Punch checked in at Table One where a group of rookies had lined up. They tried to defer to him again and made room for him at the head of their small line but he simply shook his head and stood at his place in line. No matter what Sergeant Slick had told them, he wasn't special. There was no difference between him and his brother troopers except experience. He wasn't going to fall into Slick's trap again.

He was assigned to Sergeant Tuur with two of the other troopers and he stepped to one side giving those troopers behind him room. Introducing himself to the other two by name, he asked a few general questions about their training to start a conversation. Both were fresh from Kamino, Thirty-one and Coil, and both seemed pleased that he would be in their squad. They were hesitantly asking him about battle and the best way to set up one's gear.

Punch knew they wouldn't be pleased if they'd known the circumstances of his transfer - tainted by treason.

"Why is he called 'night'?" The rookie behind him asked the trooper who was checking their chips and taking a copy for the command group, wanting to understand the sergeant's Mandalorian name.

The other trooper laughed as he gestured the rookie towards Punch and the other two clones. "You'll find out quick enough, shiny."

As they moved towards their barracks, Punch heard other names, some associated with ranks, and mentally filed them away. They'd get a briefing later on who was who in the company but he wanted to be ahead of the game. He ran their names in his mind: General Nyrm, Captain Top, Lieutenant Cover, Medics Tal and Bone, Scout Tap, and Sergeants Tuur, Heft, Blast and Flame.

By the tone of the captain's voice and his laughter at some joke where he sat in the mess, Cover and Heft were part of his original squad. A brother had that kind of trust only with his original squad.

Not even always with his original squad, Punch snorted, thinking of Jester, Gus and even the late addition of Chopper. Of Punch's original squad, he had only shared that kind of trust and camaraderie with Sketch. For a moment, Punch paused, watching Cover's grin as he put his arm around the captain's shoulders.

What if he had accepted Chopper with a friendly gesture like that? Showing that his scars didn't matter? What if he had laughed at one of Jester's antics or discussed philosophy with Gus? Would Slick have been able to use them then? Punch shook his head; no, Slick wouldn't have been able to do what he did to a squad of brothers. He'd been able to do so only because they weren't a squad but a group of strangers who had simply lived and trained together for years.

With a start, Punch realized that was his fault; his and Sketch's. They'd been partners out of the creche and had ignored attempts and overtures for friendship by the others. After all, they'd had each other: Punch and Sketch, Sketch and Punch. It meant the same thing.

For all that he didn't want to share Sketch's bunk, he'd been angry at Jester for offering what he denied Sketch. For all that it was a good idea, he and Sketch never partnered with any of the others in the squad unless ordered by their trainers.

Punch gazed at Captain Top, off-duty and laughing among the troopers of his Kamino squad then he glanced at the three rookies at his side who'd be in the same squad as him. Punch nodded with a smile. He'd work to make them a good squad, he'd use his experience to make them united. He'd make sure they couldn't be split and used against each other. As he and Sketch had been torn apart.

At least, he and Sketch both knew each other was alive. Perhaps, one day, they could be reunited.

"You have great potential," said the thin man in Jedi robes tapping the air in Punch's direction with a bony finger. "So much potential." Then he tilted his head as if listening to an invisible person in the office. "Oh, yes. I suspect so," he replied to an unasked question and chuckled.

General Nyrm was short for a human, barely coming to Punch's shoulder, and thin, almost spindly. He didn't appear to be still, even when he sat down, his hands moved in quick, staccato gestures and his toe tapped the ground in some quiet rhythm. He had a beard, white, and tightly braided to one side with a few beads. It was the only hair that Punch had seen on anyone from Mimban. All the troopers of the 224th that he had seen so far, from the captain down, had removed their hair.

General Nyrm noticed his observations and grinned as he tugged at his beard. "She doesn't like the taste of me."

"Who is she?" asked Punch.

"Mimban, of course," replied the general with his eyebrows raised in surprise, as if it was obvious. He shook his head sadly. "She isn't a happy planet. No planet with war is happy." His eyebrows drew down thoughtfully. "Except maybe Mustafar. Now, there's an angry planet for you, very unhappy." He sighed in regret as he leaned back in the chair, lifted his feet and crossed them under him. "It's a young planet, though. It just needs time to learn."

Punch decided General Nyrm was a lot further from reality than most Jedi.