RC-3232 stood near the edge of a circular landing platform. Varying shades of blue filled his vision. Kamino's drizzling rain pattered against the surface of his visor. He watched the waves of the ocean below whirl against and around the platform's support pillar. Blaster bolts whizzed pass the sides of his head and continued on toward the dark, stormy skyline.
The RC soon felt a bolt hit his left shoulder blade. Another one hit the back of his helmet. It was a training blaster being used, so the hits only left a faint stinging effect on the Katarn armor plating.
The flurry of blaster fired stopped after that last shot. Faint footsteps slowly grew louder until they stopped directly behind 3232. What felt like the end of a rifle barrel poked at his backside. The clone turned around. A younger clone in a navy blue tunic and a poncho with a darkened forest green color was smirking up at the RC. The rifle in the younger clone's hands looked almost as long as twice his height.
"I won," the brown-eyed boy said. He nudged his head toward the mound of crates stacked on the other side of the landing platform. More pint-sized clone juniors in tunics and ponchos were sitting atop the pile. They were chatting, some in hushed whispers and some in vigorous excitement. "Thanks for the help, Rang."
"We must shame them into sending help," Rang said gazed at the clone cadets. They were staring with looks of awe and admiration. Before long, they all began jumping off the boxes and jogged toward the two older clones. The cadets started talking all at once.
"How did you do that? How can you even aim in this weather?"
"We can't even fire that accurately in the simulations!"
"Your shot was even better than Ace's. No wonder you're Jango Fett's son."
Boba nodded his head in self-satisfaction. He was reveling in the praise and attention from the younger clones. "I am the best. Always will be."
One cadet asked, "I thought your dad was supposed to be the best?"
A scowl took shape on Boba's face. Before he could say something to the cadet, Rang laid a hand on Boba and gave a shake. "I'm beginning to see a lot of fishmen," Rang said.
The Fett directed his frown on Rang. The Commando only stared blankly back at Boba's glare. "I can never understand what you're trying to say," Boba muttered in an almost bitter tone.
"One step forward, two steps back."
"Why do you talk like that?"
Rang shrugged his shoulders. "These words are knives and often leave scars."
The clone cadet conglomerate started chatting it up again.
"Come on, Boba. Rang's an RC. You shouldn't be talking to him like that."
"He's right. Cuy'val Dar train RCs. Have you seen the stuff those guys go through during training? That takes guts."
"You haven't even gone through the same training as us cadets, have you Boba? Jango might have taught you stuff, but you're always just staying up in your special apartment playing with dolls and toys. What do you really know about soldiering?"
"Yeah, show Mister Rang some respect."
The cadets were crowding around Boba now instead of groveling before him. Becoming overwhelmed by the onslaught of scrutiny, Boba backed up a step and hit Rang's stomach. Rang kept his hand on the boy's shoulder. Ignoring Boba's nervous stuttering and the cadets' continuing accusations, Rang snatched the blaster rifle with his free hand and aimed down the sight on the clone that called him "Mister Rang."
Stunned silence rained down on the mob. The cadet with the blaster trained on him had his eyes go wide and his arms raised high. "What! Why are you pointing that at me? What did I do wrong?"
"Don't call me sir," Rang told the terrified clone. "I work for a living."
"But, but I didn't call you sir, Mister Rang."
Rang pulled the trigger. The ensuing blaster bolt flew over the cadets' heads and harmlessly left a burnt mark on the ground, just as he intended. The crowd still ducked or crouched, however, ready to sprint away if Rang fired again. Boba tried to shimmy out of Rang's hold but couldn't break loose from the strong grip.
"The best armor is staying out of gunfire."
Rang fired more mostly harmless shots. The clone cadets broke apart from their mob and scattered. They ran up a staircase onto another landing platform and retreated toward an entrance into one of Tipoca City's many buildings, away from the rain and gunfire.
