Blarth
"I'm counting on you to keep them in line while Kalinda and I are gone, Weave,"Captain Stonewall said to the clone, as the Jedi slid into the driver's seat of their speeder. Weave winced at the steely look in the officer's eyes as he regarded Shadow Squad's medic and second-in-command. "Even though you and the others aren't dealing with the locals directly, we all have to keep a professional appearance while we're on Naboo; I don't want to hear about any 'mishaps' while we're away."
Naturally, Weave was determined not to let anything happen while the captain and the general were away at their negotiations, but he was not naïve enough to think that his squad-mates wouldn't try and push their luck. I just have to be firm, and keep my mind on the job. I can't get distracted with some project like I usually do. Rather than voice his apprehension, Weave gave a smart salute. "Of course. Don't worry about a thing."
General Halcyon smiled at him. "Thanks, Weave. I know I can count on you."
He figured that her words were meant to be encouraging, but he only felt a flash of apprehension at her trusting tone. Though he'd been a sergeant for some time, this was the first opportunity that Weave had to really show that he was a decent leader; he often wondered why he'd been promoted all those months ago, well before he'd been assigned to General Halcyon's squad, as he tended to live inside his head too much. But it doesn't matter, he thought as he watched the Jedi and the clone captain speed off towards the capitol. I'm in command. I'll do my best.
Of course, his optimism had started to drain away within the first few minutes. The dust from the officers' speeder hadn't even settled yet when Crest approached him.
"So...Theed." The bald clone had sauntered up to Weave, as he and Traxis were making adjustments to their ship's starboard engines. The shuttle they'd been using for the last few months – since their mission to Florrum – was temperamental and Weave was anxious to use the down-time to try and coax it into better working order.
It was difficult, so he didn't look up at his squad-mate as he tightened a stubborn bolt. "That's where we are...the outskirts, I guess, but still technically the capitol. Trax, hand me that 'spanner, will you?"
Crest rocked on his heels and glanced around the hangar, shading his eyes from the morning sun. "It's a nice place, isn't it?"
"Forget it." Weave kept his tone calm while he frowned over the bolt.
"Forget what? I was just making conversation..."
This made the medic glance up at his errant brother. "I know exactly where this line of questioning is going, Crest. We're staying here. That's that." Crest opened his mouth to object but Weave cut him off. "If you're bored, why don't you go help Milo clean the water reclamation filter?"
With a long-suffering sigh, the bald clone shrugged and turned to go. "You're the boss, boss."
After he'd made his way back to the interior of the ship, Traxis shot Weave a knowing look. "This isn't going to end well. You know that, right?"
Weave sighed. "Yeah, well. I try to stay optimistic."
About half an hour later, Milo and Crest emerged from the ship's hold, carrying a large U-shaped container between them. They made their way to Weave and set the container down, Crest giving a smart salute. "Sir. Requesting permission to dump the contents of the filter at the local treatment zone, sir." He nodded to a building across the spaceport, situated to handle this type of thing.
Even though it was technically still morning, it was already hot and Weave was sweating, tired and irritated with the ship, so he only nodded absently as he tried to dig out the bolt – which had rounded off at this point, and tried to ignore the sarcasm in Crest's tone. "Great. Don't take too long."
His brothers hefted the container and left the immediate area.
They were gone for a while.
A long while.
Finally, Traxis paused in his repairs to look over at Weave. "Shouldn't they be back by now?"
Fierfek. The medic lifted his wrist comm and called Crest. "Where are you?"
There was no reply at first, which made Weave close his eyes, then his brother's familiar voice replied. "Er...we got a little side-tracked. We're on our way back, though." Milo's voice sounded in the background, though Weave couldn't make out his words; then Crest spoke again, his voice muffled as if his hand was over the speaker. "No...not now." His tone grew normal again. "Everything's fine. No need to worry, vod. We'll see you in a minute."
Then, silence.
"That's not good," Traxis said, crossing his arms. "I can only imagine what those two jokers got into at the treatment facility."
Hopefully not literally speaking. Weave rubbed his forehead. "I'd rather not."
