Authors Notes: Written by both Cyberbutterfly and Evenmoor. We decided it was time to show a few of the clones Methos recruits and some of their personalities (and why they were recruited). Because both of us have come up with characters to use in the story we split the work- each writing for the Clones nearest and dearest to our heart.
Evenmoor: Wrote the intro's to Gimbal and Gaffer.
Cyberbutterfly: I wrote the intro's to Snitch and Flight.
CM-0112 - Gimbal
The clone who looked up from the medical readout on the bacta tank as Methos entered the medical wing was actually surprisingly old - meaning, he was probably 13 standard years and looked around 26. Just about Methos's own apparent age, and therefore practically an honored elder as far as the younger generations of clones were concerned. A crescent-shaped tattoo framed his left eye near the temple, and his dark hair was shaved so close to the scalp that he was all but bald.
"So you're the Jedi Sever was on about! I was half-wondering if he'd hit his head and done himself an injury, the way he was going," the clone grinned, casually ignoring the general sort of diffidence and propriety that other clones and the Kaminoans showed around Jedi. It was actually rather refreshing, Methos thought. "Did you really tell Tani Du and Fewa Sai where to shove their tiny heads and save Humble and 6389?"
"More or less, yes." Methos answered the grin with one of his own. "I've been wanting to wring some of their over-long necks since I got here, but for now I'll settle for messing with their status quo. Call me Methos."
"The name's Gimbal. I've been doing my best to look after the cadets after the Kaminoans decided it was more cost-effective to 'liquidate,' but my specialty is more battlefield medicine than what these poor kids need." Gimbal's tone was rueful, but the gratitude was plain as day on his face as he glanced at the small form suspended in the bacta tank next to him. "6389's looking better, and they've already taken Humble in for his first surgery to prep him for the cybernetics. Thanks for what you did. And thanks for making sure Sever didn't get liquidated, too. He's a good kid, and one day he'll be a great commander, but he's still just so shiny."
"The young do all sorts of foolish things." Methos smirked, but he sincerely agreed with the clone's opinion about Sever; he saw such potential in him, and those half-witted idiot Kaminoans were just going to throw him out with the other two for standing up to them.
"Even Jedi?"
"Jedi are prone to foolishness no matter their age. How do you think I ended up playing a glorified secretary? A defective protocol droid could do my job."
Gimbal actually burst into snickers before his face fell back into serious lines, a hopeful intensity lurking in his eyes.
"What about the other cadets? I've known my fate since that first battle on Geonosis. Nothing but luck kept me and Gaffer alive when everyone else in our unit died around us. Every day we live is a gift. But our brothers here… so many of them are just so young, with more being incubated everyday. Is there anything you can do for them, like you did for Humble and 6389?"
"I may be a Jedi Master," replied Methos, his expression turning sour, "but my influence within even the Order is sadly limited. Most of the Council certainly doesn't like me, however much they claim to be above such petty things as personal grievances and politicking. I'm reasonably certain I can convince them to let me get away with a plan I have in motion - I don't know all of what Sever's told you - but that would only give me a hundred men."
"Well, if you succeed, that'll be a hundred of us who actually have a future. I assume that Sever's on this list?"
"He is, as are Humble and 6389. Sever also gave me some other names to check into. The first two being a pair of old-timers called 'Gimbal' and 'Gaffer.'" Methos smirked. "Know where I might find them?"
"Well, the last I heard, they were on Kamino, waiting to be attached to a new unit," Gimbal shrugged noncommittally. After a long moment, though, he dropped the facade and openly smiled. "If you're willing to go as far as you did for a couple of damaged cadets and a shiny, you can count me in."
CT- 9499- Snitch
Walking up to the barracks, Methos snorted as a young clone (who just happened to be loitering outside) coughed loudly before giving him a respectful nod. He returned the nod and continued until he came to rest at the barracks opening, giving the frame a polite knock. Inside, a few clones were playing cards while others casually relaxed in their berths.