Once the last cadet disappeared, Rang finally let Boba shake free from his grasp. Boba gave the older clone the stink eye. "You didn't have to do that. I could have handled them."
Rang lowered the rifle and offered it to Boba. "I don't hate you, boy. I just want to save you while there's still something left to save."
"I don't know what you mean by that. Whatever." Boba took the blaster and creased a finger along the magazine. He removed it and examined the blaster charge indicator. Boba's frown grew even more pronounced. "I told you that I wanted a real blaster, not one of the training ones."
"You can have my gun when you pry it from my paranoid, mentally disturbed, physically-abusive, cold, dead hand."
Boba didn't lose his sour scowl. Instead, unsure of Rang's words, he inched a step or two away from him.
The telltale sounds of an approaching ship briefly blotted out the rumble of the rain. Rang and Boba looked to see Slave I descending from the skies and moving to settle on the landing platform.
"Shab," Boba said under his breath. "He was supposed to get here later, not now."
The pair waited patiently as the ship slowed and rested itself on the platform. The exit ramp opened up. Helmeted and in full armor, Jango Fett walked out and, without pause, lifted the blaster out of his son's hands and ruffled his son's hair. "Boba," Jango greeted, "what are you doing out here?"
"Practicing my aim," Boba said eagerly. "It's been forever since you've brought me with you on a hunt or anything like that."
"I don't take you with me to have fun," Jango scolded as he looked over the blaster rifle. "You come with me to learn." Boba became downcast at his father's response. However, the smile renewed itself when Jango added, "Most of the time." Jango faced Rang, who met the perusing glance head-on. "Who is this?"
"RC-3232," Boba answered. "He calls himself Rang. Taun We doesn't let me get access to any of the blasters, so I asked him to help me get one."
"3232," Jango repeated, mostly to himself. "You're one of Dred Priest's boys."
"Whatever happens, happens," Rang said with a nod.
Jango stared for a short while before facing Boba again. "What did Rang ask in return for getting you the blaster, Boba?"
"One of those cakes you keep bringing for Skirata," Boba answered. Some of his spiteful attitude returned as he lowered his gaze to the floor. Rumor had it that the Nulls were bullying Boba again, Rang recalled from Double-Four's latest gossip gathering report. "Uj'alayi, the sweet and sticky cake you bring in those small boxes."
Jango looked at Rang again. Still talking to Boba, Jango said, "Go get one of those cakes. They're in the second storage unit, under the spare med kits." Boba nodded profusely and dashed into Slave I. Once Boba was out of earshot, Jango spoke again, to Rang. "This is a one-time arrangement. Do not approach Boba again for any more deals. Next time, go ask one of your training sergeants."
With a straightened back and a sharp salute, Rang asserted, "I'm starting with the man in the mirror."
Boba hopped out of the ship and held up a light, metallic box to Rang. "Here you go," Boba smiled at him with a hint of smugness. "A deal's a deal, right?"
"I have taught you well, grasshopper."
"Go back inside the ship, Bob'ika," Jango interrupted, pushing Boba up the exit ramp. With some reluctance, Boba did as he was told. Jango followed after him, but not before giving Rang one last glance. "Repeat after me: Now you're just somebody that I used to know."
Rang titled his head in curiosity. "Now you're just somebody that I used to know."
"Translation: stay away from Boba. If any other RCs try to swindle Boba with favors, tell them the same thing." Jango turned his back to Rang and strolled into his ship. "I suppose you get to have your cake and eat it, too."
Rang like the ring to that last statement. He committed it and Jango's other statement to memory for later use.
With the cake in its container kept under his arm, Rang made his way across the landing platforms. The rain pressed on, harder and more forceful as time passed, but Rang was not at all undeterred. As one of his favorite phrases went, he was a man with a mission.
Eventually, Rang found his way to the opposite side of Tipoca City. He stopped in front of one of the smaller buildings in the city, smaller by Kaminoan standards, at least. Most of Kamino's infrastructure consisted of large, towering, and massive edifices that served as small cities in their own right. The particular building Rang entered was intentionally constructed to be of lesser stature than the other ones.
