did not know what had become of Fortune Actual, but he feared for them every day. Volk, who was charged with their care, would do everything in his power to guard them from harm. But he was a creature of habit and impulse, of implacable rage and indomitable spirit, and quiet, desperate fear. He was of a type that belonged to the wild, and perhaps it would have been better if he'd been left there.
Arriving on Onithera, Volk had been too much of what the GAR wanted, but he had left too much of his old self behind, and now he was only a little of what he had been, and very much something different. Tavis knew and understood this change in him, but the GAR would not. Tavis feared the GAR would destroy Volk and, in turn, all of Fortune.
Tavis had been their leader, but the severe illness given him by those who had abandoned him to the whims of Onithera had taken its toll, and time was what it had wanted of him. Time had meant his squad was reassigned without him, that he was sent somewhere they could not reach him. Time had taken from them their link to what they had been, and he feared they would die for it.
He had no hope of ever seeing them again.
Time had also taken from him something precious, back on Onithera. It had taken from him his love for the GAR, devotion to the Republic, and even stifled his loathing of the Separatists and their droids. His natural submission and obedience was all but gone, but it failed to make him strong enough, because the absence of loyalty to the Grand Army was just that, and there was nothing to fill the void. There was only one thing he cared about now, and it was gone forever.
He didn't defend himself from the attacks of other clones because, quite frankly, he didn't care anymore. Not really. Not without Fortune Actual. Without them, nothing mattered.
Though he was not injured, Tavis walked with a pronounced limp. The cold, fog shrouded air awakened old pains, bringing a familiar ache to scars that would never heal. His muscles throbbed not only because of the weather, but also reminding him with every step just how far he had walked, how hard he'd fought, what he had lost even in getting to this place God seemed to have forsaken.
He was not alone.
Tavis perceived the threat too late to dodge or block the hit when it came at him through the darkness and the rain. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his body. It came from him in a cloud as star burst patterns exploded in front of his eyes and pain spread in a spiderweb across his upper back where he'd hit the rock hard ground.
"You son of a bitch!"
He didn't dodge the next hit either, though his hands instinctively flew to his face in spite of the fact that his helmet was more than adequate protection for the assault.
The other clone knelt, straddling him, grabbing him by the collar and punching futilely at his helmet with the other, cursing him. Tavis formulated no response, but just lay there and took it. He was used to it. He knew why his brothers felt the way they did, and he could hardly blame them. Any clone catching him alone or seeing him for the first time, assuming they knew who he was, wanted to crack his skull. Fortunately, it made a lot of noise, and they weren't alone for long.
All up and down the supply depot, clones came out to see what the commotion was, though most of them weren't interested in doing a damn thing about it. The exception was Lieutenant Oscar.
"Ferris! Stand down!" Oscar's voice carried from yards away, his command had the impact of a hammer blow on Corporal Ferris, who froze where he was, still clutching Tavis' armor.
Behind the helmet, Ferris' eyes blazed, and Tavis could practically feel the hate radiating off of him. Ferris wanted to kill him, and was stayed only by his strict adherence to the chain of command, a tether stronger even than the substance of his raising. But it was such a thin chain, and Ferris was choking on it. If he'd started to gag like a dog straining at a leash, Tavis wouldn't have been surprised.
"Get up!" Oscar snarled once he was in close proximity.
Ferris haltingly let go of Tavis and slowly drew himself to his full height. He stood over Tavis, reluctant to fully relinquish his prize. Tavis remained on the ground in the mud, the iced rain running across the algae darkened surface of his armor in flooding rivers. His breath came hard in the cold air, and the bruising impact of his body on the ground didn't help either.
"What seems to be your problem?" Oscar demanded.
He'd come from the tent that served as his office on the double, hadn't even taken the time to put on his helmet. But he didn't even react to the icy rain snapping against his head and neck, didn't so much as blink as it ran down his face. Like he was immune to it. He looked at Ferris only, as if Tavis wasn't there. Tavis knew full well that if Oscar hadn't been such a by the book guy, he'd have killed Tavis himself.
"Nothin'," Ferris spat after a beat, "Not a thing, sir. Just screwin' around."
He stepped off Tavis, trying in vain to hide the disgust in his bearing as he did so.
"Well screw around some place else," Oscar told him, jerking his head to the left, "Go find something to do with yourself. Something useful."
Ferris moved off, and the gathered crowd dispersed almost instantly. When it came to incidents of this nature, clones gathered fast, but the party ended just as rapidly. Nobody wanted to be the next target for Oscar, who was now in a mood as dark as the storm raging overhead.
"Look, moron," Oscar said, turning towards Tavis, who was still on the ground, "If you had an ounce of decency anywhere inside of you, you'd finish this before I have to seriously punish somebody for doing what comes natural. In their eyes, you're a traitor, and nobody can see for a second why the GAR wouldn't just shoot your sorry ass. I sure as hell don't. But it's my job to keep the order in this place. You're disrupting that."
Tavis cocked his head. Oscar had just asked him to kill himself before somebody else did. And they would. Given half a chance, Tavis' brothers were all but ready to tear him apart. Of course, whoever gave in to that urge would be ending his own future as well. You couldn't keep clones who were willing to kill each other without orders. You had to get rid of them. Permanently.
"But you haven't got a conscience, have you? You're nothing but an animal, not worth the price of shooting. So get up. And go on back to your squad," Oscar growled.
Tavis stared at him for a long moment. Then, very slowly, he rolled over, and gradually got to his feet, never once taking his eyes off of Oscar, half convinced the LT would take a shot at him now nobody was watching.
"Lieutenant," Tavis sighed wearily, "you and I both know I'm a helluva long way from the only squad I've ever belonged to. Even I can't walk that far. Believe me, I would if I could."
"I don't care what the hell you do, just as long as you don't drag us down with you," Oscar spat, "Now go find a place to clean up your armor. It looks like crap."
Tavis hesitated for a beat. He wanted to say something.
Oscar was a good man. He did right by his men, cared about them like he was their father. He was a good leader, come to that. He was only looking out for his men, responding to a perceived threat in the only way he could. Like the rest of them, he had no idea what the truth was. That truth began on a planet a long way from here, called Onithera. Oscar had never been there, probably never would go there. He didn't know what had happened to Tavis there, or the hell that had followed.
Tavis couldn't tell him. Even if Oscar believed him, and that was a truly massive IF, all it would do was put the man in danger. Not the proper kind, either. Clones were soldiers, danger was their thing. But the danger was supposed to come from outside the GAR, not from within. Separatists, not members of the Republic, were supposed to be the threat to a clone's life.
So Tavis said the only thing he could, because he couldn't stop himself. Oscar deserved better. He should know, but couldn't know, so Tavis told him the one thing he could, even though he knew it wasn't going to make a damn bit of difference.
"I'm not the monster in the story, Lieutenant."
"Then what the hell are you?" Oscar asked dryly.
"The victim."
Oscar didn't believe him. Tavis didn't expect him to.
But that didn't mean it wasn't the truth.