They didn't have long to wait, but it was worse than the medic had imagined; eventually they could see Milo and Crest returning, the latter carrying the now-empty container, and the former holding an unfamiliar object. Even Traxis was at a loss. "What the kriff is that?"
Shading his eyes from the sun that was climbing higher with each moment, Weave squinted at the thing in Milo's arms, his mouth falling open a moment later after the realization dawned. "Oh no..."
"What?" The scarred clone glanced between Weave and Milo, clearly unsettled by the medic's tone.
The sergeant was too flabbergasted to form a coherent thought besides a litany of unhelpful curses, so Weave simply stood and watched his brothers approach, their footsteps echoing against the duracrete floor. As he and Milo came up, Crest set the container down and lifted his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Before you get mad, let me just say that we didn't intend to come back with an extra passenger."
Weave ignored him and stared at the creature in Milo's grasp. It was not a large animal by galactic standards, perhaps a third of a meter long and almost as wide, with blubbery, grayish-blue skin and the biggest mouth-to-body ratio that Weave had ever seen. Dangling from the grinning maw was a long, pink tongue that was dripping pools of slobber on the ground at the younger clone's feet, and the creature's wide eyes were regarding the clones with a benevolent-but-curious expression. A long, agile tail curled around Milo's arm almost protectively, and the animal panted in the midday sun.
Traxis recovered first. "What is that thing?"
"It's a blarth," Weave said with a groan. "A domesticated, native predator of Naboo." He made it a point to study the flora and fauna of every planet that his squad visited, as it was always wise to be prepared, but he'd never expected this.
The bald clone gave the blarth a pat on the head, chucking as the creature closed its eyes and seemed to slide into a state of pure bliss from the simple contact. "We found him – I think it's a him, anyway – stuck in one of the drain pipes...he was terrified, poor fella."
Milo beamed at the creature and hefted it before looking at the medic. "Can we keep him?"
Speechless for a moment, Weave ran his hands through the twin strips of hair on his head before looking back at his brothers. "Are you serious?"
"Not normally, but this one time...yeah," Crest replied, still looking at the blarth with affection.
"He can be our mascot," Milo added, stepping away from the puddle of drool that was forming at his feet on the duracrete floor. "What should we call him?"
Crest shrugged. "I was thinking 'Cabur.' You know, Mando for 'protector?' They're guard animals, after all."
"Really? I like 'Kot,'" Milo replied. "'Strength.'"
Weave held up his hands. "We're not calling it anything, because it's not staying here."
"But-"
"Crest, you know perfectly well that we can't keep an animal like that on the ship," Weave interrupted. "There's barely enough room for us Humans." Stonewall's going to kill me...
Traxis watched as Milo shifted away from another puddle of drool. "Second that."
The bald clone crossed his arms. "But he's hurt. Or didn't you notice?" Indeed, Milo shifted his arm and Weave could see the abrasion on the creature's left side. "Come on, doc. At least patch him up, then we'll take him to a pet-store or something."
This isn't going to end well, but it is injured. Weave sighed. "Fine. Let me get my medkit." He turned to leave and Milo followed, nearly slipping on the puddle. The medic shook his head. "No. It stays out here...I'm not letting it on the ship, okay?" I don't think the captain or the Jedi will be pleased to have puddles of drool all over the place.
"But he's hot," Milo replied, shifting the creature in his arms. "Look how much he's panting." Indeed, the blarth's tongue was lolling at a rather impressive length from his mouth, and his eyes seemed to give Weave an almost pleading look.
I'm such a sucker. "Okay, but Crest...get a couple of towels or something to mop all this...liquid up."
Minutes later, the clones had arranged a makeshift bed of towels on the small table in the galley of the ship; Milo was keeping a hand on the blarth while Weave cleaned and bandaged its wound, trying to ignore the constant panting, the drool that was already soaking through the closest towel, and the creature's eyes, which were gazing at him as if he were the most wonderful being in the galaxy.
Traxis and Crest stood to one side, watching. The scarred clone shook his head. "People keep these things as pets?"