Some of the more agricultural-minded Cuy'val Dar disliked the constant storms and lack of natural land formations on Kamino. So, after years of haggling and smooth-talking, the Kaminoans approved the construction of a communal garden. The malformed and defective clones, the insubordinate and rebellious clones, and the curious and bored clones were often assigned jobs to help maintain the variety of multicolored plant life and crops imported from off-planet.
Rang entered one room that was the about the size of a standard Venator-class Star Destroyer hangar. Scattered across the ceiling were spots of synthetic yellow light. Instead of rows of fighters with pilots and droids calibrating nav computers, rows of young oaks and greenery were being tended by clones dressed in overalls and work gloves. A few clones were spreading mulch around eight foot tall trees with rakes while others crouched beside potted plants to collect colorful fruits.
Ambling pass his hard-at-work brothers, Rang arrived at the center of garden. There was a Veshok tree, a large evergreen native to the planet Mandalore, towering and flourishing in the middle of everything. Around the base of the Veshok lay a flower bed ripe with blossoms and their graceful, purple petals. Those flowers fluttered in the soft, artificial breeze.
If Rang hadn't already selected the exact flower he wanted to retrieve from the flower bed, he might have gotten lost in merely staring at the fluttering and vibrant picks. As it was, he plucked the royal violet flower by its stem. Rang turned his back to the bed and began to follow the dirt trail toward the exit.
"Hey, you!" a clone worker yelled as he caught Rang by the shoulder. Rang halted and twisted his head to see the white job – he was probably a white job with the lack of facial scars – glowering at him. "You can't just pick flowers off from the garden. Do you have proof of appropriation? Where's your training sergeant?"
Usually, clones had to go through clerk droids to receive a pass card if they wanted to personally sample any of the communal garden's fruits on their own time. It was either that or a Cuy'val Dar overseeing a training session involving the garden's diverse if compact environments.
The clerk droids took too long processing appropriation requests than for Rang's liking, and there was no way Sergeant Priest was going to schedule a trip into the gardens any time soon.
"My invitation must have been lost in the mail," Rang replied.
"Then why are you taking a flower without a new pass?"
Oh. The white job wasn't immediately put off by Rang's statement. Odd. "Basketballs don't hold grudges."
"Neither will I, so long as you return that flower." The clone held up his gloved hand expectedly.
Rang jiggled the cake container under his arm. "I accept your offer, on one condition."
The look on the white job's face reminded Rang of what Frog looked like when Frog became too exasperated and impatient with Double-Four's jokes. "And what's this condition?"
The white job's eyes grew more suspicious, and with Rang's internal clock ticking and ticking, Rang forwent the pleasantries and thrust his forehead forward. The white job was down in a blink. His unconscious body fell flat against a patch of yellowy, grainy grass.
"Levet!" A trio of clone workers appeared by the white job's side. Two of them tried to resuscitate him while the third, armed with a pitchfork of some kind, stood before Rang. "Just – Just take the flower! No one else has to get hurt, alright?"
Some of Rang's brothers might complain about the reputation preceding Sergeant Priest's Commando regiment, but it sure was useful sometimes.
"If it doesn't kill you, it's sure to leave a horrible scar," were Rang's parting words as he left the meat cans to care for their fallen brother.
Rang's final destination wasn't far. It was in another part of the communal garden building. According to Rang's calculations, his target audience will be situated in a private room with a good view of the ocean. They should be somewhere in the upper levels, either inside or not far from the custom apartments a few of the Cuy'val Dar regularly resided in.
At the top floor, Rang stopped in the middle of a corridor. The door to the left of him was shut, but he could hear the vague sound of voices conversing. Either Rang was starting to exhibit symptoms of clone madness, or the constructions standards for the communal garden building were lower than Rang anticipated if he could even faintly overhear conversations through the walls.
