The Clone's gait was off. It took Padmé Amidala a moment to pick out exactly what was off about it. If The Clone hadn't been walking with two others of his kind, she might have missed it entirely. When he took a stride with his right leg, it was shorter than usual, he was compensating by taking awkwardly long strides with his left.
Padmé turned to the clone commander, who would not actually be going with them. The presence of the clones was said to be a token one. The Na'taves were singularly unimpressed by politicians, and preferred to deal with those who weren't afraid to involve themselves in the dirty business of war.
"That trooper appears to be injured," she observed.
"He was wounded in the first battle here. Way I hear it, the ship he was on crash landed. He never made it to the battlefield," the commander replied.
When Padmé did not appear to have been put at ease by this, the commander did his best to relieve any worry she had for herself or the mission.
"Don't worry, Senator. He's just your pilot. We're a little short-handed in this sector, we've been having to get creative in the deployment of our troops. The ones who are able volunteer to serve in a limited capacity as pilots and maintenance crews. He knows what he's doing, not to worry. He may be a ground trooper, but he knows how to fly. He'll get you there and back in one piece,"
"Actually," Padmé said "I was worried about him,"
She had turned and walked away before the commander could fully absorb this. Clones fell by the hundreds every day out on the battlefield. This was an easy assignment, they were there just for show. Sure enough they were fully armed and ready for action, but they weren't expecting trouble. Even if they had been, he still wouldn't have understood the Senator's concern for a trooper. One clone more or less was nothing to get worked up over.
The Clone was standing at the base of the ramp into the ship, waiting for Padmé to enter. His position was defensive, but in this situation more a formality than a function. He waited for her to make it halfway up the ramp before turning sharply and following her into the ship.
Inside, Senator Rasatin Fule had already made himself at home. The Senator had never seen a clone in person before, and was rather childish in his delight at them. He came up behind one clone and rapped on the back of the unfortunate trooper's helmet.
"Hey, what's your problem!-," the clone cut himself off as he turned and recognized his 'assailant' "Senator Rasatin, is there a problem?," he asked this with as much respect as his earlier remark had scorn.
"Oh no, carry on about your business," Rasatin assured the clone "don't mind me,"
He then promptly leaned down and gave the clone's firearm a hearty tap.
"Please, sir," the trooper said "this is a highly sensitive weapon, I wouldn't want it to go off,"
"Oh nonsense," Rasatin waved his hand dismissively, the gesture giving the clone time to inch himself backwards and out of tapping range.
Rasatin was a thoroughly revolting slug of a man, a fact which he was inordinately proud of. Hearing the last clone coming up the ramp, he turned his bulging eyes on this new victim and opened his cavernous mouth in an amused smile. He trundled over to The Clone and poked the chest plate of The Clone's armor experimentally, then looked at his finger as though checking for dirt.
"Something I can help you with, Senator?," The Clone asked.
"Tell me, what kind of designations do you clones have?. Numbers, letters?. Names?,"
"A combination of letters and numbers. A lot of us pick up names after awhile,"
"Do you?," Rasatin practically squealed with delight, patting his hands together "what about you?. Do you have a name?,"
"Everybody calls me Jac," The Clone answered.
"Oh that's fascinating. Aren't they lovely, Senator Amidala?," Rasatin turned briefly to Padmé before returning his attention to his hapless victim.
Lovely, Padmé thought, is hardly a word I would use to describe them.
"So, how many droids have you shot?," Rasatin asked The Clone, Jac.
"I'm afraid I haven't kept score," Jac told him.
"I thought all you clones kept count or something," Rasatin said, then turned to another clone "how about you?. Do you know how many droids you've destroyed?,"
"None directly, Senator," that clone responded reluctantly "I've never been in actual combat,"
"Huh," Rasatin's belly was involved in this remark, and he turned to Padmé "what kind of clones are these?. Never been in a fight, not keeping score... no wonder this war is never ending,"
The clones exchanged glances with one another, but said nothing in their defense. It wasn't their place to defend against accusations of this nature. Better to take it quietly and go about their business. To this end, Jac edged his way past Rasatin and took the pilot's seat. His co-pilot was already ready and waiting. Padmé noticed the co-pilot turn his head to say something quietly. The pilot shrugged and flipped some switches. The ship hummed with the power input.
"No wonder this war's never-ending," the co-pilot commented "with people like that running things,"
"On the other hand, where would we be if there was no war?," Jac shrugged "The way I figure it, why complain when you've still got some kind of purpose?,"
"There's that, I suppose," the co-pilot said begrudgingly "still, I'd rather be doing anything else other than this babysitting nonsense. I was not trained for this,"
"You were trained to fly, weren't you?," Jac countered "right then, let's get the job done,"
The co-pilot had no retort for this, and was reduced to discontented muttering. Jac smiled beneath his helmet. Rookies were always narrow-minded. If they weren't shooting or being shot at, they were unable to fathom that they might be doing something worthwhile. Experience taught a clone that even the mundane tasks had to be done by someone, or the whole works came crashing down.
