Jac woke up to the sounds of shouting. Strong shouting. Protesting against something. Something real, not imagined. He didn't move. He knew what was coming. Not so long ago, he'd been among those who shouted like that. The door banged open, and three clones were thrown inside. The door banged shut, another banged open. More shouting. And then it went away and all was quiet again.
Jac liked quiet. Quiet was good. Quiet made for sleeping. Sleeping was his favorite pastime. He adjusted himself, blew some dirt out of his nose and made to go back to sleep.
But he couldn't sleep. Not with the sounds of talk, lucid talk. He opened one eye, watching almost warily. Though it hadn't been long ago that he was as fresh and lively as this lot, it seemed like forever ago. Hunger is the kind of thing that eats away at you, makes time go slower than it ought, and makes you old before your time.
"Anybody hurt?," though his armor and tags had been taken, the voice could belong to nothing besides a Sergeant.
"All of us," was the grumbled reply "but I'll live."
"Me too," the third piped up.
"That's what you think," Jac couldn't seem to stop himself from saying.
The three newcomers lurched and swung around. They hadn't noticed Jac was there. They gaped at him. He blinked back placidly, not the least concerned.
"And just what do you mean by that?," the Sergeant asked when he'd quite recovered himself.
"Nobody lives here. Everybody dies," Jac replied quietly.
His voice was rough from lack of use. He wondered if you could forget how to talk. The Sergeant noticed his lapse of attention, and used it to exchange looks with his comrades. To them, Jac looked very little like a brother, and very much like a badly whipped animal, curled up and ready to die.
Jac cast a glance at the dead body, still on the floor. It stank. He didn't care.
"What happened to him?," one of the two lower ranking clones asked uneasily.
"Ate the food. Not such a wise idea," Jac replied indifferently.
He stretched his back, yawned a little, and closed his eyes again.
Jac woke to the sounds of screaming. It didn't surprise him, but it did wake him. He couldn't sleep with that. It just wasn't possible. He opened one eye and looked in the direction of his three new room mates. They sat, eyes wide, staring at the wall in abject terror, wondering what could wring that awful sound out of a clone.
"You won't get used to it," Jac told them.
The door opened, and a tray with metal plates skittered across the floor. The door shut again. Jac didn't see who'd brought the food. He never did. He'd have to get up and look around for that. And that was something he just didn't do much these days.
The three newcomers looked at the food. It seemed vile. They weren't hungry enough to taste it, even without Jac's warning. Oh well. They would be. Sooner or later. Either that or they'd end up like Jac, too weak to get to the food in the first place.
"What do you suppose it is?," the youngest of the lot asked of his Sergeant.
"Poisoned," the Sergeant replied shortly "that's all any of us need to know about it."
He flashed Jac a look, perhaps wondering if Jac really knew what he was talking about, or if he was just insane from having been locked in this madhouse so long. Thing was, Jac wasn't so sure himself. He wondered if these three guys were real after all. Maybe he was hallucinating them too.
He supposed probably not. Besides, what difference did it make?.
He soon learned their names, though he didn't really try. Sergeant Spader, Red and Luey. Luey was a rookie, out in the real world for the first time. What a way to get out of the gate. Jac couldn't render himself indifferent to that either. He'd always had some kind of soft spot for rookies. He supposed it was because they seemed kind of innocent, when compared with everybody else.
Not one of them asked his name, and he didn't give it. He didn't give much of anything these days.
Don't have anything left to give, his depressing side told him.
Shut up, was the feeble response from the other side.
It seemed to him, it really did seem, that his positive side was getting weaker. Maybe it would eventually fall over and disappear and then he could just eat the food and die in blissful insanity. That seemed like a better idea all the time.
A new sound came. He didn't know what it was, not at first. He blinked, wondering if he cared or not. Someone was talking at him. He turned his head. Sergeant Spader was blustering something... no, asking something. What did he want?.