Setting down the cake and gently placing the flower on top of the container, Rang pulled out a wire from his backpack. He set up a connection between the panel beside the door and the radio on his helmet. Playing with the holographic buttons on the panel, Rang could soon hear the voices much more clearly.
"… more integration and transfers between regiments," a male voice was speaking. "I fear we are all growing too complacent on this planet. The boys grow fast, but they are still young boys. Immaturity, naivety, ignorance; all these things still fester within them. We must halt these faults from spreading further before the troops finally see a real battlefield."
"You've been asking a lot of favors from Fett," said a female voice that sent chills down Rang's spine. "This garden, Outer-Rim weapons for live ammo training – hell, even these drinks you saved for tonight. After all that, I don't think you have enough clout left with him to get this idea of yours off the ground."
"I can be very persuasive when I want to be."
A scoff. "Don't push your luck. Besides, it's like you said, they're boys. Kids, even if they age twice as fast. You still have time to teach them right."
"It's not only my boys. Yours, Reau's, Skirata's, Jango's Alpha ARC bunch, and even the aruetii-trained ones. They are all brothers, regardless of regimental lines and whether they show it or know it or not."
"I'm not saying your idea isn't impossible. It's just highly improbable to get approved."
"Brotherhood, stamina, loyalty – these values have to be emphasized and ingrained in all of them before anything else."
"That's the catch, Apma. Not every training sergeant shares the same values as you." A sigh. "I'm sorry, but I just don't see you getting enough people to back you up on this."
A chuckle. "I convinced you well enough, didn't I?"
A snort. "Business before pleasure, alright? I'm done with business right now. Where's the desert?"
Business before pleasure. That was a good phrase. It was double the worth of remembering, too, since it was her that first spoke the phrase. Oh, what Rang would do to hear her say more and more and more memorable phrases for him to use…
But, like she had said, business before pleasure. Rang tore the wire connecting his helmet to the door panel off and stashed it away. He grabbed his flower and cake, pressed another button on the panel, and stepped pass the sliding doors into the room.
The voices' owners sat across from each other over a small dining table. Their helmets were placed at the edge of the table alongside plates holding bits of leftover food. Beside the little dining area was a wide window that stretched from the ground to the ceiling. The thunderous rain and erratic ocean waves continued to sway harder and harder. B'arin Apma was in his black and brown Mandalorian armor, stroking his chin strip. Ibi'tuur Wren in her striking golden armor and her wavy, shoulder-length silver hair was taking a swig from her bottled drink.
The sergeants watched as Rang approached. From his curved grin, Sergeant Apma seemed to recognize Rang, but Sergeant Wren was still scrutinizing Rang's armored body and helmeted face.
"You don't sweat much for a woman your size," Rang greeted as he improvised a salute while he had his arms full.
"Ah," Apma said, fully identifying the familiar clone. "He isn't trying to insult you, Ibi'tuur." Sergeant Wren had an eyebrow pulled higher than the other one. "This is Rang. This is simply the way he communicates."
"With insults?" Wren questioned flatly. Rang shook his head.
"My touch," Rang said as he offered his flower to Sergeant Wren, "is black and poisonous."
"I doubt it is Rang's intention to actually poison you, either," Apma added quickly. Wren was giving the flower and Rang a look of askance. "Admittedly, Rang is an odd one."
"One of your boys?" Wren asked.
"I wish, but unfortunately, no. Rang is a member of Sigma Squad, and by extension a trainee under Dred Priest's tutelage."
"The Death Watch lover?" Rang fought the urge to collapse at Sergeant Wren's distasteful tone. She was only referring to Rang's training sergeant and not Rang himself, nothing more. "And you're saying Rang isn't trying to kill me, or do anything of that nature?"
"If I were to hazard a guess…" Apma drifted off to give a shrug. "I'd take the flower. I recognize it from one of the gardens. It's probably a simple gift from him to you."
"Why would a clone from Priest's batch want to give me a flower?"
