The day began, as days often seemed to do, with a problem. The vehicles had gotten stuffed full of sand in the desert portion of the planet, and the damp night in the rain forest had turned the sand to thick mud. The machines were rebelling against this unwonted abuse by malfunctioning.

"Great. Now not only do we not know where we're going, it'll take us a year just to get there. Wonderful," as usual, Jac took little notice of Bristler's unending grumbling.

He was busy looking at the complex innards of the vehicle, wishing he could remember more of his education in mechanics. It was a subject which had suited him ill, and it had been a long time since he'd been required to try and repair something. A squad was supposed to have a mechanic, right?. But not Lucky Squad. No, even when it was first formed, it hadn't had one of those. Just a medic and a sniper. Now they didn't even have a sniper.

"Tell me I'm not the only one looking at a jumble of wires," Red said quietly to Jac.

"Oh no, it's a jumble of wires alright. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing," Jac returned "but don't let that get around, okay?."

Clones aren't much for rubbernecking. Seeing as they could be of no immediate use, most of the clones either went back to sleep or checked the equipment they'd checked the night before, right before bedding down. All except Akida, who crouched uncomfortably close by. He watched Jac's every move with the intensity of a predator watching its prey.

Jac tried to ignore him. But he wished Akida would go away, find something else to do. Frankly, his fumbling attempts at repairing the machinery were embarrassing. He was a sergeant, he should know how to fix these things. Did know... somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Can I help?," Akida asked after Jac nearly electrocuted himself with an exposed wire.

"How?," Red wanted to know.

He'd been handing Jac tools and holding his breath every time it looked like Jac might blow himself up. Jac was good at a great many things, but this was clearly not one of those things.

"Well, first of all, that wire goes into this bit over here," he pointed "the problem is this is all clogged up with sand and junk. You need to clear it out before plugging anything into it."

"You want to do this?," Jac asked hopefully.

"Can I?," Akida seemed to almost tremble with barely contained eagerness.

"Have at it," Jac stepped back, and relinquished his tools.

Akida practically pounced on the motor. He didn't mess around either, setting at once to work like an old pro while Red and Jac looked on.

"They wouldn't let me touch this stuff in training," Akida said, mostly absorbed in his work "they said there were already too many mechanics in the field. And, well... I couldn't focus on anything but machines, given the option. So they didn't. Give me the option, that is."

"Their loss," Red commented mildly.

Too many mechanics. Was that supposed to be some kind of a joke?. What harm could their possibly be in allowing a clone to develop his talents as a mechanic in addition to being a soldier?.

"This is gonna take awhile," Akida went on "these babies are pretty gummed up."

He opened a valve and a rush of oily sand poured out and puddled on the ground.

"That's not good," Akida seemed to say this to himself, having forgotten Jac and Red.

They left him to it. Tag took over as assistant.

"That's weird," Red said "those machines were working fine last night. Not a cough or splutter among them. Now not one will so much as start."

"More than that," Jac agreed "there are exposed wires in there. No way that happened in one day and I checked the equipment before we left. I may not know how to fix it, but I do know good condition when I see it. There's something not right here."

"Think we've got company?," Red asked.

"I've been thinking that since we hit jungle," Jac replied "take someone with you and try to scout around. If you find a hostile, do your best to keep them from seeing you. Don't engage if you can avoid it,"

"How would they get by us?," Red wanted to know.

Jac said nothing. He knew it wouldn't be too difficult for someone who knew the habits of clone troops to slip past them in the dark.

"You know something I don't?," Red persisted.

"There's a hole with no bottom," Jac's reply was met by a shove from Red.

In truth, Jac was probably the only clone in the army who could get away with saying things like that to Red. And he was definitely the only one who wouldn't at least offend Red. Red had discovered some time ago the lengths Jac would go to in order to protect his men, the effort he would put in to not only teaching them everything he knew, but encouraging them to learn on their own and in their own ways. He knew Jac didn't mean anything by the comment, and that Jac had said it in a low enough voice that nobody else would hear.

"Whatever you do," Jac added "don't mess with the flying snakes."

Red took Bristler with him, a choice which Jac appreciated. Bristler was becoming more difficult to get along with by the minute, so maybe giving him something to do would help. It impressed Jac that Red put aside his own feelings in favor of making the operation run more smoothly. It was no secret that he and Bristler actively despised each other. Jac cast a glance at the only two clones with nothing to do.

Luey was busying himself with his equipment and trying not to look nervous. His first time out in the field had gone quite badly, and he'd never been quite comfortable after that. Of the squad, Luey also had the most experience with Jac and Red. He'd learned to recognize when they were trying to look nonchalant and when they were actually at ease. He knew, even without being told, that something was up.

