An Immortal in Jedi Robes

by Cyberbutterfly

Methos has lived countless lives over endless years- and gained all the experience and training he'd ever need throughout that time. Now he is a Librarian in the Jedi Order. It goes about as well as you might expect. *NOW CO-AUTHORED WITH THE LOVELY ASSISTANCE OF EVENMOOR*

16. Band of Brothers

NOTES: Section written about Aurebesh Squad was written by EVENMOOR. Rest is mine. The translation for the Mando is written at the bottom.

---

Sigma Squadron

"So, what is it exactly that you need out of this team you're forming?"

Methos turned to Sever as they walked just in time to see him rub the back of his neck awkwardly. He'd sought the clone out after the meeting with the Kaminoans to make good on the promise of answering questions. Between citizenship - and his unconventional Jedi behavior - he figured there would be plenty of them. He just didn't expect that to be the first one. Methos raised and eyebrow and the clone shrugged, avoiding eye contact and obviously nervous.

"It isn't really common for clones to do something stupid enough to put their head into the firing line. So if I'm your acting template, then you've really got a tough job ahead of you. I know plenty of good soldiers - good fighters, I mean - but what's the angle you're looking for?"

Methos went to answer, then paused. It was a loaded question and it deserved a serious answer. Besides, he really did need to figure out what characteristics he labeled a priority and which he considered capable of retraining if necessary.

Fortunately, the meeting with the Kaminoans had gone well, and although they'd been a little standoffish at his less-than-reverent attitude towards them, they'd all but showered him with geniality and aid once they realized he was fully capable of funding the project he had proposed to them.

Money talked in most parts of the galaxy; with the Kaminoans, it apparently said 'how can we be of assistance'.

As for the clones…

"Right now, I need able bodies and sharp minds. I'll consider everyone you suggest and I'm going to certainly look for more clones like you: those who seemed disposed to questioning orders, because it signifies a higher tendency for independence. But clone training leads the majority of you able to adjust and adapt to whatever conditions are thrown your way. I've got my own ideas about training requirements after the Century is assembled to weed out the worst of the 'good soldier' conditioning, so anyone that is ready and willing to sign on will get a fair shake."

Sever thought about that for a second.

"What about batch brothers?" Sever asked, in what the clone probably considered a nonchalant way, but left Methos wondering what had the man so worked up. "Will you only be taking a single brother from each, or are you willing to take entire groups?"

And suddenly everything came into focus. Methos desperately wanted to smack himself: Sever had just proven himself the kind of man who willingly faced the threat of death for two injured people he barely knew by name and had never met. You only got that from men with iron clad convictions and a loyalty that went straight to the core. And Methos hadn't even given a thought to the fact that he would have batch brothers; brothers who were the clone equivalent of immediate family. Sever had been willing to die for distant relations; there was no question in Methos's mind that if his squad didn't include the rest of Sever's batch... it wouldn't include him either.

He stopped and reached out, gripping Sever's arm and looking him straight in the eye.

"Sever, I think it's time I met your family."

---

"Wait, so you actually straight up said to one of the skinnies-"

"-Skinnies?"

Rugger waved his hand in dismissal. "Nickname for the Kaminoans, usually muttered very low when we are absolutely positive they won't hear it."

Methos nodded wryly. "Ah, continue."

"Right. So you actually looked them straight in the eye and went 'how much'? Just like that? Like it wasn't anything? Because we all thought the idiot here-" Rugger jerked his thumb at Sever, who cuffed him in response. "-just made that part up."

"It seemed like the fastest way to get them to shut up."

Rugger burst out laughing as, beside him, the one called Gamble gave him a sardonic smile and pointed.

"You are now officially my most favourite Jedi."

Sever snorted and rolled his eyes. "Right, because your basis of comparison is so diverse."

Methos sat back and watched as the three of them started bickering. He liked these two. They were certainly the 'younger' brothers of the group, but they had an energy and candid way of looking at things that would be useful. And Sever's independent streak, while not as apparent in them, definitely did peak out from the shadows. Likewise, they were adept at bringing out a lighter side of Sever, which might not be critical for battlefields but it was essential for maintaining sanity (let alone basic emotional stability) outside of them. Methos was about to join in when he got a sudden twinge in the direction of the door. So he didn't startle when a voice boomed out.

"You! You reckless, dwanged faced karker! Do you have any idea how stupid that was? Do you have any idea what it's like to have someone run up and yell that my brother was about to get himself liquidated?!"

