Bristler wasn't one of the clones who'd served under Rtj-lyr, but he was a rookie and a delinquent just the same. In fact, to hear the Sergeant tell it, Bristler was the worst of the lot. Jac took Bristler's characteristic growl of irritation in stride. A little rough around the edges, all he needed was a firm leader to point him in the right direction and a cold splash of reality.

Because he had no retort for Jac, Bristler took his frustration out on the nearest tree branch, punching it as he passed by. From out of the leaves fell a peculiar, googly-eyed creature that looked like some sort of a cross between a snake and a bird. Jac had seen them before coming here, in the desert.

He'd learned that the Na'taves called them Eglamork. Or, to use the common language, Flying Death. Jac had never figured out the reason for the name. Topping out at about three feet long, the creatures wore a permanent expression of worry and alarm, and their long bodies combined with short wings made them look almost comical when they took to the air.

This one hissed with indignation at having been knocked from its tree. The bulbous eyes narrowed and it seemed to glare at Bristler. It started to slither off, but Bristler had to push the issue.

"What are you lookin' at, ya stupid beast?," this remark was accompanied by a swift kick in the animal's direction, which missed.

"Bristler!. That was uncalled for," Jac snapped "that poor creature never did anything to do. If you've got problems, deal with them yourself, don't take it out on small animals,"

Those who had served under Rtj-lyr couldn't help but note the similarity between their past situation and what had just happened, with them playing the role of the Eglamork. Momentarily gripped by memory of starving in the dank caves of this planet, they shuddered. Except Jac, who had other things on his mind. Specifically, pulling Bristler back in line.

The clone who learned it was acceptable to take his anger out on the nearest defenseless creature was sure to move on from snakes to his fellow clones. That wasn't good for anybody.

"I hate this place," Bristler grumbled.

"And that's the snake's fault?," Jac demanded fiercely.

Bristler acted as though he wouldn't answer, so Jac repeated the question.

"I suppose not," Bristler answered sulkily.

"Yeah. You remember that," Jac told him "the snake's just an innocent bystander, it's got no quarrel with you. So let it be,"

This, Jac would later learn, was not entirely correct. The Eglamork slunk off into the bushes, but its mind burned from the ill-treatment of the invaders to its home. A quick flick of the tongue insured that it would never forget the taste of the one who had abused it, its sharp eyes would forever remember the armor worn by these lawless beasts.

It, like others of its kind, had found the unwanted guests to be rude and reckless, but best avoided. If they were left alone, the armored individuals had no interest in bothering the snakes. That suited the Eglamorks just fine. But all the activity was driving their prey from the forest.

The Eglamork was hungry, it was tired from a fruitless hunt which had lasted all night long and it had just been robbed of a peaceful morning's nap. It was clear that these home wreckers didn't intend to leave any time soon.

And there was another problem. This Eglamork was very heavily pregnant. It had to lay its eggs, and here seemed as good a place as any. It had finally decided that the clones wouldn't be too much of a bother, but that opinion had just changed. The biggest threat to the survival of its young was no longer the scavenging Jilya lizard. It was now the clones, who were soon to learn just why the snake-birds were called Flying Death.

It happened during the evening patrol, which Jac again led, this time because the Sergeant was too drunk to do it himself, but refused to let the delinquents "run about by themselves". He hadn't liked Jac's report on the dawn patrol at all. The incident with Bristler wasn't the only one.

"These dumb kids will get lost or fall down a mineshaft if nobody's out there to hold their hand," the Sergeant had told him "so you'd best go along with them, at least until they've got more sense than a droid with its head stuck in a trash compactor".

Jac didn't argue. He never did.

On approaching the first sentry post, it was clear to him that something was wrong. It was too quiet. The rookies got bored out here. And when they got bored, they got rowdy. You could sometimes hear them from half a mile away. But there was dead silence at the post, and nobody answered the radio call.

While still beyond sight of the post, Jac dropped into a crouch and brought his weapon up.

"What's the deal?," one rookie asked.

Jac was saved from having to answer by one of the former Rtj-lyr clones, who grabbed the rookie by the armor and yanked him down, fiercely shushing him. Uneasily, Jac crept closer. It was possible the rookies were doing something stupid and irresponsible, but it was equally possible that they were dead.

The silence made him nervous. He didn't like it. Here in the jungle, there was constant noise everywhere. The creatures in the trees were always calling to one another, and a veritable plethora of insects buzzed around. But the air here was dead silent.

