Ando

Chapter 35

"What's the latest on the town meeting?" Dart asked, giving a curt nod of greeting to Torch and Catcher as he entered the room they used as command office in the barracks. He tossed a small satchel on the table. "That's from Aen. She picked it up at the bakery this morning. Said she overheard talk. A lot of it. 'Bout the vatlings again." He slung himself down into a chair with a sigh, rubbing at sore hip muscles.

Catcher reached for the satchel, poking through it with interest. He selected a small pom flour tart and bit into it, chewing it with consideration before sliding the bag toward Torch. The Marine grabbed out a pastry without looking and devoured it in a few large bites. He licked his fingers and looked back at the bag with interest.

"There isn't going to be a town meeting," Catcher said. He tossed a tart to Torch and selected a second sweet for himself. "Those vatlings aren't going up for adoption. 'Not anytime soon, at least."

Torch headed over to the worn table in the corner which contained the caf pot. He filled up a durasteel mug and handed it over to Dart, before looking over at Catcher with concern. "You'll have a riot."

"Maybe so," Catcher said, swiping at the back of his mouth with one hand, and leaning back in his scavenged chair. The worn piece of furniture chair gave a disconcerting squawk as if it would come apart at any moment. Dart raised up an eyebrow and gave the chair a critical look as if eyeing a battle droid he was preparing to blast. Catcher ignored him. "Travis will have to deal with them. He's been good at tempering all civilian affairs lately." He drank the last of his caf out of a mug that was as battered, chipped and worn as the chair. "I still miss Army Caf sometimes." He stared at the bottom of his empty mug as if he could conjure up a different time when a clone's only job was blasting tinnies.

Torch swished the last bits of caf in the bottom of his cup. "Call me crazy, but I prefer this..." His voice trailed off and he set his down cup and rubbed at a scar under his hairline. He scowled, and then blew out a sigh. "Then again, maybe I wouldn't know. I'm never quite sure how much I've forgotten, or maybe if I'm remembering it right..."

"Nothing wrong with you," Catcher said, "no more than the rest of us."

Torch shrugged, but he stopped rubbing at his scar. His Captain's simple words seemed to ease his anxiety he might somehow be different. Torch pointed toward Catcher's mug. "Refill?"

Catcher shook his head. "Had too much caf already at home. I'll burn a hole in my gut." He finished his second pastry. "Thanks for this. I didn't get a chance to eat at home."

Torch's head perked up with interest. "I thought Ashla was always feeding you."

Catcher smiled slightly at Ashla's name, and then his face tightened. "Ashla's not there."

Dart leaned in. "Everything alright? Did you and Ashla-"

Catcher scowled fiercely at Dart's prying. "No. Fek. You're worse than Travis. Ashla's not home because she's discovered a new species of starfish beyond the Great Reef which holds great potential. But, it has been keeping her away for longer periods of time," Catcher's deep frown showed exactly what he thought of these absences.

"Potential?" Torch pushed for further details.

Catcher called up a slide on his datapad. "Remember how the first species she discovered helped accelerate healing in nerve regeneration? She believes this is a related sub-species, but it might help regenerate nerves specific to neuromas."

Dart leaned over and stared at the screen, working through the data and the unfamiliar term. "Wait... something that could help all our amputees?"

"If it works, yes," Catcher said.

"Why haven't we seen these before?" Torch asked, staring at the image of the scaly, unattractive marine invertebrate on the screen.

"The storms we've been experiencing have been kicking them up," Catcher said, "churning them up out of deeper waters. They're an extreme cold water dweller." He shook his head. "I don't like Ashla being out there with the storm season upon us."

"I don't blame you," Dart agreed. "These storms at sea can sweep up out of nowhere and-"

Catcher's fierce look immediately shut Dart up.

Torch wisely changed the topic. "The vatlings? Have Lance and Mako finished their analysis?"

Catcher scrolled through another several screens on his datapad, pulling up data and then pointed.

Torch made a low thoughtful noise in the back of his throat as he studied the screen.

"I don't get it," Dart said, frustrated. "What are we looking at?"

Torch reached for the pad. "May I?" He read through the data, completely intrigued. "Oh... that's... not good."

Dart leaned over his shoulder. "Fek... someone fill me in. What am I looking at?"

"Go ahead, Torch," Catcher said.

The Marine pointed to the data on the screen. "The younglings... they're aging. Very rapidly."