"What's that noise!?. Do you know what that sound means?."
Jac started. Something woke up inside him. Somebody wanted him to do something. That seemed a novel idea, and he decided it might be well worth his while to try it out. He blinked, took a breath, and listened to the noise. It was a siren of some kind or other, but not one familiar to him.
"No idea," Jac said, feeling a little defeated.
He began to drift back to sleep, but now Spader was shaking him furiously, trying to wake him up. He wanted to grumble, tell the man to go away. But this was a Sergeant, and you just didn't do that with Sergeants. You woke up and did what they wanted.
Jac roused, and noticed smoke filtering in under the door. There were people running beyond the cell block, yelling, but not like clones. Other people. Running, yelling, yelling something. Jac listened, but couldn't make it out. He would have decided he didn't care if the Sergeant hadn't kept on shaking him.
"What?. What do you want?," Jac asked, trying to sound agreeable but really coming off just irritated.
"Can't you hear the loudspeaker?!," The Sergeant yelled in his face "one of the fuel tanks blew!."
"So tell a droid to fix it," Jac muttered reasonably, only half aware of where he was.
"You idiot!. There's chaos, we've got a chance to get out."
Escape?. Jac's mind translated tentatively.
That sounded just fine to him. So why didn't the Sergeant go and do that?.
"Get. Up!," the Sergeant snarled at him.
Spader, Red and Luey could barely hobble along on their own, they couldn't possibly carry Jac. But neither were they willing to leave him behind. He was still their brother, even if they didn't know him. Besides which, he might know more than he'd told them. Maybe he knew the ship's layout, or something else useful, like where they were.
He didn't, but they had no way of knowing that.
In response to the Sergeant's barked order, Jac did his best to obey. Using the wall for support, he awkwardly got his legs under him, and then tried to push himself off the ground. He promptly fell over, and would have just stayed there if Red hadn't gone after him while the Sergeant worked at trying to push the door open. It was electronically sealed, but the electricity was on the fritz now. Any second, if he timed it right, he could pop it wide open.
"You lazy son of a bitch!," Red yelled at him, yanking on his shoulder, almost toppling himself over.
Red's right leg was badly broken, and he had several cracked ribs giving him grief, but he kept right on pestering Jac. But he wasn't a Sergeant, he had no pull. Spader realized Jac still wasn't up and called Red to work the door while he worked on the stubborn clone.
Jac knew they weren't really mad at him, but they were frantic for him to get up for some cause or another. He didn't know why, didn't especially care either.
"Get up, damn you!," Spader gave him a kick in the ribs, and Jac rolled over on his back.
Slowly, like a petulant child, Jac began to sort of flail his limbs about, trying to get one or the other under him so he could push off and get up. With Spader and Luey both helping, he managed to get to his feet. His legs shook under him and he almost fell, but managed to catch himself on the wall.
"So I'm up," Jac grumbled, panting from the exertion "now what?."
"What are we gonna do with him, Sarge?," Luey asked desperately "his brain's fried like an egg. He won't make it more than ten feet before he wants to lie down again."
That siren was getting annoying. It seemed like it was getting louder and more shrill. That was all in Jac's head though. He wasn't really listening to the conversation. He was thinking about his corner. It was a nice corner. Good place to die.
"That's got it!," Red shouted triumphantly.
He went at once to a control panel, and opened the other doors in the cell block. A few clones stumbled out, a bit bewildered, but many were too weak or badly deranged to move. Some even cried out in fear of the open door. They knew what the open door meant. It meant Death could get in.
"You... what's your designation?."
"Hmm?. Oh me?. I'm... uh... I'm... Jac."
"Well, Jac, I'm a Sergeant. And you're not. So you'll do what I say, you hear me?."
"I hear real good," Jac commented, and it seemed that question was about all he'd understood.
"When I give an order, you'll obey it, got it?."