Jac checked the ground for tracks, but didn't see any except the ones he and the other clones had left earlier. Slowly, cautiously, he circled the sentry post. Still no tracks. No signs of violence either. The underbrush stood unbroken, the trees overhead were undamaged. If there'd been a fight, it had been very contained. It would have to have been over very quickly. Droids weren't this neat. That was an uncomfortable thought. If not droids, then what?.

"What's his problem?," Bristler asked quietly "doesn't he know nothin' ever happens out here?,"

"Let him be," Dusty, one of the former Rtj-lyr clones, retorted "Jac's got more field experience than all the rest of us combined. If his instincts tell him something's up, something is bound to be wrong,"

Jac overheard this, but pretended he didn't. It was the first time any of the damaged clones had stood up for him, instead of trying to tear him down. It was a good sign that there was hope for them yet.

Jac didn't dwell on that thought, turning his attention to the matter at hand. Slowly, quietly, he eased towards where the sentries were supposed to be. As soon as the clearing was in view, he knew that trouble had already come and gone hours ago.

"Shit," This remark was made by Bristler on seeing the aftermath of the attack.

The sentries lay in various positions which conveyed the agony of their deaths. Jac got up and went to one, rolling him over on his back to find two punctures in his armor right at the chest. Something had stabbed right through to the heart. Whatever it was hadn't killed him instantly though. From the furrows in the dirt around him, it was apparent that he had writhed about in pain for some time before dying.

"The others are like this one," Dusty reported "all dead. I'd guess for about eight hours,"

"Something waited for the dawn patrol to go by, then killed them," Jac shook his head "not droids, that's for sure,"

"A member of the Sith, maybe?," Dusty suggested, almost hopefully.

Better the enemy you knew, than the one you didn't.

Jac shook his head, "the wounds aren't consistent with a light-saber,"

"What then?,"

"I don't know. Yet," Jac replied "it's not a weapon I'm familiar with,"

That probably ruled out the Na'taves as suspects as well. Jac had been around them enough to have seen most of their weapons. Na'taves preferred to use their "natural defenses", tooth and claw anyway. But these weren't claw marks. However... Jac looked again at the wounds on the body before him.

"Fangs," he said "something with fangs, about six inches long, I'd guess,"

"Six inches?. But that would barely get through. There's no way that anything that short could reach the lungs or the heart and do any real damage. Not through the armor,"

"I know," Jac replied "I don't think that's what killed them,"

"What then?," Dusty asked again.

"We'll have to get them back and run a few tests, but I'd say they were poisoned. Venom, probably,"

"What a way to go,"

"I'm more worried about what killed them and why than how they died," Jac replied evenly.

Sure enough, as he had predicted that morning, the peace wasn't meant to last. Something, or someone, probably a small group, had just declared war on those standing sentry. Jac had to find out why. They'd been here for a little over a month now, without any real problems. Why was the trouble starting now?. The timing seemed odd somehow.

Jac did not now recall the earlier incident between Bristler and the Eglamork. Though he had obviously not forgotten it completely, there was no reason for him to think it had any bearing on what he now found himself faced with. He had never seen the fangs of an Eglamork, and would not have assumed so small a creature had such fantastic killing teeth. No, he was more inclined to think it was a Jilya lizard, a creature which averaged ten to fifteen in length. Or he would have been, had he not seen the teeth of the lizard. The Jilya lizard had a complete set of relatively small, serrated teeth which fit together neatly and in plain view of all who looked at it. There was simply no reasonable place for fold out fangs to be.

Aside from which, Jilya lizards were shy creatures who left clear marks with clawed feet and dragging tail wherever they went. Whatever had done this must have come from above, and left the same way. If it had merely covered its tracks, it would have had to erase some of the clone footprints as well.

Even realizing this, Jac did not suspect the seemingly innocuous Eglamork. He was more inclined to think it was a Separatist assassin, sent here to destroy the outpost and thus make way for a fleet to come and retake Aakaria.

"We'd better get back to base and report this," Jac said.

Aakaria, with the exception of its dark side, had extraordinarily bad radio reception. Thus the sentry posts served as relay points for the troops in the field, the mines and a post on the dark side which relayed its message to points beyond.

