Effects of Numa

CT-4093 leaned, just for the moment, on the edge of the broken stone wall and looked around. Mostly he saw destruction and desolation, ruins of houses the same red and orange shade of the ground. Here and there he saw the dusky grey-green of weeds growing in crevices of broken rock and shattered walls. He shook his head in melancholy sadness and heard a small rattle.

That kriffing pebble was still in his helmet. He cussed and looked around. There was only a Twi'lek nearby, a young female, scrounging around one of the buildings. She wasn't obviously armed. Ninety-three decided it might be ok to remove his bucket and find that pebble that had been intermittently bothering him for seven klicks. He had learned to seal his boots, as well as the armor of his legs and arms, against the tiny pebbles and sand of Ryloth; but how could one expect a pebble in the helmet?

He pulled off the helmet and shook it over the ground. Nothing came out. He cursed and hit the side of it with his hand.

"Is everything ok?"

By the time ninety three had catalogued it as a woman's voice and non-hostile and probably the woman who'd been scrounging near the buildings and how the kriff had she snuck up on him anyway; he had jumped up, pulled his blaster and had his finger on the trigger.

Non-hostile was always an iffy call.

She glanced down at the blaster and took a small, very small, step back. "I'm sorry I startled you." She looked into his eyes then smiled softly. "You took off your helmet and I wanted to see your face."

He glared at her then shoved the blaster into its holster. "Yeah, right," he muttered as gave the helmet another hit to loosen the pebble. "Same as anyone else." He meant clone and she knew it.

"Really." Her eyes inspected his face, lingering on the lines of his eyes, noting the scar that ran crookedly down his nose. It was his only distinguishing face mark though he had a few more scars on his body.

She was almost as tall as him, but slender. He wondered if she needed food, she was probably scavenging for something edible among the weeds or something she could trade in the market for food. He reached for a ration stick.

He jerked his head up, suddenly realizing he was talking to a civilian, to a woman, and it wasn't him commanding her or him demanding information. It was… different. He narrowed his eyes and observed her, the way she was standing, the positioning of her arms.

She wasn't afraid of him.

He looked down at the ground. Not yet, anyway. Not until the squad caught up with him and she'd be alone with him and five of his brothers. Women always got scared then; eighty two encouraged it by yelling at them or growling like a wookie then laughing. Seventeen tried to be nice, offering them a ration stick and talking softly. Forty-seven leered at them; forty seven had once been in interrogation until someone realized he enjoyed his work too much.

"I saw one of you last week, but you look older than him." She nodded, as if in confirmation to herself. "Much the same but older."

Ninety-three laughed with no humor. "Exactly the same. There isn't a molecule's worth of difference between him and me except time and scars."

"But he's dead and you're alive." She looked around and found a place to sit on the wall. Unnervingly, she patted the space beside her and tilted her head expectantly. He took a step closer. Surely she didn't mean for him to sit next to her?

"And I found out I had a question I wanted to ask." She glanced down at the stone then at him with a questioning look. "I did something illegal. I buried him. I know we're supposed to report things like that, but it was later in the day and I'd seen gutkurr tracks" She frowned. "I didn't want him to be scavenged. I dug a shallow hole by a hill and there were two stones that I pushed over on top of his grave."

Ninety-three thought a moment. He sat down, not close enough to alarm her but close enough to touch. If she wanted to; as if touching the plasteel plates of his armor meant anything. Maybe it was a dare between her and some friends. He glanced around but there was no one else in sight.

"I'm glad you buried him." Ninety-three genuinely was glad he'd been buried. There was something unsettling about recovering remains torn by predators, half-eaten, half-digested, and torn apart. "Can you remember where? We need to identify and confirm him dead."

"If you'll answer my question." She had a nice voice; it was soft and low with harmonious undertones and a cadence he found relaxing.

He shook his head. "I can't tell you…"

She smiled. She really was very pretty. Her eyes were a velvet brown, almost the color of his only slightly darker. "There is so much you can't tell me and that's alright. I am not interested in things like field maneuvers or passcodes. Simply, do you have a name?

"Ninety-three," he replied automatically.

"I'm Nerri," she responded and held out her hand; almost in a brother's clasp. Ninety-three stared at it for a moment then at her, before tentatively reaching out his hand. For an instant, he wished he wasn't wearing his gauntlets and wondered if her slender green fingers would feel warm or cool to his touch.

"That's a Twi'lek word for sister. Isn't it?" He hadn't been flash-trained in the language, but a stormtrooper picked up a little language where ever he was.

"And ninety-three is a number." She shrugged. "Names are such odd things. If they had asked me what I would prefer to be call, it wouldn't have been Nerri." She looked at him and wrinkled her nose in humor. "It's so… prosaic. So average. Half the girls on Ryloth are named Nerri. Who would I be if I weren't Nerri? Would my name be Serina do you think? Or Ahsari perhaps? Lyrical and sweet yet with some strength; that's the name I would want."