Of course, to eyes that knew what to look for, you couldn't miss the fact that no one seemed quite sure what card game they were playing, and there were a few containers hastily shoved under the lower bunks. And every clone in the room but one seemed hyper-alert for people who were apparently enjoying a few moments of R&R.
Which was exactly why Methos was here.
"Can we help you with anything, sir?"
Methos gave the room another full glance before turning to look at that one clone in the barracks who was nothing but calm and collected.
"I'm looking for a Trooper named Snitch."
The clone raised an eyebrow.
"You need him for anything in particular, or is this just a social visit?"
"Yes." Methos jerked his head, indicating down the hall. "I've got a little problem in need of a solution. Friend of mine said I should ask Snitch."
The clone shrugged, tossing his data pad on the bunk before standing up and saluting.
"Clone Trooper 9499, aka Snitch, at your service, General."
"First, I'm not a general," Methos corrected, making a face. "And for the love of all nine Sith hells, don't salute me." He looked at the group at large, making sure he made eye contact with each clone. "When you ship out, never forget that droids are programmed to make commanders priority targets. Calling out 'sir' or 'General' and/or saluting in the field is the fastest way to get that person killed."
He turned back to the trooper and held out a hand. "Name's Methos."
Snitch took his hand, giving a wry smile. "Okay, Methos, what's this problem of yours?"
"So, let me get this straight. You want me to break into the most secure data storage facility this place has so that you can snoop through Kaminoan intel?"
"In a nutshell, yes. I'm good, but not that good. This is definitely a two man job."
"Why this, and why me? Or is this tied into the reason why there's been an uprise in the clones that seem to think you're the Great Jedi Hope?"
Methos snorted and rolled his eyes. Of course, he'd tried to keep what he was doing a secret, but the clones didn't just see each other as soldiers, they considered each other family. And news about family always traveled fast. Now, whenever he walked into a room he watched as every clone subtly (and desperately in some cases) tried to prove their worth to him.
It made him want to gather them all up and run to some quiet part of the galaxy. It also made him want to hunt down the whole lot responsible for this mess and do something extremely un-Jedi like, which wouldn't do his current persona any good.
No one should every feel they have to prove the worth of their existence. Methos sighed and leaned up against the wall, keeping some of his senses tuned to anyone who might be coming down the hall.
"Yes, it does." He paused and turned to look at the man. "'Great Jedi Hope'?"
Snitch regarded him dryly. "If 'Supreme Saviour of the Galaxy' is more to your tastes, I can stick with that."
Methos shuddered. "Let's just agree to never utter either of those phrases ever again." He shuddered again for good measure, then waved a hand. "Anyway, Gaffer said that when it comes to getting in, out, and around Kaminoan security there isn't anyone better than you. You've been running a virtual black market on everything from Core World sweets to current intelligence on the clones fighting on the front since before you needed to shave and that kind of clever deserves acknowledgement." Methos leaned in, making sure to look Snitch in the eyes. "I also know you've managed to change the active Trooper manifest the last three times to keep yourself from shipping out without anyone realizing it."
He saw the look of panic flash across the clone's eyes, and Methos raised his hands calmingly to forestall the reaction.
"Easy, I figured out your reasons. You're not the only one with a streak of espionage. I checked up on you and know enough to put two and two together. The Kaminoans, in their infinite wisdom, have a set average every clone has to achieve; otherwise they're placed in consideration for 'liquidation' or transfer to Maintenance Squad. Now, imagine my surprise when I found a hidden algorithm embedded in the system that automatically adjusts low scores so they place slightly above that average. Furthermore, that same algorithm happened to appear during a time one year ago when you were assigned to tech division and the training and monitoring of a younger batch of clones." Methos took a deep breath before he continued. "I also know that the program needs constant updating to stay hidden, and if you were to ship out, the system's antiviral countermeasures would locate and override you're coding within days… You're keeping your family safe- and taking one hell of a risk doing it."
Methos smiled at Snitch and made sure it showed every emotion he felt behind it.