Rang, still offering up his first present, cleared his throat. "Too many war wounds and not enough wars," he said as he held the flower closer to Sergeant Wren. "I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for more troubled soul?"
Wren glanced at the flower, to Rang, to Apma, to Rang, to the flower, and then back to Rang. Rang could feel his heart skip a few beats. These few tense seconds she took to stare at Rang and the flower felt like they lasted centuries.
Thankfully, Sergeant Wren soon carefully clasped her fingers around the flower. She removed it from Rang's hand and gave the flower a whiff. "A sweet, fragrant scent. It's nice… How did you know that I liked these kinds of flowers?"
"Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons."
Wren's brow was raised slightly higher. "Have you been eavesdropping on my training sessions with my RCs?"
Wanting to be honest, Rang nodded his head. At least forty-five percent of the phrases he keeps on his list originated from the lectures he's heard Sergeant Wren give to her troops. "Lie in the grass next to the mausoleum."
"A secret admirer," Apma deduced, sniggering to himself. "How flattering, isn't it, Ibi?"
Ibi. Sergeant Apma called Sergeant Wren. Rang wanted to call her Ibi as well, but discipline held him back from doing so.
"I guess I've had worse," Wren admitted. Her eyes were still scanning and judging Rang from top to bottom. "What's in the box?"
Rang definitely remembers those two phrases from Sergeant Wren's previous talks with her trainees. "I… am the solution." Rang opened the container to reveal the uj'alayi. "If you help me build it, I will come."
Sergeant Wren perked up at the sight of the desert Rang had dutifully delivered. "Uj cake, huh? How'd you know that's my favorite?" Rang had been watching Sergeant Wren haggle Sergeant Skirata out of some of his uj'alayi stash in the past. Rang merely took the initiative and cut off the extra middle man.
"A good magician never reveals his secrets," Rang said, placing the cake on the table. Apma continued to observe with a grin. Sergeant Wren twirled a spoon in her hand and began slicing a piece of cake for herself.
"They say the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Wren said as she bit into her cake slice. "What those people forget is that gals like me get cravings." Rang watched as the sergeant savored the taste of the uj cake. "But I guess you'd know all about that, Rang was it? You did your homework, didn't you?"
"You're the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasy," Rang affirmed. That may have been the wrong thing to say, however, as Sergeant Wren gagged and nearly choked before she swallowed the pieces of cake in her throat.
"Perhaps you're being a bit too forward, Rang," Apma said while Wren coughed into a napkin. "You should take your time with these kinds of things. You might scare Ibi off otherwise."
But Rang wanted to spend more time with Sergeant Wren as soon as she would allow it. It was Sergeant Priest that told him, "No one gives us the right. We take it," and Rang was going to take what he wanted one way or another.
"Annie, are you okay?" Rang asked Sergeant Wren. "Will you tell us that you're okay?" He moved to pat Wren's backside to help alleviate her pain, but she held up a hand to keep him from getting any closer.
"S'all good," Sergeant Wren spat out after giving a burp. "You just caught me off guard, is all. Thanks for the cake, and the flower. I'm… flattered." She gave Rang a smile. Even if it was a smile partly made of forced politeness, it was the first time he has seen a smile on her gorgeous face. Rang would hold tightly to that mental image of her smile for the years to come, he promised himself.
The whoosh of the sliding doors opening broke Rang's trance. Grudgingly turning away from Sergeant Wren, Rang faced the doorway. In walked Sergeant Priest. The mere sight of his blood-red Mandalorian armor instantly set Rang's mood down a few pegs.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Priest said without preamble, smacking the side of Rang's temple. Rang kept his body as still as a rock for the oncoming reprimand. "Trying to con the Fett boy, breaking protocol to steal a flower of all things, and trying to swoon a woman twice your age?" Priest set the emptiness of his visor inches away from Rang's. All Rang could see now was a black void. "I would say that I'm proud of you if it weren't for the fact that you got caught."
