"The hardest path is letting go of the past."
Dramin opened the small notebook and set it on the counter. It was his turn to run the work out. He felt pressure to not disappoint his workout partner, a fellow student named Mit'teem. Mit'teem was a very mysterious guy. He was very capable but really didn't talk about his past in too much detail. Dramin was trained to read people and size them up, and he could tell there was a lot more to Mit'teem than he let on. Dramin felt like it was fate to meet his new friend. He didn't know what species Mit'teem was, but he was blue-skinned, had jet black hair, and impressive glowing red eyes that got brighter the harder he exerted himself. He had an impressive amount of still and strength for being a college kid. From what he had shared in conversations, he had fought his fair share of battles during the on-going Galactic War. They had bonded over being able to talk about battle, the loss of friends, and sharing victories with brothers-in-arms. It was not common to find someone at the University of Coruscant who had seen war. In fact, it was only when the Grand Army of the Republic came to his world of Quarzite and helped end his planet's civil war and liberate his people, was Dramin afforded the ability and privilege to step away from war and attend university off world.
He wrote down a training routine he followed when he was younger. The most difficult physical feat he had done during his planet's the civil war was all the running and jumping. They had to be able to jump from the massive centipedes they traveled upon to a moving mag-lift train or scale the side of buildings unseen and unheard. That required an incredible amount of strength only earned from hard training. A pair of students would sprint up land masses fifty meters tall at a twenty-degree incline. Once they reached the top, they would spar their partners with fatigued and burning legs. Once they reached a certain ability, they would move to the next steeper hill until they mastered that, then to the next. The final test for each progression was racing to the top alone to meet one, two, or three opponents who were fresh and fight them all at once. It took him years, but by the time he was fifteen, he was ready to join the resistance on his home world, and he entered their civil war.
This particular workout was to simulate something similar. It was a combination of a heavy leg and shoulder work immediately followed by a ten minute sparing match. By combining those two before a fight, he was putting both himself and Mit'teem off balance, uncoordinated, and in a world of hurt. In a fight, it was extremely important to have a solid base in both stance and arm placement, but by fatiguing both immediately beforehand, they were going to spar with arms and legs loose, uncoordinated, and on fire with lactic acid. Dramin smiled to himself as he looked at the workout.
No mercy, he thought.
He folded the small note book, placed it in his pocket, and left his dorm room. This was going to be good.
Mit'teem downed the last gulp of his exercise drink as he sat on the bench outside the fitness center waiting for his friend, Dramin. With class, study sessions, and a lab, he had been up for seventeen hours straight. He had trained his mind all day. Now it was time to train his body. His blue body attracted a lot of looks, and normally he didn't care. He didn't make a big deal about being different, but he didn't hide it, either. His physique had improved a lot over the months at school. While he was still lean, he was able to eat a lot better than the rations when on the battlefield. Mit'teem stared out into the distance as his mind wondered and recalled the events of Geonosia…the Second Battle of Geonosia to be specific. As he waited, his fatigue began to sink his vision, and before knew it, his sight was replaced by his imagination. He now saw the orange dust of Geonosia. He could smell it, he could taste it, and all the noises around him began to morph into the background noise of that battlefield.
In his mind, and clear as that day, he was back on Geonosia, exhausted, fatigued, and covered in his men's blood. He drove on. Mit'teem pressed the lightsaber hard, and the screeching hiss and popping of boiling alloy filled his ears. Whatever metal these anti-landing spires were made of, it was extremely tough. The yellow blade melted through the massive obstacle slowly and with great resistance. As his blade exploded through the last bit of metal, he swung the saber to his right and reached up with his left hand and used the Force to tip the obstacle over into a clearing away from his men and him. The massive spire groaned as it nosed over. It shook the ground with its impact. That was the last of twenty-three massive, anti-landing obstacles in this area. Mit'teem turned to his second-in-charge.
"Commander Grey, let the General know the landing zone is prepared."
The tide of the battle was finally turning away from their position. He could hear over the command frequencies that General Skywalker's forces were heading toward the fortress wall. They had the opportunity to gather their strength and evacuate the wounded.
The lightsaber hilt was hot as he rolled it in his hand. It had already cut through the leather of his glove. He examined it briefly. Inside the grenade section was caked with the orange-brown mud of dirt and Jumper's blood. He sighed deeply. He activated the blade and listened to it. The resonance of its hum was getting slower and slower. Sergeant Longshot turned to him.
"Is something wrong, Commander?"
Mit'teem deactivated the blade.
"No." He turned the hilt to where its control box was upright. "My lightsaber is over-heating." He lifted the lever on the side of the control box, loosening the clamp and slid the control card on its surface forward.
"They do that?" the clone asked as Mit'teem looked at the tiny power indicator lights inside the control box and saw the power cell's charge was getting dangerously low as well. The last thing he needed was to be in the middle of deflecting a blaster bolt and his blade to die.
"Yes. Normally it's not a problem. But today," he said as he slid the control card back down and closed the clamp lever, "everything is being taxed." He began to unscrew the pommel of the saber. Longshot looked on with curiosity. Mit'teem pulled the pommel off carefully withdrawing the long, tooth-like power core of the weapon. He readjusted his grip on the hilt and gripped the power cell as well with the same hand. It was hot! He turned it counter clockwise and disengaged it from the pommel. He pulled a narrow power cord from his belt and inserted the male end of the connector into a small slot on the power cell.
"Is that a recharge port?" Longshot asked.
"Yes," Mit'teem said as he and stowed it in a pouch on his belt. He opened another of the pouches and produced another power cell.
"I thought lightsabers were…magical," Longshot said. Mit'teem considered the comment as he worked the hilt.