"Sure... you want... um... what was it you wanted?," Jac blinked, and pressed the his palm against his forehead, which had begun to hurt "my head... my head...," he looked up "what was it you wanted?."
The Sergeant could see that Jac was really trying, but he didn't have all that much life left in him. Spader didn't ask how long Jac had been here, didn't have to. Too long, that's how long. His mind had become muddled for lack of purpose and routine, starvation and being surrounded by insanity and death. He'd been alone in a cell with a dead body for who knew how long. He'd had it, plain and simple. The Sergeant thought of just giving up on him.
There were others, those who had a better chance of survival. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but he feared it was what he had to do. Luey was right, except he was probably overestimating things. Jac probably couldn't even push off from the wall without tipping over.
They'd been yelling at him, beating at him, trying to awaken that instinct to fight, distant kin to the instinct to survive, that was so strong in clones. That was why the Sergeant had kicked him and why Red had called him names. It hadn't been out of malice, it had been out of desperation. They couldn't carry him. But it looked like the fight card had been played so many times that it'd lost its value for Jac.
An explosion rocked the floor underfoot, shook the walls. The smoke which had been filtering in was sort of gray white, and thin, but now a great cloud of pitch black smoke roared up the corridor, flowing into the cells, desperately seeking escape from its origin.
"We need to get off this tub!," Luey practically screamed, able to do little else as he tried to cough the smoke from his lungs, a fully impossible task given that the smoke was everywhere.
"It's not a ship."
Heads snapped around. Somehow, Jac was still on his feet, in spite of the shock which had rippled through right before the smoke arrived.
"Say again," the Sergeant snapped.
"It's not a ship. Can't you feel it?. It's an underground building."
While this certainly wasn't impossible, it seemed odd to have metal flooring in anything other than a ship. It also seemed strange that fuel tanks would be anywhere other than on a ship. Though Spader supposed the fuel tanks might be for some sort of machinery other than a ship's engine.
Jac coughed, seeming indifferent about it, as though the information was of small importance, so little in fact, that he didn't care one way or the other whether or not Spader believed him.
"Well we need to be somewhere else," Luey said finally.
They left Jac where he was. They didn't have any other choice. There were others who did respond to being yelled at and prodded, others who might yet live, if only they got out fast enough. Jac was beyond their ability to help.
But Jac was even now beginning to work at survival on his own. In answering to the Sergeant, he'd started to remember that sense of purpose. It had drifted away from him when the others left him behind, but he remembered it. And that was enough.
He slowly turned towards the door. Holding to the wall helped him keep his balance. He looked at the door for a long time. He knew that, once he got moving, he'd have to keep it up, or he'd never get started again. That's assuming he could move in the first place.
There's nothing wrong with you, His brain told him, almost berating him, The only reason you haven't moved yet is because you're scared. What have you got to be scared of?. What hasn't happened to you yet that you're so afraid will if you step out of this cell?. Nobody's gonna stop you.
That's what I'm afraid of.
Nobody who left the cell ever came back.
Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to know where it was they went. He wanted to know so badly that he forgot just about everything else. Without really realizing it, he started towards the door, keeping both hands on the wall for balance, taking small, stiff steps.
He had found his purpose.
Spader knew nothing of the layout. He knew which end of the corridor they'd come from, but little more than that. He hadn't been conscious when they arrived. A quick check revealed that nobody had. Many hadn't even woken up until they were already in their cells.
Spader knew that, if he showed any lack of confidence, the others would see it and react negatively. He had to pick a direction and push them in it, like he really knew where he was going. He picked the way that seemed the least smoky, hoping that easier breathing would help them somehow.
He'd already pretty much forgotten what Jac had said about being underground. Jac was nuts. If he hadn't, he might have followed the thicker smoke, in the hopes that it would lead to the surface. It originated from the other end of the cell block, where clones went to die. But he didn't remember, or refused to believe. In any case, he chose the path that looked best to him.