The others hadn't sensed the incoming clone and all jerked in surprise, shooting out of their seats like they'd been set on fire. Sever was also cringing and Methos suspected this wasn't the first time he'd been called on rash behavior. Mildly amused, the Immortal turned to look. If it was who he suspected, it was time to meet the 'big' brother. He stood up and held out his hand to the newly-arrived clone.

"Hi, I'm Methos."

The clone simply crossed his arms and glared; Methos heard Sever sigh behind him.

"Apex, don't be an ass. Yes, I let my temper do the talking. Yes, I was an idiot. Yes, I almost got myself killed. But don't take it out on the Jedi that made sure I wasn't." Sever picked up a data pad from his bunk-pod and tossed it to his brother. As Apex caught the pad, Sever waved at the device. "Here, give that a quick read. We'll wait."

They waited, Apex read. Methos had a pretty good idea what Sever had tossed the man and it was confirmed over the next minute as Apex's eyes grew wider and wider. The clone jerked his head away from the reading and held up the pad.

"This can't be real."

"There's no trick," Methos replied firmly. "And what I offered your brother is extended to all of you. I'll want to have your lot run through a few training programs to get an idea of how you work together and what roles will suit you best within the Century, of course, but the offer is open for you to consider or refuse. The choice is yours."

They all just stared at him for a second: Apex looking at him like he'd just grown another head; Gamble and Rugger like he'd just made every wish they'd ever have come true; and Sever had an expression that was damn-near unreadable, that Methos was going to classify as appreciation. Then Gamble rushed forward and shocked him with a very surprising, very tight hug that happened to lift him three inches off the floor. Methos was dropped awkwardly a second later when the sound of a throat clearing came from the door. He turned and saw another clone who he could only assume was the last member of the batch, Jinx. He waved in greeting while Jinx raised an eyebrow.

"Right… So… What'd I miss?"

---

Methos commed the mic from the observation deck above and spoke with a hard inflection.

"Excellent. Now do it again, only better."

Below, Sever and his brothers groaned and pushed themselves up off the posts they'd been lying against in an attempt to lay down without actually laying down. In between grumblings, he heard Gamble snarling several intriguing death wishes to his person. Methos just shook his head and waved at the group with a vicious smile, upped the difficulty setting for the fifth time, and activated the simulation without any warning. The group immediately jumped into frantic action, desperately covering each others backs as they ran for cover and tried to assess the battleground.

"You know, it's been eight hours and those kids are exhausted. Any chance you might be willing to give them a break?"

Methos leaned back, keeping his eyes on his recruits and watching their combat strategies. He'd felt the clone watching from the shadows for the last hour and had been waiting for him to make an appearance. In response, he snorted ruefully as he tilted his head to the side, acknowledging Alpha's question.

"Sure, because their opponents are going to be ever so merciful when it's been three days without communication or back-up and they're hammering back stims like they're water just to stay awake long enough to survive the next wave of droids."

He gave the elder clone a quick glance. The stare he got back was level and intense, and Methos knew he was being weighed and measured. He turned back to look at his team. Exhausted or not, the group had formed up and was pushing back with success and Methos could see how efficient they would all be as part of the Century. He continued.

"This isn't anything. Once I get my squad I'm taking them somewhere far where the real training can start. And it's going to make an eight-hour run of simulations look like a vacation. I'm not going to throw these kids to the wolves to be cannon fodder; I'm going to turn them into the most effective, cunning, and dangerous bastards the universe has ever seen." Methos' small smile turned hard as he acknowledged the faint snarl in his voice, but let it continue anyway. "And then I'm going to take it one better and show them how to be the most competent galactic citizens in this sorry universe until they can turn around, pull the Republic's metaphorical head out of its equally-metaphorical ass and make it take notice of the fact that suddenly deeming forced child slavery as 'acceptable as long as you have a good reason for it' won't wash worth dwang."

He turned his head when he felt Alpha come up beside him, the clone watching him intently. Methos turned and flashed him a look - and even he wasn't a hundred percent sure what was in it, so he followed it up with another not-entirely-nice smile.

"Yes, there is a personal story behind it. No, you're not going to hear it."

Alpha continued to watch him for another second before chuckling dryly and turning back to the window.

"Fair enough. Answers a few questions anyway." He nodded at the group below, which had managed to turn the odds in their favour and was making a break towards the target platform. "So, what's the verdict?"