"The drool is actually used for a number of products," Weave replied absently as he affixed the gauze to the blarth's leg. "Mostly by the Gungans, I guess. But it's said to be pretty...er, potent stuff." He tried not to grimace as the creature gave a small whine and licked his hand, immediately coating it in slime. Ugh...I didn't sign up for this.
"Milo, he doesn't look like a 'Kot,'" Crest said, his tone considering. "But he doesn't look like a 'Cabur,' either."
The younger clone looked up. "How about 'Blarthy?'"
Traxis gave a snort of laughter. "Are you serious?"
"I don't hear you coming up with anything," Milo replied with a huff.
"I'm not taking part in this nonsense," the scarred clone replied. However, after a moment he frowned. "But you can do better than 'Blarthy.'"
Not him, too. Weave took a deep breath and made sure that the bandage was secure. He'd had to use the strongest water-proof kind, after taking into account the copious amounts of saliva that the blarth was creating. "All done. Let's go."
"But it's midday," Crest said, indicating the open hatch of the ship, through which they could see the sun beating down in the hangar where their ship was resting. "We know we can't really keep him, okay? But let's let him rest for now, and this evening we can drop him off at the nearest animal shelter." His tone was dangerously reasonable, and Weave felt his own frustration level increasing as he was starting to understand that he was not going to win this battle.
"Crest..." His mouth was open to argue, then the blarth made a snuffing sound and nudged his hand with its squat, rounded head, its eyes somehow looking larger than they should have. Its trying to elicit an emotive response from me, Weave thought as he watched the saliva pooling on the table and dripping to the floor. They're pretty intelligent, by all accounts, and this one seems to be manipulative as well...The blarth whined again and gave him another, tentative nudge. Weave's shoulders slumped. "Fine."
Milo grinned and patted the creature's head. "Welcome to Shadow Squad, Blarthy."
"Get that crinking thing out of the way before I lose my temper," Traxis muttered as he stumbled – again – over the creature on his way into the ship, carrying a box of spare parts. The blarth had taken up residence at the entrance to the shuttle, watching with interest as the clones went about their normal tasks; he was slowly but steadily becoming surrounded by a massive puddle of drool that Weave had given up on trying to control about an hour ago, contenting himself with the knowledge that, as long as the blarth remained on the ramp, gravity would see to it that the saliva didn't get in the ship.
Any more than it already had, that is.
After Traxis maneuvered his way around the creature, Weave glanced up at Milo, who was adjusting the landing struts. "Can't you keep him out of the way?"
"I've tried," the younger clone replied, looking at the blarth with fondness. "But he's so stubborn. Aren't you, Jango?"
"Jango?" Traxis emerged from the shuttle, crossed his arms and looked down at the animal, who tilted his head up and met the scarred clone's gaze. "That's just...wrong."
Crest was cleaning the exterior of the viewport, balancing on a slender ladder. At his squad-mate's words he glanced over and frowned. "Agreed. He doesn't really look like a Jango, you know? Blarthy was better."
Biting back his sigh, Weave told himself – for the umpteenth time – that he was lucky that it was only one blarth that his brothers had collected, and not an entire litter, or any larger, more destructive animal. "I don't care what you call it, guys, just keep it out of the way. We only have a few hours until the captain and the general return." At least they won't have to deal with it...if I'm lucky, they'll never even know.
Of course, luck's never really been my thing...It was not a comforting thought, so he tried to ignore it as he adjusted the coolant panel on the starboard engine.
For a while the clones worked in relative quiet; the worst of the heat was receding and a fresh breeze managed to work its way into the open-air hangar, which was free of all but a few other ships. The only sounds were the usual lilts of conversation between the troopers and the consistent, rhythmic panting of the blarth, who remained in his place at the threshold of the shuttle. Finally, Weave glanced at his chrono and realized that it was well past time for their midday meal, so he called the others to a stop.
The table was still covered in sopping towels, so they decided to eat outside, splitting up a few ration packs among themselves and resting in the shade against the hull of the shuttle. Milo began tossing chunks of his protein bar to the blarth, grinning as the creature caught each one eagerly, its wide jaws making a wet, smacking sound as it swallowed the pieces.