Truth was, he may well have been right. He had his hands full keeping the clones moving. Some were so out of it that they wanted to know if this was some kind of drill and, if it was, why did it have to take place in the middle of the night? (as if they knew night from day in this place).
Red helped as much as he could, but about all he was good for was yelling. Red could barely keep himself upright with but one leg to hop along on, frequently using the wall as a pretend crutch. He couldn't drag anybody to their feet. But he could stand over them and shout curses, call names and yell at them that they'd "damn well better get up" if they knew what was good for them.
But the Sergeant had the rank, and the ability to yank fallen troopers back to their feet. Luey wasn't much good for anything. It was about all he could do to keep his own head. Poor kid probably wouldn't be much good after a time like this. He'd be too scared of it happening again. What happened first time out, that stayed with you forever.
Red was one of the lucky ones. He hadn't been out in the thick of things for long, but he was accustomed to victory. It showed in his bluster and confidence. Some part of him knew failure was possible, but he wasn't listening to that doubter, and wasn't about to let anybody else do it either.
Red was also capable of speaking in tones that would get the dead to stand up and walk if he wanted them to. Or, anyway, Spader wouldn't have wanted to argue with him. Red was a fierce sort of clone and, with the wrong sort of handling, might easily have turned vicious.
But he hadn't had that handling, he'd been trained properly, and fallen in with a good bunch his first couple times out. He'd worked under Spader for a few months now, and did his job well, though perhaps with slightly more enthusiasm than would have been preferable.
Now he called upon all of his intensity just to get the weak and weary escaped captives to move. Each time Spader paused to look at the doors and hallways ahead, he realized anew that they would never have gotten this far with Jac. Poor guy was probably dead already.
Well, chances were, he was better off for it. It seemed to Spader that he'd suffered enough.
Jac wasn't dead. He wasn't doing much to keep himself alive though. He'd made his careful way to the very source of the explosion, though the fire had gone off in some other direction afterwords. He couldn't see much in the dim red lighting, but he could see enough.
His feet tread softly on broken glass, strips of metal and ash. The smell of death and decay hung heavily in the air, so much so that even the smoke could not mask it. A body, lying against the wall, was burning, the dead eyes seeming almost alive as the flame danced on the vacant pools of light.
Overturned tables littered the rooms on either side, the tools which had been laid out on their polished surface now scattered, broken, and covered with black filth. A few tables, still right side up, held the bodies of those long dead. Jac chose not to inspect them.
He could see they were mutilated, hideous and dead. He tried to forget their names.
He didn't know what he'd expected to find here. Answers?. To what questions?. Closure?. To what relations?. He thought about his corner some more. Nice corner. He liked that corner. Maybe he should go back to that corner.
He was coughing, swallowing enough smoke to kill a bantha, but he hadn't noticed much.
Suddenly, out of one of the rooms came what a first seemed to be an apparition. A moment later, when it spoke, he realized it was a clone underneath a white sheet that was on fire. Somehow, that seemed even more horrible than a phantom.
"What hast thou done!?. Thou art cursed!. Diseased, blight!. Death shall come for thee!. Thee and me!," with a wail, the clone fell, burning alive even as it was the smoke inhalation that inevitably killed him "wake up, fell beast!. Arise and live!," it was the last thing he'd ever say.
His name, Jac remembered now, was Gyp.
All of a sudden, Jac remembered a lot of things. The maddened cry of his fallen brother may have been what did it, or maybe he'd already been "waking up". Suddenly the smoke and fire took on new meaning for him. These things were deadly, and he had no business being here.
He backed away, away down the corridor, returned to the cell block, and beyond that. He wasn't looking for a way out just yet. There was something he needed to find. The armor and equipment for which he was responsible. He had to retrieve that before he got out.
Behind him, there was another explosion. The entirety of the "lab" went up in a great ball of fire. By so little had Jac's life been spared. But how often had that been the case?.
Jac decided he didn't care about that.