"Two things you should know. One: you did good, and you've definitely coloured me impressed. Two: I had a friend create an evolving version of that program that would continuously upgrade itself, so your presence wouldn't be required. Considering you'll eventually get caught if you keep to the current version, installation is better done sooner than later. Right now, at this moment, I'm asking you to help me save a few more lives that your program isn't in place to help."
Methos stepped back to give the clone space. What Snitch had been doing would get him killed, but the kid was good and knew how to cover his tracks. What Methos was asking him to do now was blatant and insane by comparison. After a second, the man nodded to himself and turned, walking away. Methos sighed and heaved himself off the wall, turning to leave and perhaps come up with another solution to get into this room. He jerked to a stop when he saw Snitch coming back with a compact scanner, a spanner, and a small, thick blade.
Methos raised an eyebrow. Snitch waved a hand.
"I take it you took care of the monitors in this section?"
"They are currently running a thorough and lengthy systems check. We've got about a half hour to get in and out before they come back online."
Snitch nodded then pointed at the security laden door.
"This is a five tiered, bio-electronic, self analyzing security system. It runs more than 10,000 algorithms a minute, making an override completely impossible. It also includes no less than 20 redundant fail safes; each is designed to remote-trigger the automated defenses located in this wing should the system even suspect that it is being cracked. That's not even getting into the organic components within the program."
Methos blinked.
"So, this is going to be difficult."
Snitch casually leaned against the wall right next to the control panels.
"It's impossible," the clone corrected him. "This system is incapable of being hacked. It's completely impenetrable. It can't be done."
With a calm smile, the man then drove his blade up to the hilt into the wall panel beside the control and twisted, cracking the seal and causing the panel to lift away from the wall. It took only a matter of seconds to remove it, exposing the wires and circuitry behind it. With a few waves of the scanner, Snitch located the circuitry he needed and used the spanner to splice into them.
"However," he cheerfully continued explaining even as he worked, "the Carbo-Plas used for the walls and wires feeding into the system were chosen more for economy than impenetrability and can be removed and reset in a heartbeat. That means all I have to do is trigger the interior door's override protocols to manually unlock the door and security from the other side. Guess that fact never occurred to our all-powerful great creators, because every door of every wing of this facility is the same."
Snitch wormed his arm into the panel nearly up to his elbow. After a couple of adjustments there was a crack, an electrical hiss, a smell of ozone, and the door opened with a hiss. The clone turned back to smirk as he removed his arm.
"And thus allowing a clone cadet to build his Information Exchange Empire," Methos grinned as he checked the internal security from the doorway.
Snitch sniffed primly, mockingly austere.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir."
Methos studied the data storage systems as he pulled out his pad. Beside him, Snitch held out his arm, blocking his entrance into the room.
"What exactly are you looking for?"
"Information on the clones."
"How much?"
"All of it."
Snitch whistled and nodded at the pad.
"Then that's definitely a custom job." Methos hummed an agreement, beside him Snitch shrugged then continued. "Of course, if you really wanted to know all about the clone you could have just asked."
Methos turned to look at him, and Snitch stared at him knowingly.
"I keep key data files current and upgraded monthly. Considering that I also just tend to investigate the people involved rather than relying on computer stats and analysis, they're probably more reliable than anything you'll get here."
Methos gazed thoughtfully at Snitch for a moment, and then snorted.
"And the reason you didn't inform me of this beforehand?"
"I didn't know. You said 'intel,' not 'I want to know about you lot'." Snitch rubbed the back of his head and looked almost sheepish. "And word's getting around about you. I know how to put two and two together, and I know how much I'm running on borrowed time and figured you'd be more impressed with a field demonstration than me simply jumping up and shouting 'I'm good for it, pick me!'."
There was a brief moment of silence as Methos contemplated the clone. Finally, the Immortal gestured expressively at the room.
"Well, then, it's time for the second part of this adventure. Help me get the upgrades to your program installed in here… And Snitch?" Methos smiled as Snitch looked back at him with a mixture of trepidation and hope. "Welcome to Century Squad."