"I guess it is a little magical, but it's still just a machine," he said as he gestured to the clone's blaster, "just like your blaster. You use that and I use this." Mit'teem locked the new power cell onto the pommel, carefully inserted it back into the hilt, and screwed the pommel back on. "Yes, they can run out of power and over heat." He extended the hilt to the Clone. "Here, feel how hot it its." Longshot took the weapon and felt the heat through his glove. He was very surprised. He handed the weapon back to the Jedi Padawan.
"That is incredible, sir. It's heavier than I thought."
Mit'teem took the weapon back and hung it on his belt.
"I need to let it cool down." He reached his hand out to a blaster he saw lying on the ground and called it to his hand with the Force. He examined it for damage. "In the meantime, I will use a blaster as well."
"Do you know how to use one, sir?" Longshot asked. Mit'teem shot him a disapproving look. "I've just never heard of a Jedi using a…" he stopped himself.
"I'm not too good to use a blaster, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir," Longshot said in an awkward burst. Command Grey approached the two of them.
"What is our casualty count, Commander?" Mit'teem asked. The clone audibly sighed.
"Seventy ready for evacuation," Grey paused for a beat, "and twenty-five dead, sir."
Mit'teem did the quick math in his head. He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head.
"We're down to twenty-two," he said.
"Yes, sir."
Where were the attack cruisers? Mit'teem thought to himself. They needed the heavy battery of the Venators. Those cruisers could operate in the atmosphere just fine. They had remarkable shielding. They could take the beating the surface fire could give them. What was their deal?! Why was the planning for this invasion so poorly executed?
But Mit'teem held those thoughts in. The last thing his clones needed was to see their Jedi showing that kind of frustration. He needed to be their rock…especially now. He shouldered the blaster rifle.
"Sir," Longshot said, "they're approaching." They looked into the sky and saw the seven ships, four LAAT gun ships and three massive Consular-class corvettes. The LAATs hung in the air as the Consulars made their approach. It was like Lothcats letting Banthas lay down first so they wouldn't get crushed. As the massive corvettes descended out of the orange sky, Mit'teem took a knee and held his breath as an orange sand storm blasted over them. The three starships landed in a rapid and aggressive manner, then the four smaller LAAT gunships landed around the cruisers. As the orange dirt settled, Mit'teem rose and looked to Commander Grey.
"You know the drill, Commander, get the wounded on board the transports, reload your power packs, get food, more medkits, tourniquets, and water. We might go for a while without support."
"Yes, sir," Grey said and began directing the remaining clones to do so. The door to the LAAT nearest to him slid open revealing twelve clones and his Jedi master, Plo Koon. As Plo Koon stepped out of the attack craft, Mit'teem smiled and approached the Kel Dor.
"It's good to see you, Master Plo," Mit'teem said. "How is the rest of the campaign?"
"There is far more resistance than we expected," the tall Kel Dor said, his mask moving over his orange skin. "The landing at Point Rain has been a particular challenge. What are your losses?"
Mit'teem's smile slipped from his face.
"We have lost nearly two-thirds of the men, sir."
Plo Koon looked at his apprentice and saw the stress on his face. Bloody mud streaked down from his hairline to his jaw, turning the right side of his face a bloody brown. His Padawan had furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. There was something else there he could not put his finger on, but it felt like a raw intensity, a power he had never felt in his apprentice before. It was not uncommon for campaigns like this to empower Jedi and help them grow faster than they otherwise would, but this was different, and it unsettled the Jedi Master.
"The Geonosians are being uniquely savage, Master. They swoop in and rip their limbs off."
He reached out and put his left hand on Mit'teem's right shoulder.
"You are doing well, my Padawan, keep leading your men and give them strength, but be mindful of the Force. Be careful. Do not lose control." Mit'teem bowed his head for a moment and then looked at his master's masked eyes.
"Thank you, Master. I will do my best. Can you afford us any reinforcements?"
"Unfortunately, no. We are headed to Master Luminara's position. Her forces are closing in the planet's primary weapons factory. You must press forward here."
They spoke of logistics and watched his men load the wounded onto the nearest corvette. A moment later, Mit'teem watched his master board his LAAT and the door slide shut. With a wind up of the engines, the LAATs lifted away followed shortly by the massive Consular-class corvettes. The group of craft nosed up and gained altitude at an impressive rate.
"Mit'teem," he heard. He looked over to Longshot who was watching the ships leave. "Mit'teem," he heard again, and he felt a slap on his shoulder. Longshot turned to him.
"What now, Commander?"
"Mit'teem," he heard again.
Dramin stood over Mit'teem as he sat on the bench staring into the pavement.
"Hey, Mit'teem!" Dramin said.
Mit'teem snapped back to the present. He looked up and saw Dramin standing over him with a smile.
"You okay, man?" Mit'teem smiled, stood up, and took a deep breath as he tried to look normal.
"Yeah, sorry. I was lost in my brains." Dramin read Mit'teem's features and recognized the reaction. A beat passed as Dramin narrowed his eyes, accentuating his bright, yellow irises as he drilled into Mit'teem's own glowing eyes.
"Are you okay?" he finally asked with a soft tone. Mit'teem laughed and dropped the guise. "You're the real deal, Dramin. I don't even know why I try to hide anything with you."
Dramin let another beat pass before he spoke.
"I know, 'M. I have my moments, too, brother." Dramin slapped Mit'teem on the shoulder. Mit'teem was taken aback again. That was the first time Dramin had referred to him as a brother. "Let's go hit the grav-plates and think about something other than the past."
"Shut your stupid mouth before I start calling you 'Dramin the Dramatic'," Mit'teem said as the two young warriors walked into gymnasium.