"Aren't we all?" Dart said, not impressed by the news. He rubbed again at his sore hip irritably, wondering what all the fuss was about.

"Not like this," Catcher said. "We're aging twice as fast as normal. They're aging twice as fast as us."

Dart stopped in mid-motion and frowned, doing the mental math. "They'll be dead by the time they're twenty?"

"If they even make it that long," Catcher said, "Their genes are so heavily tampered with that Lance and Mako don't give them odds of making it our of their teens."

"What did they do to them?" Dart demanded.

"Lance believes the Kazzies were ordered to grow an army which could mature fast enough to fight us."

The three command clones were silent for a long moment thinking about the fate of the little vode they'd decide to bring home with them.

"There is an exception, though, one that is different from all the others." Catcher tapped the datapad.

"This better be good news," Dart grumbled.

Catcher was silent.

# # #

"How's Gunner?" Shadow demanded, as he entered the vatling room, automatically walking over to the tank which held the tiniest vatling.

"Morning, Shadow," Mako murmured, not looking up where he was taking readings on the vatling tanks. He finished his readings and turned around to face Shadow. His fellow clone had showered and changed from morning training. The scent of homemade Lambala soap lingered to his frame. "No change in his condition."

Shadow went straight to the tank of the tiny vatling and stared down into it as if he could change the results by sheer force of will. "Are you sure?"

Mako sighed. He handed the spectrometer over to the gunner. "Check for yourself."

Shadow refused to take the medical diagnostic tool in Mako's proffered hand and stared down at it with a hard glare. Mako pulled his hand back, and replaced it on his belt.

Mako blew out a breath and continued his explanation. "He's not growing. His exact medical diagnosis is 'failure to thrive.' Without any weight gain…" his voice trailed off, as Shadow looked at him with devastated eyes.

Mako shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Shadow turned away facing the wall, refusing to look at Mako, struggling with the news. His body tensed with anger. Mako reached out a hand toward his bicep.

"Don't, Mako," Shadow hissed out, turning away, refusing any attempts at comfort.

Another long tense moment of silence passed. Shadow's pain at the news was so thick and palpable it filled the room.

"Alright," Shadow said, turning back, his voice so devoid and flat of emotion that it was far worse than his anger earlier. It was the displaced flat tone of someone who had lost too many vode and been broken by the emotion one too many times.

Fek it.

Mako had worked so hard trying to get through to Shadow after Darkknell, knowing his vode struggled with post-traumatic issues.

"I still need your help here," Mako said firmly, refusing to let Shadow disengage. He folded his hand into the crook of his arm and faced off against his brother. He indicated all the vatling tanks with a nod of his head. "I can't do this alone. And…" Mako's voice softened again, as his eyes trailed toward the tank of the tiniest vatling, "he still needs you, too."

It worked.

Shadow had a soft spot for Mako, just as he had a soft spot for Gunner. He blew out a long frustrated sigh and stared down into the tank. "He… How long…"

Mako sighed. "At this rate, another few weeks at most. The Kazzie scientists tampered with the genes to such an extent his body simply can't keep up."

The heavy gunner leaned in, pressing his face against the tank, closing his eyes in grief.

"Hold him," Mako said, gently, "he responds to you more than anyone else."

Shadow looked up, his eyes still etched in grief.

"Even if he doesn't have long left," Mako said gently. He reached into the tank and carefully scooped using one hand and the crook of his other arm. He pressed the child into Shadow's hands,"he should know the love of a father for his final days."

He retreated out of the vatling room, pretending not to see the shine of moisture in Shadow's eyes. He left the two alone together and let the door slide silently closed behind him.

But, as soon as he was through the door, Mako slid down against the wall outside the room, deflated and defeated. He scrubbed the knuckles of his one hand into his eyes, exhausted from another sleepless night. With his skull pressed up against the wall, he could just hear the low timbre of Shadow's voice as he softly sang in the other room.

Mako stared down at his feet, clad in the tough leather shoes given to him Olan, thinking of the old man. Gunner would never grow old. He wouldn't even live as long as an average clone. He'd been nothing more than a tool in this war.

This fekkin' war.

Even away from the war, they were still a part of it and affected by it. It would never end for them.

# # #

A/N: Hello All. OK, granted this was a long time between updates. I've been up to some very cool stuff in the Star Wars community. But, it has been keeping me away from writing. So, the adventure continues for our boys on Ando.