Royd, on the other hand, was oblivious. Or pretending to be. Having slept the night before and checked his equipment once this morning, Royd had taken up doing something... rather strange. He was sitting on the fringes of the camp, tapping a stick against a large boulder. Jac couldn't figure out what Royd was doing. He wasn't practicing code, yet there was pattern to the action and resulting sound. Jac couldn't begin to guess at why someone would hit a stick against a rock. But before he could ask what Royd was doing, the sound of blaster fire cut through the air. Luey and Royd were at once on their feet, rifles raised and aimed towards the source of the sound.

"Bristler," Jac swore under his breath.

More blaster fire sounded, and Jac could faintly see flashes of red through the underbrush. He listened closely, and a chill rippled down his spine. Those were clone blasters alright, but there were more than two in play here. He tried to count, but couldn't. More than two though, that was for sure.

"Joe," he growled, which earned him odd looks from Luey and Royd.

Tag and Akida had looked up from their tinkering, wondering if they should keep working or join the others in forming a line of defense.

"Forget the walker. We've got bigger problems," Jac said.

He arranged his men close around the walker, knowing its bulk would provide protection from anyone coming up behind them. He'd chosen this spot particularly because of a number of large boulders around the campsite, which would now provide cover from the front.

"Hold your fire," Jac commanded "until I tell you otherwise."

He didn't know if his orders would be obeyed, especially by the two newest additions. After all, he'd just told them not to fight. That went against every instinct and every bit of training they had. Aside from which, if he was right, they were about to be faced with the one thing they despised more than droids.

Bristler erupted backwards out of the underbrush. It was probably only Jac's orders that prevented the tense clones from firing before they recognized their comrade. Bristler kept on backing until he could see the others in his peripheral vision.

"Get down, Bristler," Jac hissed "and check your rifle fire. There's nothing to shoot at."

"Says you," Bristler growled, but obeyed.

"You were supposed to avoid trouble, not bring it here."

"Like this is my fault?!," but Bristler's comment was drowned out by persistent blaster fire.

"Where's Red?," Jac demanded.

"How should I know?. First shot came outta nowhere. We got separated trying to take cover," Bristler replied angrily "I'm telling you: I didn't start this!."

Jac ignored him. He'd believe Bristler when Red confirmed his story. Jac had known Bristler for too long to take him at his word in this context. Bristler's penchant for causing trouble extended all the way back to when he and Jac had first met, here on Aakaria. And probably even farther than that, but that was pure speculation on Jac's part.

"Those weren't clankers shooting at us," Bristler persisted, adding in a lower voice "or Na'taves."

"I know," Jac replied coolly.

A shot came from the brush, bouncing off the rock near Jac's head. He ducked lower.

"Sniper?," Bristler guessed.

"He wishes," Jac said "if he were a sniper, he would've hit me."

"He would have hit you if he'd been trying," came a voice from the forest.

All clones have the same voice, but there is a unique quality and tone to each which makes him instantly identifiable from all others to those who know him. Jac knew that voice. So did Bristler.

"Joe," Bristler snarled, loud enough to be heard across the clearing "I thought you bought it last time we were here. I thought you'd died like a soldier, not slunk away like a coward."

Grampa Joe, Flame, didn't rise to the bait. Someone else did, because a shot pinged off the rocks near Bristler's position. There was some rustling in the brush. Jac suspected Grampa Joe was telling off whichever hot-head had fired the shot without permission.

"We're friends, Jac. You know that. Why hide from me?."

"The report I heard is that you shot at two of my men. I don't like it when people shoot at me and mine. You know that," Jac returned, voice only partially betraying the depth of his anger.

There was a moment of silence. Jac knew he'd made a mistake, but he wasn't yet sure what it had been.

"I also know Bristler. If we'd shown ourselves, you know he'd have started shooting," Joe said reasonably "be glad he's still alive."

"Why you-," Bristler started, but Jac put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Bristler settled down, but was fuming. Jac didn't care. Bristler was almost always fuming. Besides, what Grampa Joe said was uncomfortably true. Bristler shot first and questioned later. Jac wondered if he'd ever accidentally shot guys on his own side. Jac had heard of that happening with other clones of Bristler's caliber.

"I want to talk to you, Jac. And I'm sure you want to hear what I have to say. I remember you love to know. Get all the information you can, and then act. I'm offering information, Jac."

"Sarge...," Bristler growled uneasily.