"Dred," Apma said, now grimacing, "there's no need to raise your hand on the poor boy."
"It's the only way he'll learn," Sergeant Priest sneered.
"There are alternative means to chastise him."
"My way is better."
Sergeant Wren coughed again, intentionally this time. "You two can have your 'my way is better' argument somewhere else." Wren cut out another slice of cake. "B'arin, thanks for the dinner. It was delicious. Rang, thanks for the presents. They were sweet. Dred, get the hell out. I don't like you."
Priest shrugged. "I have better things I'd rather be doing right now anyway." He spun around and marched out the door. Rang wordlessly followed his lead. Rang followed his sergeant all the way to the outside where the storm had worsened. Heavy, howling winds were making the flood of rain even worse. Sergeant Priest didn't appear to be bothered by the weather, so Rang followed his example.
"There are times when you should show your hand," Sergeant Priest said on the helmet radio since the winds were too deafening, "to boast your strength so that your enemies know not to underestimate you, but there other times when it is better to carry yourself with a sense of subtlety." A momentary silent pause filled the comm. "Discretion is the better part of valor. We will discuss the definition of 'valor' another time, but remember these words. Learn them. Live them. Thrive in them."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Rang blurted out, mostly by the skin of his teeth. He had to be a little more careful with selecting his words and phrases when directly speaking to Sergeant Priest.
"You won't be going to bed tonight unpunished," Sergeant Priest continued. "For the rest of today, you will be training with another regiment, and you will not rest until you are told to."
Rang didn't quite like the sound of his sergeant's tone. He sounded… playful? No, not playful. More like… amused. The sergeant sounded amused like how Double-Four sounds amused when Double-Four jokes to himself.
RC clone and Cuy'val Dar sergeant made their stop at another platform, one at a higher altitude than most of the buildings' heights, that was being pelted with plenty of rain and gusts of wind. A few dozen RCs were lined up and standing at attention, and another Mandalorian stood in front of the flock with her arms folded over one another.
This Mandalorian had golden armor, too, like Sergeant Wren's, but this one had a yellow kama draped around her waist. She twisted her neck to see Rang and Priest loom toward her. Priest outstretched his arms widely and embraced the feminine-looking Mandalorian.
"I have another naughty boy that needs to relearn his place in the universe," Rang heard Priest say on the radio. The sergeant must have kept his line open because he wanted the clone to hear this. "Do you have room for one more?"
"Who else is going to teach him the laws of the land?" Isabet Reau replied. Rang's knees went weak at the sound of her voice, but he kept himself stable and steady. "Go rest, cyar'ika. You deserve it. I will show the boy his place."
"You are always a dear, Issy. Thank you." Reau and Priest let their foreheads touch for a moment before detaching from each other. Priest gave Rang one last judging look before leaving. Reau ogled Rang with a once-over.
"Do you have anything to say for your disobedience?" Reau asked, and Rang felt the chills runs through his shoulders yet again.
"These are people," Rang finally said after contemplating what words he should say, "who wander through the world shouting, 'Kill me.' And there's always somebody ready to oblige."
Sergeant Reau burst into laughter! She threw her head back and motioned to clutch her sides! Immediate success!
That phrase Rang used was from a vid Frog had pilfered off the Kaminoan black market. Rang should ask Frog for a copy of that vid to gift to Sergeant Reau. He probably shouldn't tell Frog who he intends to bring that gift to, though. Frog didn't like Sergeant Reau all that much.
"Your one of those boys Dred likes to keep around, huh?" Reau said after finishing her fit of snickers. She put a hand on Rang's shoulder and pulled him toward the crowd of RCs. "Get in line. We're all going to be having some fun tonight."
Sergeant Wren's smile would forever grace Rang's heart, but the way Sergeant Reau spoke to him made his moral skyrocket tenfold.
The training was probably going to be painful in someway somehow, but as long as he could envision a lady's touch guiding his way, he can accept it.