CT- 1332- Gaffer
CRACK.
Methos blinked away the spots dancing in front of his eyes from the small but intense explosion.
"And that, cadets," the voice of a clone remarked with satisfaction, "is what happens when you improperly repair a repulsorlift engine."
"Can we see that again?" a young voice asked eagerly.
Methos cleared his vision enough to take in the sight of a clone trooper surrounded by about a dozen or so young trainees, maybe ten years old in normal human terms. The trooper, who wore a pair of goggles atop his head, bore an impressively nasty scar across his right cheek, vanishing beneath his somewhat uneven dark hair. Bacta treatments had likely improved the scar's vicious appearance greatly; it was actually somewhat miraculous that the trooper had even survived such a close encounter with a blaster bolt to the head.
The trainees didn't seem at all put off by the intimidating appearance of the scar, most likely because they were too busy being impressed by the trooper's ability to make things explode. (Plus the novelty of getting to meet one of their own who'd seen real combat, as opposed to training simulations.)
"Like blowing up training remotes, do you, Rhain?" the trooper asked mildly, though his eyes sparkled with good humor.
The trainee, Rhain, was about to reply when one of his fellows tugged on his sleeve and pointed out the Jedi lurking in the back of the room. All the trainees immediately snapped to attention.
"Sir!" they said in perfect unison. Methos would never get used to the nearly-identical faces all staring at him with that expression of awe and nervousness and literally inborn respect for his position.
"Oh, don't mind me. Carry on, whatever it was you were doing," he replied.
"Yes, sir," acknowledged the trooper. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced back and forth a couple of times as the now-nervous trainees turned back to him.
"Blowing up training remotes is one thing. Just remember that the same tech that makes them fly is also used on everything from Larty gunships to starfighters to capital ships. The lives of you and your brothers might one day depend on you knowing how to fix a repulsorlift engine properly so it doesn't do what I just did. Now, get on, all of you, before your meal period is over."
The trainees practically dashed out the door like a battalion of battle droids was on their tail. Methos wasn't sure if it was because of his own presence or the reminder of food, but they vanished like a shot.
The trooper, who could only be Gaffer, immediately set to cleaning up the scattered fragments of the training remote.
"Gimbal commed, said you'd probably be around to see me soon. He told me what you did for Sever and those two kids." The scarred clone dumped the scorched bits onto a nearby tray and then fixed an intense gaze on Methos.
"Gimbal may be soft, even for a medic, but he reads people better than anyone I know, and he's my brother. Where he goes, I go."
With that statement of finality, Gaffer turned his attention away from Methos and towards a power converter connected to an unidentifiable mass of wires and components he had apparently been working on before being ambushed by a mob of trainees. Pulling down his goggles, he grabbed an extra-delicate arc welder and set to whatever he was doing.
Clearly, the conversation was concluded.
CP 2013- Flight
"Repeat: catastrophic failure of the forward stabilizers! We are going down! Evacuate all personal located in projected crash zone!"
It was like something out of a nightmare. A lucky shot from an enemy craft had left the transport limping its way here on half power, the immediate threat believed handled. What damaged sensors failed to report was the same blast that had severed half their thruster capabilities also put a massive crack in the heat shield on the underside front of the craft, as well as creating a dangerous fuel leak.
Methos watched from the ground as the craft twisted, the pilot valiantly fighting to keep out of a death spiral. But it got even worse. He turned to look at Gimbal, whose facial expression was every clone's standard mask of 'This is killing me but I will endure because I have to' stoicism.
"How many?"
"Full pay load; about 500 wounded," Gimbal replied tensely, grinding his teeth in a helpless frustration that undermined his outward calm.
There was precious little anyone could do. No time to launch an aerial rescue, and there would be no point once they hit ground. No one could possibly survive the impact at the speed at which they were falling. Methos sighed and braced himself to do what he could from this distance. He jumped when a new voice burst out over the comms.
"Topside, it's Flight! Does that wreck have any manoeuvring ability left?"
