A/N: Revised 1/23: Thanks so much to llagoa to catching a typo toward the end, and also for pointing out Dugs are shorter than clones and not taller. Great catch! Thank you again!
"More Than Just a Clone"
Chapter 53
The helmet on the injured Mandalorian slipped off as he struggled to breathe and he wheezed out: "K Squad. Check!"
The three members of K Squad froze and stared over at the Mandalorian. Dalso and Jarg had the second Mando pinned. Jarg was prepared to snap the Mando's neck, but froze in mid-motion.
"Commander?" the three astonished clones gasped together, recognizing Slate.
"Yes," Stone gritted out through clenched teeth, still struggling to get air.
"You're supposed to be dead," Jarg stated the obvious.
"I'm going to be unless you let go," Slate gasped. Jarg immediately released him and Slate gasped in several gulps of air. "Let him go," Slate ordered, gesturing to where Dalso still had Bly pinned with a knee to his chest. The Dug guards were almost upon them. Bly rolled to his feet.
"Now, Slate!" Bly was already rushing toward the enormous guards advancing upon them.
Slate staggered to his feet, his movements somewhat stiff from the recent attack. But, he followed after Bly. K-Squad stared after them uncertainly.
"Halt!" said the larger of the two guards, pointing the electro staff directly at him, preparing to deliver a vicious jab.
Bly dove underneath the staff and tagged the guards' legs with a beeping electronic marker. Slate did the same with the other guard, although the movement was even more difficult for him with his injured ankle. He managed it, somewhat awkwardly, and barely escaped getting hit with the electrified staff. The Dugs looked at them in confusion until arcing blue rays of electricity went through them, arcing out from the marker on their legs.
"Nicely done," Dalso said, impressed, looking at the unconscious guards.
"A little something we found in the mining office," Bly admitted, pulling the marker off each of the Dugs and pocketing it. "Used them once before on a mission to T'psot 9."
The cave gave another ominous rumble, dust coming down off the ceiling and settling all around them.
"Clear out," Slate said, his voice crisp with authority.
"No," Dalso said, "we're missing a man."
Cort and Jarg stood behind him, united as a squad.
"They have Esok," Dalso said. "He's down in the lowest level."
Bly projected a holomap off his gauntlet. "Show me."
"Here. Four levels down," Dalso said, pointing into the map, "but the guards will be waiting to ambush us."
Bly cocked his head to the side studying the map. "What are these?" he pointed into the glowing holo.
"Access tubes. Used to haul supplies from the lower levels back to the surface."
Cort chimed in. "We've never be able to get close enough to check them out."
Bly glanced over at the unconscious Dugs. "I believe now would be the time."
They hurried by the mine workers who were now milling about restlessly, unsure what to do without the guards harassing them endlessly and driving them to work.
"What do we do now?" an old grizzled man, braver than the rest, stepped forward and confronted Dalso.
"You want to live?" Dalso said. "Get to the surface."
"And, stay away from these mines," Bly growled. "Permanently."
"We haven't been paid-" complained a worker behind him, so covered in mine dust he was barely discernible from his surroundings.
The old man cut him off as the walls shook again. There were nervous cries from the workers. He waited until the cries and the rumbling stopped before speaking. "Stay here. Keep working if you want." He pointed to the fallen guards. "Wait to get paid. Or follow me back to the surface. But, you can't spend creds if you're dead."
A few of the workers looked unsure and reluctant, but then the mine gave another grumble and the walls shook again. The entire group scurried away, following the old miner out of the dying mine.
# # #
Slate's ankle was throbbing. They'd walked well away from the worksite and were now in a dimly lit, unoccupied section of the mine trying to locate the access tubes. He was relieved the commandos were alive but hadn't factored in being attacked by commandos. Again. He was still only half-recovered from the attack by the Nulls. His body protested the additional abuse with every step. He gritted his teeth and pushed along, determined to finish the mission. He couldn't shake the feeling he wasn't going to live through this one, but, if he could get the others out alive, he would redeem himself for getting them trapped here in the first place. Maybe he wasn't meant to be alive anymore anyway. Gamma was gone, and he was supposed to have been ejected into space. He didn't belong in this post Order 66 universe. He'd known what he stood for and where he belonged before the Chancellor-turned-Emperor had uttered that fateful order. He had no idea who he was or what he stood for anymore. Being part of the Republic, had given him definition and purpose. But, now he was cut adrift.