Before returning to base, Jac sent a warning message which would be relayed by radio operators to those in the field and at the mines. He also sent a message which would reach the dark side of the planet and then be further relayed to those in authority. The alarm had just gone off.

Someone, or something, was killing troops on Aakaria.

A few miles to the east, a squad of clones in the field got the message almost too late. They had stumbled across a few scattered remnants of a droid platoon and had fanned out to comb the area and make sure no droid escaped.

"Heads up, we got trouble," one clone told the trooper ahead of him.

"What kind?,"

"Don't know. I just got a message on the radio, just barely got through the static. Whatever it is, it's not droids. Some kind of animal attack,"

"You mean the Na'taves?," his companion asked, bewildered.

Before the clone could answer, there was a cry, first of surprise and then of pain, from up ahead. Blaster fire filled the air, cutting fiery swaths through the jungle. The rest of the squad closed around the stricken clone, only to find him flailing on the ground, helplessly clutching at his chest, then his helmet and then his blaster, which fired off a few more wild shots.

A second later, all hell broke loose. They came from above, hissing shrilly as they fell upon the clones below. The clones didn't know what had hit them. Their assailants landed on the back of their necks and shoulders, then swung around to impale them with deadly poison fangs.

The first clone to be stricken struggled to his feet, staggered a few paces, lost his balance, spun, and fell back to the ground, where he tried in vain to use his radio. They were out of range but, even if they hadn't been, he still would have been unable to call for help.

In a tree above, the Eglamork whom Bristler had kicked looked on, two thirds of her body hanging in midair, held up only by her tail gripping the branch and the occasional flap of her blood-red wings.

"We've gotten reports from all but one squad," the Sergeant told Jac when he returned to the outpost "Jac, what the hell is going on out there?,"

For once, Grampa Joe's drink was sitting untouched on his desk, though his right hand kept grasping it, then letting it go as though he were fighting the impulse to down another glass and hope this all blew over.

"I don't know," Jac replied honestly.

He'd been "shot" as the messenger before, but he didn't expect it from Grampa Joe. The Sergeant was far too wise to crush the one clone who didn't think he was a drunken fool. Drunk, yes, but no fool. Jac had respect for him, which was more than could be said about any of the others. No, the Sergeant wouldn't become angry with Jac.

"You're sure it's not the Na'taves?,"

"Sure as I can be," Jac told him "I've fought alongside those people, and I've never seen them do that kind of damage. They do favor their natural weapons over technology, but they haven't the bite for what I saw out there,"

"Sir!," a clone came dashing into the room, snapping to frightened attention before the Sergeant's desk "Sentry post 113 reports that they received a garbled message from the squad that failed to report in,"

"And?," the Sergeant's face took on a bored and slightly annoyed expression.

The youngster had been quick to report in, but had paused short of giving the Sergeant any sort of useful information. Sentry post 113 reported contact with the missing squad. Well hooray for them.

"The squad was attacked. But there were survivors. They reported that they were attacked, and then we lost contact,"

"Really?," the Sergeant drawled as the rookie fidgeted uneasily "by what?,"

"Well... um...," this kid lacked Jac's confidence that the Sergeant wouldn't shoot the messenger "Sir... it was... the snake-birds,"

"What!?," the Sergeant straightened in his seat, his eyebrows rising.

"You know, the little feathery...," the rookie trailed off, realizing the Sergeant was no longer listening.

"Jac, you said those googly-eyed monsters were harmless," the Sergeant said, turning on Jac.

"I said no such thing," Jac replied levelly "I said they showed no hostility,"

"You call this 'no hostility'?!,"

"No sir," Jac answered "I call it revenge,"

Grampa Joe leaned back in his chair, deflating suddenly. At last, he did pick up his glass and drank its contents as the truth of Jac's words hit home. The Sergeant had heard of this before. Peaceful natives incited to kill because of ruined homeland or murdered young.

The enemy who attacked in personal rage was easily the most dangerous and unpredictable.

"Call the Na'taves," the Sergeant said "tell them...," here he sighed wearily "we need their help,"

After the rookie had ducked out, he turned to Jac. His aging face seemed all the older. Jac had never considered what happened when a clone had seen too much of war. He'd never even fully realized there was such a thing. But there was no mistaking burned out look in the Sergeant's eyes.

"Jac, go and look for those kids, will you?,"

Jac chose to respond to the question as though it were an order, as was befitting of the situation.

"Yes sir,"