"I've got a bit of control over roll, and slight bit of functioning pitch in the aft. Besides that, I'm flying a rock," Topside gritted out.
"It'll do. You just keep that beast level and on course as best you can and I'll do the rest."
Then Methos saw it: screaming towards the falling transport—at speeds Methos didn't know it could do breaking atmosphere—was a Kaminoan cargo vessel. He watched as the vessel adjusted course, coming up ahead and slightly under the craft. Methos realized the pilot's intention at about the same time as everyone else.
"Flight, you really are a kriffing insane!" the transport pilot choked over the comms (at the exact same time Gimbal expressed a similar sentiment next to Methos on the ground, prompting an involuntary grin from the Immortal Jedi). "The Kaminoans are going to take the damage costs of that cargo out of your hide, if you miraculously don't get yourself killed!"
"Awe, shucks, now you've gone and made me all nervous." Flight sounded perfectly calm, in spite of his words. Methos huffed a quiet laugh. "Those karkers can feel free to bill it out my ass any time they want."
That made Methos blink. Most clones had a thing or two to say about the Kaminoans. Not one of them actually said it out loud—never mind on a broadband open channel. Methos shot a curious glance and a raised eyebrow at Gimbal, who shrugged as he watched the unfolding drama.
"Flight's got the mouth of a merc and the social skills of a manic rancor. Kaminoans let it slide because of his test scores. Guess even they know the value in keeping top pilots within the GAR," the veteran clone medic said by way of explanation.
Methos hummed thoughtfully as he watched the cargo vessel line up to the transport, matching its velocity before the comm system crackled back to life.
"Topside, you tell your boys to brace and you use every bit of control you've got when I say 'mark'."
Orders were shouted and then the cargo vessel edged up right up to the underside of the transport. For half a second it was almost graceful, until the pilot—Flight—shouted 'Mark', and every downward thruster on the cargo vessel roared to life. Metal shrieked in protest as the two ships warped and twisted around each other.
Methos stood for another second, marveling at the sheer skill it would take to slow down and level out the medical transport's decent. Shaking himself internally, he reached out and drew his quickening around him, using the raw energy it provided to tune the Force into a wonderfully precise tool, pushing it up until it reached the two vessels above.
He closed his eyes and stretched out his hands. His breath slowed as he reached out to the clones inside, wrapping protective barriers around them to shield already injured bodies against the worst of the flames and jolts. Then he focused on the cargo vessel, slipping between the fusing hulls and adding structural strength wherever he could. His mind brushed ever so slightly against the clone pilots and…
And he felt—something. It was small, no more than a speck, but it reached back; different and interesting—somehow familiar. He brushed it aside for another time.
Methos kept his eyes closed, focus entirely centered on the small bit of aid he could provide. But with his senses open to the Force and empowered by his own Immortal quickening, he saw everything.
He saw the one called Flight wrestling controls and overriding safety protocols, adjusting for damage and shifts in the medical transport with a steadfast competence that bordered on unbelievable and a level of calm that bordered on the psychotic.
He saw Topside coax every ounce of co-operation he could out of a ship that had nothing left to give. He felt the ships buck and twist and knew that the medical transport craft was dying even while the clones inside survived.
But most of all, he felt how the little cargo ship was gaining ground. Sensed how the medical transport began to level out and its rate of decent went from 'flaming meteor' to 'too fast' and then to 'Sith Hells, they might actually walk away from this'. He opened his eyes to tell Gimbal as much, but the clone was already barking orders and rushing off to gather emergency supplies. Methos smiled in grim satisfaction and then grit his teeth to see this through to the end.
As he heard the ships crash onto the landing pad, Methos collapsed to knees, panting from the exertion. But he knew two things for certain. The clone named Flight had just saved everyone on that transport by beating odds that not even the universe's most optimistic gamblers would bet on, and Methos was going to make damn sure that clone ended up under the banner of his squad.
As always thoughts, comments, and constructive critique are always welcome.