"You're injured," Cort said, startling him out of his thoughts. He studied him with a critical eye.
Slate didn't want to be the weak link on the team. "I'm fine."
"We heard you were shot by Mandos and spaced," Cort shot an uncertain look toward Bly, as if not sure what to make of the 327th Commander.
"They got as far as shoving me in the airlock," Slate scowled at the memory.
"What'd you do?"
"Not much. I was full of blaster holes."
Cort's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
"General Aayla intervened on my behalf. They ended up ejecting my armor into the vaccuum instead and keeping me."
"As a prisoner?" Cort asked supiciously.
"That's what I thought at first, too," Slate admitted, "but, the Mandos you saw on the station are all vode."
Cort inhaled in shock. "They killed an entire squad!" His piercing glare shot through Slate. "Your former squad. They were our brothers."
Hearing the words from someone else who knew Gamma brought the pain home fresh and new. "I know," Slate admitted quietly, having no defense or explanation for what happened. He was glad Cort hadn't pressed him for any more details about the vode involved in killing Gamma. Talking about it still made him queasy inside.
They didn't say anything for several long minutes as they walked along in the darkened tunnels. It was Cort who spoke up first. His voice was eerily quiet. "That's how it's going to be from now on, isn't it? Brothers killing brothers?"
The certaintity in his tone sent hackles down Slate's back and he wanted to deny the whole thing and say it would never happen again. But, Order 66 had changed everything and suddenly made clone troopers into Imperial soldiers. The light of the Republic became the dark of the Empire overnight.
It would happen again.
"I'm sorry," Cort said, and Slate wasn't even sure what his brother was apologizing for, but with those two words his vod offered him assistance. He slid Slate's arm over his shoulders so he could help take some of the weight off his injured ankle.
Slate wanted to protest. He didn't want to look weak. But, it was such a relief to take some of the weight off the injured joint. He sighed in relief and accepted the offer of help. "Thanks."
"Thanks for coming for us," Cort said.
"We haven't gotten you out yet," Slate said, with a slight humorless snort of laughter.
"It doesn't matter," Cort said, "at least we know we weren't forgotten. You're a good vode, Slate."
A burst of warmth went through Slate's chest.
Slate realized then that as a clone it was all you had. Clones didn't have piles of creds. Or fancy speeders. Or hi-rise properties on Coruscant. All they had were the bonds they created between one another. It was what a clone lived and died for in the end. Leaning on Cort, he felt valued and relevant and whole once again.
Dalso called a halt to their group. "This is the hatch for the access tubes," the squad leader said. "Let's just hope they are not ray shielded to prevent unauthorized access between levels. Hopefully, the Dug are not that paranoid."
"And, if they are?" Slate asked.
"We'll all be dead so you can't get mad at me," Dalso pointed out.
"Most reassuring," Bly said dryly. He studied the controls for the hatch. "I could probably figure out how to hotwire this thing…"
Dalso signaled to Cort.
"Excuse me, sir," Cort said, slipping out from under Slate's arm. He moved forward to examine the panel. "I can probably figure it out much faster."
Bly glared at him.
"Let me at it, sir. I can do this," Cort said confidentially.
Bly stepped back.
Cort turned back to Slate and Bly. "Do either of you have a datapad?"
Bly produced the battered compact pad which had survived Felucia, along with other portions of his original kit. Not much of his original ARC armor was salvageable, but his belt, weapons, boots, gloves and the electronics in the helmet were all still good.
Cort nodded his thanks, and moved forward to the panel. He slipped an extension wire from the pad into the panel and worked in intense silence, his face cast aglow from the light of the panel. After a short pause, the panel bleeped in compliance and the tunnel was temporarily flooded with light as the access tube opened in front of them. Cort peered inside.
"Good work," Bly said.
"Eh," Cort peered down. "how do we slow down?"
It was a straight vertical drop.
"We need to get to the lowest level," Bly said, he ran his scanner over the tube. "Our ascenion cables will get us most of the way down."
"And, the rest of the way?" Jarg asked.
Cort shrugged. "Not much different from descent exercises on Kamino."
"Except we had our kit on for those," Jarg said, smacking at his miner's uniform, "helped in case we fell when the the descent part of it didn't go as planned."
"Just added weight, Jarg," Dalso said. "You don't need the armor."
"I'll go first," Bly said, carefully climbing over the ledge of the tube, and holding out his blaster preparing to fire the ascenion cable as an anchor. He looked over at Slate. "Are you up for this?"