"He's clever, isn't he?" The younger clone's tone was full of admiration as he broke off another piece of the bar and lifted it above his head, watching as the blarth tracked his movements, its tongue nearly flopping to the ground as it – somehow – salivated even more.
"A real genius," Traxis replied, though his voice was missing its customary sharpness. Weave shot him a look, noting how the scarred clone was studying the creature with interest, his hand lingering over the protein bar in his grasp. After a moment, he caught Trax's eye and gave him his best 'sergeant' glare. However, Traxis shrugged, then broke off a chunk of the bar and tossed it to the blarth, who snapped it up eagerly.
Crest chuckled. "Entertaining little guy, huh?" He gave Weave a knowing look. "Don't worry...we have hours before they get back. You need to relax a little bit."
"I'll keep that in mind if you're even in charge while the captain's gone," Weave replied. At this, the blarth let out a whine and continued panting even as it shuffled towards the him, wide eyes fixed on the bar in his hand; he frowned and made several shooing motions. "No. Go away."
"You're a medic," Crest replied in a sardonic voice. "Show some compassion."
As Weave opened his mouth to reply, they heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching speeder, and he felt alarm course through him. Fierfek. His mind raced, but it was too late. Before he could do anything more than get to his feet, Captain Stonewall and the Jedi pulled up in the vehicle, looking at the squad with interest. All of the clones stood at attention out of habit as their officers stepped out of the speeder and walked up; the blarth had made its way between Weave's legs and was nuzzling the armored plating at his calves, looking up at him with large, hopeful eyes.
"What is that?" General Halcyon asked, nodding to the creature. As Weave stammered an answer, the dark-haired Jedi crouched down and regarded the blarth, who looked back at her with a curious expression.
Then, naturally, Milo stepped in. "That's Jango. Or Blarthy...there's some debate on that point." At his words, the general exchanged glances with the captain; Weave could see that she was fighting back a grin, but Stonewall's expression was – thankfully – obscured by his helmet.
"I see." Stonewall crossed his arms and turned his visor to Weave. "Care to offer any explanation on our newest member, Sergeant?"
Taking a deep breath, Weave glanced at his brothers, who remained silent. Of course. When I need them to speak up... "It's a local species, sir. Harmless, for the most part. Crest and Milo found him, injured, and I patched him up. We were going to take him to a local shelter before you got back."
"We finished early," General Halcyon said, her eyes falling on the ramp of the ship. "What is...did it rain?" She pointed to the area where the blarth had been sitting, and Weave took a small amount of satisfaction in the fact that he was not the only clone to grimace at the sight of the copious drool glistening on the ramp in the afternoon light.
But before he could say anything else, she was in the ship. Moments later, he heard her exclamation of disgust; the captain lifted his gaze from the blarth and crossed the space to her side in a few strides.
Or at least, that's what he was intending to do, had he not slipped on the puddle on the ramp; even as he was saying the Jedi's name, the clone captain gave a shout as his feet lifted out from under him and he landed with a resounding crack on the ramp. This new development incited the others to action, the troopers immediately clustering around the fallen officer with offers to help him to his feet.
It was a chain reaction: Traxis tripped over the blarth – who had moved to follow the captain – and landed sideways on the ramp, which in turn caused Milo to fall over his legs – face-down – though he was able to catch himself on his hands; Crest and Weave, who had each moved forward at the same time, slipped with almost perfect symmetry on the puddle and crashed into one another. For several seconds the soldiers were reduced to a pile of groaning plastoid, with the blarth panting happily, taking the position in the middle of the group and regarding them all with what Weave could only think of as affection.
Kalinda Halcyon leaned against the side of the doorway and crossed her arms, her expression mild. "When you're all done fooling around, someone needs to clean up this cabin. It's a kriffing mess in here."
All of the clones looked at the blarth, whose tongue seemed to loll out of its wide mouth even more, if such a thing were possible. "Bad boy, Blarthy," Milo said with a sigh. "Bad boy."
So I have this really amazing book, The Wildlife of Star Wars: A Field Guide, which is where I learned about the blarth. If you haven't already, check it out...there are some fantastic illustrations.
Also, I was giggling the entire time I wrote this, and during all the editing as well. Clearly, there's something wrong with me. :P