She saw him relax a tiny bit; it seemed his eyes smiled. His lips were relaxed and the corners turned up into an almost-smile. She smiled back. "And if you weren't ninety-three, what would your name be?"

His weathered face became hard then and he glanced down at his helmet, contemplated slamming it onto his head and leaving.

"I'm ninety-three. It's not a name. It's my designation; CT-18-4093. Clone Trooper; eighteenth batch, fourth crèche, ninety-third embryo. It is who I am."

"Oh." There was pity in her eyes and ninety-three both recognized and hated it. He slammed on his helmet and turned his back to her. He could see the dust trail of his squad coming up the hill. He turned again, speaking to her. "You'd better leave…"

But she was already gone. It was only later that he realized even seventeen wasn't that quiet.

Ninety-three looked for her occasionally, a little in the villages around Nabat, but mostly when his squad went on patrol. He'd move on ahead or linger behind. Once they'd passed by the ruins where he'd seen her. The squad decided it was a good place for a rest. Ninety-three was worried she'd be there, but she wasn't and for that, he was glad.

Then they got orders. The squad was being transferred halfway around Ryloth; from Nabat to the capital of Lessu. Ninety three didn't look for her anymore though he couldn't help inspecting Twi'lek faces when he and the squad were on patrol. Today, his last in Nabat, was no different. Tomorrow he'd be on a transport and the day after he'd be doing patrol in Lessu.

It was a market day that happened to coincide with a festival day. The streets were more crowded than usual with Twi'leks and a smattering of other races; the market more packed with goods and entertainers. The mood of the people was jovial. Some few even laughingly called greetings to the stormtroopers.

Bringing up the rear, ninety-three was having a hard time keeping visual track of the rest of the squad in the crush of bodies. He switched to HUD locator map occasionally, not really caring if he bumped into people. They usually made room for the armed troopers.

Suddenly she was at his side. Beneath his helmet, ninety-three smiled for no reason that he was aware of except she was at his side. Still, he kept watch, his eyes and monitors scanning the marketplace.

"Hello ninety-three."

"How do you know I'm ninety-three?"

"You have that gouge in the plate of your blaster." She pointed to a long scratch he would have repaired when it had happened, except they were short of the special blacking paint. It didn't peel from the blaster heat, it heat-tempered to the barrel. The shipment hadn't been kept properly cooled and had cooked solid in the heat of Ryloth.

He thought for a moment. "You're observant, Nerri." His emotions deadened. That meant she was probably a rebel. That meant this marketplace encounter could be a trap. He went closed channel to his squad. "Possible rebel activity noted."

Seventeen snorted back and eighty-two laughed. There was always possible rebel activity in the market. Still, they'd prepare for the possibility of an attack; they'd be ready.

"I've often been told that observation is a vital skill of survival." Her voice was as soft as her skin looked. "Especially in war."

He decided the harmonious tones were almost a purr of pleasure. Slowly, ninety-three's smile faded. "Oh."

He really didn't want to be with her now, not if she were a rebel. Not if he'd have to kill her.

"You're on duty. I don't suppose you could take off your helmet now," she sighed.

"No." His voice was brusque as he only now remembered how her eyes had seen his face before. He'd gone back to the barracks and looked at his weathered and scarred face in a mirror; wondering why she had seemed to take such pleasure in inspecting his face.

She continued speaking, adroitly staying at his side in spite of the crowds. "I'm leaving Nabat and I was looking for you to say 'good-bye'."

"Good-bye." Ninety-three felt relief. She'd be going and whether she was a rebel or not, he wouldn't be the one to kill her.

Instead, she laughed. "Not like that," she smiled and reached out to touch him, but let her hand drop short of his armor. "I had a nicer good-bye planned."

Ninety-three stopped short, jerked motionless by the suddenness of his thought. She continued walked a few steps before realizing he had halted, frozen in his steps.

She'd been looking for him? She had planned? She had planned something nice? She had wanted to say 'good-bye' to him?

She turned around and tilted her head. "Does that surprise you?"

He looked around, scanning the crowd. He couldn't see his squad anywhere, though his helmet had their positions overlaid on the map he had called up. "It shocks me. I'm just a clone and…"

Nerri shook her head. "You are not 'just a clone', ninety-three."

He had practiced his response in his mind, in case he met up with her again.

"I had a name once." He took the step to her side. "Dex."

Nerri smiled brightly and ninety-three – no, Dex - smiled in his helmet. It was a risk, if the sergeant ran his helmet vids, he would receive a reprimand for claiming a name.

"That's a wonderful name. Much better than Nerri."

He laughed. "I happen to like Nerri."

"What does Dex mean? All names mean something, don't they?"