"Stop asking. Considering you were one of the ones who shot me," Slate gritted out in annoyance. The others gave Bly a startled look.
The 327th commander gave out a snort of laughter. "You're not letting that go." He dropped over the edge. "Alright." He fired his cable, and they watched him slide down the tube. "Alright, I'm at the bottom," Bly commed back to Slate, "it's a long jump. Make sure you cushion the blow with your knees. Watch that ankle of yours."
Slate shook his head in exasperation. But, part of him was touched that Bly was making such an effort to watch out for him, because it was exactly the way the brothers of Gamma used to watch out for each other. And, his ankle was throbbing something fierce. He'd be lucky if he didn't tear the ligaments open with the drop. But, he wasn't going to be left behind. He'd started the mission and needed to see it through. "Go on," he said, allowing the commandos to preceed him into the tube. He guarded their backs as they went in, making sure no guards came into the tunnel. But, he was also stalling, not looking forward to the drop. "Alright, Slate, your turn," Bly said into comms. Slate checked the tunnels one last time to make sure they were clear and climbed over the lip of the tube. He quickly descended arm over arm down the cable. All too soon, he reached the end of the cable. He took a deep breath and let go. He expected a hard painful landing. Instead, he fell into the arms of a brother, and they crashed to the floor together.
"Ow," Bly groaned. The others helped tug them to their feet. "Fek. You're heavier than you look."
"You caught me," Slate said in surprise.
"Still figured I owed you," Bly said over privately over internal comms.
"For what?"
"Saving Aayla," Bly said. "I was too much of an di'kut to see it at first, but she's alive and unharmed because of you. She means everything to me."
Slate swallowed hard. He knew Aayla could never be his, not when another man loved her so fiercely. He reached out and grasped Bly firmly on the arm in the way of Mando'a vode. The other three clones, not able to hear their conversation over internal comms, simply watched them.
"Let's move out," Bly said. "We still have three levels to go."
# # #
The lowest levels of the mines were brightly lit and filled with heavy machinery, guards and workers. It was organized chaos.
"How are we going to find Esok?"
A heavy rock grinder pushed forward into the walls and the entire cave shook. Pebble sized pieces of rock and dust pelted down everywhere and the cave ceiling gave a straining groan of protest as if it couldn't take much more.
"These di'kuts are digging themselves into a grave," Bly grumbled.
"Look at the size of that vein," Dalso pointed out.
They all leaned forward around a parked and unused piece of mining equipment. It was the largest Carsunuum vein they'd seen on any of the levels. The Dugs stood to make a fortunate on this valuable find.
"There's Esok," Cort pointed out.
Any reunion the commandos may have wanted with their vod would have to wait. The moment they located Esok, they turned to go.
Bly took a reading on his scanner. "This is not good. Structural stability in here is severely compromised. My scanner is saying imminent collapse at any minute."
Fek. Bly's gut sank as he realized they might not make it out with the panic, the crowds and the impending collapse.
"There is a security lift. I've seen the Dugs using it. It might be our only chance," Esok pointed to the Dug guards who were all running in the opposite direction of the fleeing crowds.
"It might also trap us inside," Dalso said.
"It's the fastest way to the surface," Esok argued. "There's no time to walk out."
"We're taking the lift," Slate said, stepping forward and taking responsibility for the lives of all present. He did it without thinking and it came naturally to him. As he did so, confidence filled him again. "Show us, Esok."
The commando led the way and the others followed without question.
"Well done," Bly praised quietly into comms.
They came up behind the Dugs and took them down. The Dugs were powerfully built and genetically designed to fight off Zillo beasts on their home planet. So, while they were smaller in the clones in size, they were vicious fighters. The commandos, though, worked together like the cogs of a wheel and the Dugs stood little chance against them. Even Slate, with his injured ankle, took out two guards on his own. There was a new ferocity to his fighting style which hadn't been there before his recent life changing experiences. They made it into the lift as enormous chunks of rock started crumbling down from the cave walls.
"If this elevator stops, we'll be trapped," Dalso said as they rose toward the surface, the walls shaking around them. Lights flickered on and off and the lift shook precariously, machinery groaning. Slate held his breath, willing the machinery to keep moving. The lift opened and they barreled out, making a run for it. Explosions rocketed out of the mine and they dove inside the mining office for shelter. The explosions went on and on, shattering windows in the office and thumping the ground underneath them.