The takeoff and subsequent flight had been smooth and uneventful, except for a brief issue with Rasatin wanting to touch the controls. Jac advised him not to, but was in no position of authority and was thus helpless to prevent Rasatin from doing as he pleased. Padmé was able to talk the Senator into resuming his seat and kept him more or less entertained for the remainder of the flight.
Rasatin was good at what he did, but he made a nuisance of himself everywhere he went. Padmé had worked with him before. He had been chosen especially for his manners, in fact. The Na'taves had a similar set of offensive habits and dangerous curiosity. While they were easily irritated in some ways, there were certain codes of behavior they chose to either condone or overlook.
"We'll keep the engine warmed up," Jac said as the senators and their clone escort disembarked.
A clone marched on either side of them, two behind, adjusting their pace to suit the senators'. Padmé actually had to slow her own walk to keep in line with Rasatin, who slithered along at a leisurely pace, looking around as though enjoying a guided tour.
Five Na'taves were waiting at the base of the ramp. They were lithe, upright, cat-like, walking on their toes and using their tails for balance. Their hands bore more resemblance to paws than anything, especially with the retractable claws. At the center of them was a black Na'tave with long white whiskers. Padmé recalled that Na'taves' whiskers grew longer and lighter with age.
This Na'tave stepped forward, rolling a piercing orange gaze across the visitors and flexing his claws thoughtfully as he assessed them. The great white whiskers twitched, and a single ear flicked. The Na'taves in his wake put away their weapons with obvious reluctance.
"I am Senator Amidala," Padmé introduced herself "this is Senator Fule,"
"I am called Forsooth by my people," the black Na'tave said, tilting his head very slightly to the side.
Perhaps their version of a bow?. Padmé was uncertain and chose not to mimic the gesture, lest the Na'taves take offense.
"We are here to discuss many things," Rasatin said "trade with your people, for one. Your world is rich in a valuable ore we use in the building of weapons to fight the Separatists,"
"You have nothing we want," Forsooth said curtly.
"Then why are we here?," Rasatin asked, bewildered.
"We find your presence here irritating," Forsooth replied, turning brusquely away.
A flick of his tail indicated that he desired them to follow. The senators followed. The clones exhibited some reluctance, then adjusted their weapons and fell into formation around the senators. They didn't much like what they were hearing. But they weren't negotiators, and it wasn't their place to argue with senators. Better they kept their mouths shut and follow along quietly.
"We want you, and the Separatists, to go away," Forsooth went on "your war is making a terrible mess on our planet, especially the desert region. You're frightening away our prey, and terrorizing our farm animals. Not to mention the stress you've put on our mothers. The kitting season is far overdue, but they won't give birth around all this noise,"
"We apologize for the inconvenience, but the Republic is only trying to-," Padmé never finished what she had to say, the black Na'tave whirled on her so fast.
"Inconvenience!?. You know nothing of inconvenience!. You with your troops and your ships and your noise and your war!. The only reason we asked for your help was because we thought doing so would make the Separatists go away!. And yet all we see are more soldiers, more blood to poison our land, more burning of our sacred trees. And you speak to me of inconvenience!?," the Na'tave hissed, extending his claws fully and showing razor teeth mere inches from Padmé's face.
The clone beside her tensed visibly, but she put her hand out to stay him.
"Again, I apologize," Padmé said calmly "but destruction is an unfortunate side-effect of war. The Separatists will not go without a fight. They would benefit just as much from your resources as the Republic. The difference is that they would take your world by force,"
Forsooth either snorted or hissed derisively, Padmé wasn't sure, then he turned away from her and continued walking. They had gone some distance from the ship, and were heading towards a rather fancy looking structure, possibly a meeting hall.
A white Na'tave with midnight-colored eyes and whiskers still half-black made her graceful way to Forsooth's side and whispered something to him. He turned to her and snapped something at her. She shrank back from him, then fell behind until she was near Padmé.
"I must apologize for Forsooth. He is an elder. Elders are very resistant to change," she said.
"I can understand his concerns," Padmé replied "but I'm afraid I can't do anything about them,"
"As you say, war is destructive," the Na'tave replied passively "I feel we are better off dealing with the Republic than the Separatists, but there are those among us who do not agree,"
"I take it Forsooth is one of them?," Padmé guessed.
"Hardly. He wants both sides gone, but he doesn't yet know how to accomplish it,"
"The Republic is more than willing to leave you alone, though at least one outpost would need to be set up to ensure that the Separatists stay away,"
"I do not believe Forsooth would be agreeable to even so small an imposition," the white Na'tave said "he is looking for a way to get rid of all of you. Still, it is not he you should be wary of, but the others I mentioned who believe we would be better off in the hands of the Separatists,"
"We'll be careful. The clones are here for our protection," Padmé gestured to the troopers "don't worry about us. But thanks for the warning,"