"Stow it," Jac replied shortly "you stay here, stay down. And do not shoot. Not unless I tell you to. Understood?."

Bristler just growled inarticulately. But that was enough for Jac. Bristler hated nothing so much as holding his fire. But he would do as ordered, Jac could hear it in his voice.

Jac stood up, holding his rifle still, but keeping the muzzle aimed at the ground.

"So talk," Jac said in a neutral voice, stepping forward from the shelter of the boulders "explain to me why you deserted us when the rogues attacked. Tell me why you've wrecked our transport, shot at us. And tell me why you fear to let me see you. Explain these things. I am ready to listen."

"I do not fear you," Grampa Joe's voice was gruff.

He appeared from behind a tree trunk. Instinctively, Jac turned a staying hand towards his men. This was a deserter, something they hated more than anything. Unlike the droids, which were alien to them, deserters represented a part of themselves which they refused to admit existed. A small piece of them that wondered what the point of all this fighting was, and if there wasn't something better out there. People hate reflections of themselves more than anything in the world.

"It's your trigger happy pups I'm concerned with."

"They do their jobs," Jac replied dryly.

"Then there's the part you didn't say. You don't trust my people anymore than I trust yours. If you did, you wouldn't bother holding to that rifle. Not that it'll do you any good, you cannot hit what you cannot see."

"I hold the rifle because that's my job. A soldier doesn't give up his rifle for just anybody."

"You mean he doesn't give it to the enemy. Stop choosing your words, Jac. I can see right through you."

"You know how I hate politics. I'm saying just what I mean to."

"It doesn't have to be this way, Jac," Joe said smoothly "you and I, we don't have to be enemies. You don't understand the Republic's war anymore than I do. You can't, because it doesn't make sense."

"I'll not argue that," Jac replied, voice cold and hard.

"You know I'm right, Jac. Brothers fighting and dying right and left, you know this doesn't make any kind of sense. Our kind is being used, slaughtered, for the personal gain of a corrupt regime which is long past its expiration date."

Again Jac made no argument, this time by remaining silent but slightly inclining his head, encouraging Joe to go on. When he'd met Grampa Joe, the sergeant had been drunk out of his mind most of the time. Never had he been so eloquent in speech. Yet, thus far, he had not told Jac anything he didn't already know. Nothing he had not already thought about. He had to know that. Flame was no fool.

"So why fight for them-," Flame asked, his words flowing like honey in spite of his granite-like voice.

Jac didn't bat an eye. But he had in no way expected the words which came next.

"-when you can fight against them?."

Flame's eyes glittered as he spoke, and Jac took an involuntary step backwards. It wasn't so much horror as revulsion that made him do so. It wasn't right, but what repelled him the most was knowing that he'd thought of it before. He was capable of thinking that way. And that disgusted him. He didn't let his expression change, but Flame must have seen something in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought of it. You, who think everything through so carefully, considering all possibilities down to the last detail. Don't tell me you haven't even considered-"

"Enough," Jac's voice was level and hard "I've heard enough."

"So you do understand?."

"I understand only that you argue that our brothers are fighting and dying without reason in one breath, and saying we should kill themselves with our own hands in the next," Jac spat, unable to fully contain his sudden, toxic contempt.

"I'm giving you the chance to make a real difference, to-" Jac cut him off again.

"I respect you. You have the brains and the gall to accomplish things other clones can only ever dream of. You've saved my life more than once, and you don't even know it. I heard your stories, and learned from them. The things I learned from you have saved my life, as well as others."

"So why not join me now?."

"Because I know that this is wrong. But what you suggest is far more wrong."

"I'm willing to give all brothers the same chance I now offer you," Flame protested.

"And they will spit in your face and try to kill you, because that is all they know. It is who and what they are. You know as well as I that clones were meant to serve the Republic."

"The Republic," Flame spat the word like rotten food "who sends us all to die. Why be loyal to such a beast as would build people just to destroy them?. Not droids. People."

"The Republic is flawed, yes. Perhaps fatally. But there are those within it who I have faith in. I believe in the future. Their future. It is they who matter. Not the Republic. Not the Separatists. Not the senate and certainly not the clone army."

"If we do not matter, then who does?. The Jedi?. They're as bad as all the rest."

"Why do you view them as a whole, brother?. We are clones, genetically identical. Yet clearly I am not like you, or Bristler or anyone else. If this is so, then how could the Jedi possibly be viewed as a single entity?. They are not clones. They come from different worlds, from different cultures. Why would they have a council if they were all of a single mind?."

"Then you will not stand with me?."

"I cannot."

"Then you must die."