He nodded. "It's for dexterity. I was originally in EOD." He slung the blaster rifle back onto his shoulder and held out his wiggling fingers for her observation. "All ten original equipment. I was very good." He paused and brought the rifle back into ready. "You wouldn't happen to be going to Lessu?"

Nerri look up into his face, into his helmet. He knew it was disconcerting to look into the black slits and white anonymity but she simply smiled as though she were looking at his face. "No."

He sighed heavily. "I was hoping I might see you there." He hadn't said he was being reassigned but it was there if she wanted to notice." She shook her head and Dex thought it was a sad motion.

"I understand there is fighting in the capital. You will be careful, won't you, Dex?"

Why would she care? But it ran through his head that she might. Maybe she'd known another clone trooper before. He'd heard rumors; he'd even seen one of his brothers laughing with a civilian woman after the battle of Coruscant. That had been Flick; before the Empire took away their names. Flick had died on Kashyyyk soon afterwards, some six or seven years past.

"As careful as keeping my fingers." He assured her.

"I still have my question. From our previous conversation." She lightly put her arm to touch him. Although it was on his armor, Dex thought he could feel her warm fingers through the plasteel.

"I'd like to know where the dead trooper is buried, Nerri," he said, remembering the bargain they had started to make then.

"He's at the eastern-most foot of Rylkurra Hill. I mentioned the two stones I pushed over, Dex; they should be easy to find."

Dex nodded; a smile on his face she couldn't see. He hadn't thought of himself as 'Dex' in a long time. For some reason it felt good, much better than ninety-three. He couldn't imagine why the Empire had forbidden names; it gave a man pride to have a name.

"I didn't mention that I came back the next day and painted a bendu on one of the stones."

He sighed. "You are a rebel."

"Rebel tendencies, Dex," she admitted. "But I have never fired a blaster at a trooper or," Her fingers lightly brushed his. "Or set any explosives or any traps. I don't know any rebel affiliates on Ryloth." She stopped in the street. "I have never injured a trooper." She looked at him through his helmet again. "You can see that, can't you? You can scan my body and see that my blood rate hasn't gone up or my voice gone quivery. You can see that I'm not lying. Can't you?"

Dex nodded. "Yes, Nerri. I can see that. Your readings are a little off from normal, but you're not lying."

She turned quickly, but not before he saw the jade blush of her cheeks. He frowned. What's that about?

"I just want to know if you've ever been kissed." Her voice was soft and hesitant.

Dex was struck dumb. He looked down the road where the squad was nowhere to be seen among the crowded bodies enjoying the open market and festivities. He flicked the locators on his HUD. Everything was fine, everyone in place. He frowned. Why the kriff would a civilian want to know that? His cheeks burned under his helmet.

"Once." He mumbled. "By a port woman. She found out quick enough that I didn't have any money."

Nerri was walking beside him, her head down, as though in mourning.

"Dex, will you take your helmet off for me?" Her voice was soft.

Saying nothing, Dex moved to an alleyway, his hand lightly clasped around her wrist. She could pull away if she wanted…

Agilely, she followed. She slowed just enough that his fingers slipped from her wrist into her hand. Her fingers curled around his. Once in the alley, he glanced both ways then scanned through his helmet. Besides her, there was no one around except people in the main market area. He pulled off his helmet, his face tense and his eyes searching her face.

She touched the palm of her hand to the rough skin of his cheek. He closed his eyes in trust. One finger brushed against the scar across his nose, then both hands came up and stroked under his eyes, toward his temples. Kriff, it felt good. He groaned deep in his throat. She guided his face down with her hand. He shivered, knowing, anticipating; fearing what was to come. He opened his eyes, just a small bit. He wanted to see her.

It was a kiss; soft and sweet. Her lips pressed against his, moist and warm; her breath was flavored with spice tea. Her eyes were mostly closed and his own eyes drifted shut as he swore he'd never forget this gift. She finished the kiss, pressing her face against his. Her skin was softer than anything he'd ever felt. His hands came to her shoulders; his fingers touched her skin, stroking her neck back to her lekku. His thumbs cradled her jaw as his fingers supported the back of her head. There was a tear sliding down the hollow beside her nose and he touched it with his thumb. She bent her head against his chest and Dex wished he wasn't wearing his chest plate. He wondered how it would feel to hold her against his skin; to feel the movement of her breath, the warmth of her skin.

"For me," she whispered, though there was no need. "You are Dex. I will always remember you, Dex." She moved then took a step down the alleyway, then turned back and once again kissed him, her arms around his neck. He kissed her back as though he'd never kiss again; memorizing her, the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin.

Something had changed and he would never be the same.

I am having major problems with my computer and it has taken me four days to upload this. Fortunately, we're at the end. I will write a final epilogue but it probably won't show up until next month (September 2011) at the earliest. This is likely to occur with 'Scars' and 'What Happened after Rishi' as well.

As always read and enjoy. Reviews are welcome.