"Everyone alright?" Bly asked, his voice gruff.
Esok coughed, blowing dust out of his lungs.
Jarg sat up slowly, putting a hand to his stomach, groaning. He gagged.
Dalso tossed a nearby waste bin to Cort who pitched it over to Esok who neatly scooped it under Jarg's chin in time for his vod to be ill.
"Alright, now?" Esok asked when he was done.
Dalso found a plasti container of water and tossed it across the room. Esok pulled it out of the air and handed it over to Jarg.
"Thanks," Jarg mumbled, "I'm good. Just a bit queasy still from what happened yesterday."
Esok checked his vod's pulse. "It was all the running." Jarg had recovered well from breathing in a lungful of the dangerous drug they'd been forced to mine in the lungs, but he'd still be feeling the aftereffects of it for a while. "Carsunuum. It sucks oxygen from your bloodstream." He peeled opened his filthy coveralls and peeled the mini medkit off his body. He slipped a hypo out of the pouch and injected his brother. "Better?"
Jarg nodded. "Thanks."
Slate tugged off his helmet and pointed outside to the steady stream of workers still running by. "Not all of them made it out likely. But, some did. It is something."
"It is." He cocked his head, considering the other clone, realizing then that Slate was not taking any blame upon himself. He was different. Somewhere in that mine he'd found himself again.
"We should get going," Slate said, he pushed up from the office chair he'd sunk down in, but his injured ankle gave way. He hissed out an annoyed gasp of pain, clamping down his teeth to avoid making any further sound. He gripped onto a nearby desk to keep from falling back down again. "We should get going."
Esok approached him. "With respect, sir, you should let me take a look at that ankle."
Slate looked like he was going to object, but then thought better of it. Esok pulled a chair behind the commander and pressed him down into it. The chair was awkwardly sized for a Dug and it was anything but comfortable. Slate squirmed. "Hold still," the squad medic said, as he knelt down in front of the commander and pulled his foot on top of his thigh. "I'll have to take your boot off. It's going hurt."
Slate raised up an eyebrow as if he was going to make a comment. But, instead he simply motioned to go ahead. Bly had to admire the man for his restraint.
Esok started to work off the boot and Slate paled, gripping the side of the desk. Watching his reactions, the squad medic paused and dug through his mini-medkit. "I don't have much left in here." Bly handed over the kit off his belt, and Slate did the same. Esok nodded and pulled out the supplies, pooling them together. He pulled out a pain hypo and handed it over to Cort. "If you'd do the honors."
While his fellow squad member injected Slate with the hypo, Esok continued to work on removing the boot. The commando was so skilled in field medicine he had the boot removed before Cort had finished with the injection. Esok removed the brace stabilzing Slate's ankle and studied his swollen foot. He quickly looked over the blast wound and surgery marks. "Impressive."
Slate quirked up an eyebrow again.
"No," Esok clarified, "I'm impressed, Commander, that you're even here. Most men wouldn't even be able to walk with an injury like this one. I'm going to do inject your ankle with an anti-inflammatory and add a layer of compression under the brace. It should help with the pain and swelling enough to get you back to the ship. After that, you need rest. Like weeks of it."
Slate nodded. He wasn't going to argue the point. He had no plans for after the completion of the mission. He only meant to see K-Squad off this planet. After that, he saw no future for himself.
"This might be painful at first." Esok injected an anti-inflammatory directly above the ankle joint.
Slate's vision went fuzzy from pain and he collapsed forward in the oversized chair. Bly made it across the room first and caught him.
"I'm alright," Slate gasped out, gripping onto Bly's arm. He leaned into his brother, resting his head on the ARC's chest, unable to straighten up. After a minute, the pain improved and he was able to sit up again. "Thanks, vod," he mumbled to Bly. "Want to carry me?" he half joked.
"I will if I have to," his fellow commander assured him, slapping him on his sturdy Mando armor.
Slate nodded. It was good to be surrounded by such vode again.
"All done, commander," Esok said, sliding the brace back into place. He tugged the boot back on, and helped Slate to his feet.
Slate carefully put weight back on his ankle. The limb held. "Thank you," he nodded to the commando, relieved he could move on his own again. If they ran into any trouble on the way back, it would be a critical difference for all of them to have their hands free.
"Let's go," Slate said, signaling them to join in with the throng of workers still fleeing away.
# # #