Jac sensed more than heard the clones in the surrounding forest move in response to their leader's words. He didn't look away from the black-clad figure, the sergeant whom he had once served under. The man he'd known was a raging drunk; this one was just raging.

But there was the closer sound of a weapon being hastily drawn and leveled.

"You'll be dead before he hits the ground."

Jac didn't know where Red had come from. He hadn't even seen the other clone arrive. But there he stood, directly behind Flame, the muzzle of his gun resting its end against the back of Flame's head.

"My men will fill you so full of holes you'd make a good strainer," Flame countered.

"But you will be dead. And that's all I care about."

"Bastard," Flame grunted, but there was a look in his eyes approaching delight.

He had always liked good soldiers even in spite of himself.

"We didn't come here for you," Jac said evenly "we're not interested in deserters. We don't care how you live, or what you do. So long as it does not interfere with what we came to accomplish. Get out of our way, and we'll gladly stay out of yours. We are not your enemy, any more than you are ours. Not unless you make it so."

A look of uncertainty crossed Flame's face.

"We came here looking for a Separatist facility. They're manufacturing a poison. It's killing our brothers by the hundreds. You have no love for the Republic, but do you really want to play a part in murdering thousands of your own kind?. I don't believe that."

Jac could see the look in Flame's eyes changing. Though he had moments before been talking about fighting against the Republic and, in turn, the clones, he was disgusted by the idea of poisoning them. A fair shootout was one thing, though Jac suspected Flame had overestimated how convincing his argument was and believed clones would turn deserter rather than fight, but this was quite a different matter. Flame had always been harsh, but never cruel.

As Jac explained the traits of the toxin, he saw Flame's face turn slightly gray, then red, going from disgust to unbridled fury. He had no love for the Republic, but he despised the Separatists. Perhaps that was programming, just like loyalty to the Republic was supposed to be. But Jac didn't believe that. The Republic was no symbol of holiness, but there were levels to which even it would not stoop.

Throughout, Red had stood unmoving, his threat remaining in effect. He didn't put much faith in talk, and didn't really believe Jac could win Flame over. But he'd never met Grampa Joe. Jac had.

"I can't promise we'll leave after we're done. But I can promise that none of my men will mention seeing you, or any of yours."

"How can you promise such things?," Flame growled "you know regulations. They will report any deserters to the first figurehead they can find."

"Not my men," Jac snarled back "they will keep their silence because that is what I will tell them to do. And because they're smart enough to know it's right that they hold their tongues."

"Right?. What do they know of right?. What do you, for that matter?."

"Probably very little. But I can only go on the information I have. I'm a soldier, not a Jedi. I can't sense things. I can only act on what I know. And, right now, I know men are dying, and I can do something to put a stop to it, at least in its present form."

Flame was silent for a long, dangerous moment. Then a smile spread across his face. He shook his head and laughed deeply.

"Ah, Jac. You haven't changed at all."

"Not true," Jac returned "I'm a sergeant now."

"So you are. So you are," Flame nodded "still, I'll help you find your clanker base. That's as far as I'm willing to go. And I want you to do something for me."

"Oh?."

"Let me speak with your men. Some may see things differently than you do."

"They all have the same choice I do, that all clones do. You can't tell them anything they don't already know. However... you may try, if you want to waste your breath."

"You know me, Jac. I'm a blowhard. I waste my breath for a living. Oh, one other thing: will you get your damn corporal to take his gun off the back of my head?. He's giving me a migraine."

Jac nodded and Red withdrew his weapon, thinly veiled fury in his eyes.

"We've noticed some clankers around the dark side of the planet. Nitro's my best scout. He says they mostly hang around entrances to what look like caves. Almost like they're guarding the door to their nest," Flame paused as a dark look crossed Jac's face "you were one of Rtj-lyr's bunch, weren't you?."

"Yeah," Jac nodded, almost choking on the single word.

"Bad business that. I guess you must not like the dark much. Need someone to hold your hand?."

"No," Jac shook his head "you get us there, we'll do the rest. A little blackness never hurt anybody."

He noticed that Red was looking at him strangely. Red probably hadn't heard the full story on Rtj-lyr. But he did know about Jac's time in the Madhouse. Darkness, closed in spaces... Jac shook off the beginnings of a shudder.

He hated his fear. He knew that places couldn't do anything to you. Walls and floor, light and dark, none of it was alive, none of it meant or did anything. Only things you should worry about are the creatures that might be in the dark. He remembered the giant arachnids of Aakaria's caves. But he wasn't afraid of those, though he felt that he ought to be.