Methos hummed thoughtfully. "They're definitely a bit raw, but the talent is there and each of them has skills I can use. Sever is going to make one hell of a commander, and it's not even going to take much additional training to get him there." He tilted his head in acknowledgment. "A lot of blood, sweat, and tears to make him realize that, but not much training."

"Really?" Alpha turned in surprise, eyebrow raised. "My money would have been on Apex. He's got the better squadron awareness and isn't nearly as impulsive."

Methos nodded. "True, which makes him a good second." At Alpha's 'please explain' expression he waved a hand at the group. "Apex worries about the men. Yes, that's an asset most times, but in a situation where your only option is possible sacrifice for the good of the whole - that over-protective streak is going to start to cause emotional fractures. It'll cripple his decision-making skills. Sever is able to look at the group in its entirety. He doesn't actively put his team in unnecessary danger, but look how he's willing to work with their strengths and let them accept the risk his orders entail. Besides, that reckless streak makes him unpredictable. His personality is reflected in his tactics and that means he's going to have a natural advantage against an enemy that uses logic/behavior programmed command droids to predict clone squadron maneuvers. Sever is the spanner in the works that is going to give the Separatists one hell of a headache; Apex is the leveling agent that is going to keep the squad functioning like a well-oiled machine - and the commander from going off his mental rails."

Methos smiled as Gamble pushed forward in a burst of speed, taking out two droids and snatching the target trigger off the platform, ending the simulation. He looked at the statistics running on the panel below him. In a live-fire situation, Jinx would have come away with a nasty shoulder injury, Rugger would probably have lost a leg, and Apex may have taken critical damage in the chest. But considering their fatigue, and the fact that Methos may have neglected to mention about upping the training difficulty settings after each successful simulation, the group performed exceptionally. Alpha looked over the stats, also looking equally impressed at the data stream presented. Methos nodded at the team.

"Gamble and Rugger are fast, and not just physically. They can think almost quickly as they can run and gun, which means I'm five men into my search and I've already managed to find two useful point-men. And Jinx…" He chuckled. "There's an old expression: 'the luck of the devil'. It fits. On the first simulation I ran them through he tripped on a raised panel, and it saved him from being shot in the head. About two hours later he cut left just as Rugger bolted forward and they both dropped - just in time to save them from a freshly activated grenade launcher." Methos looked over at Alpha and and shrugged. "Skill is essential for long term combat survival, but sometimes it pays to have someone more lucky than good. And they are good. These kids deserve a chance to be more than just cloned fodder in the Republic's grinding wheel."

Alpha hummed an agreement, then nodded to himself.

"I wasn't sure about you. You don't fit the Jedi mold we were taught. But you give a damn and you've got the look of a man who knows lofty ideals might get people involved in a war, but they don't win it." He tilted his head towards the cadets below. "Keep doing right by them, and I'll do what I can to get you everything you need to pull this little stunt of yours off."

With that the clone clapped him gently on the shoulder and walked out the door. Methos smiled at the man's back, pleased to know he'd passed whatever internal test Alpha had put out for him. Then he glanced down at the clones. He shut down the simulator controls and left the room.

---

Gamble loosely propped himself up on his elbows to glare at him from where he lay on the floor and growled at him as he walked into the room. Then he shot a pleading look at his brother.

"Apex, this man is evil and a menace… Make the bad man stop."

Leaning against a post, Apex simply shook his head and slumped a little more.

"I'm not sure I can even lift my arms, let alone take out a Jedi." He turned his head to look at Jinx, who was lying on his side on the floor. "How about you - you primed for it?"

The clone bared his teeth. "I can't move, but get him in range and I'll chew his ankles off."

"Not with these boots, you won't," Methos grinned.

Rugger jerked his head up from the platform on which he was splayed. "Kriff off, you psychotic bastard," he mock-snarled at the Jedi.

Abruptly, everything went tense as Apex shot his brother a hard warning glance, Sever snapped a 'shut up' under his breath, and the rest waited to see how Methos would react.

So he threw his head back and laughed as he raised his arms in surrender.

"Gee, kids, and here I thought training exercises were meant to be a bonding experience."

As swiftly as it came, the tension dissipated. Everyone sighed in relief, and then Sever snorted in amusement while weakly waving a hand at the group.

"Congratulations, it worked. We've bonded over our pressing desire to make sure you can never run any simulation ever again."

Methos looked at all of them; they were gasping for breath, battered, bruised, and completely wrung out. But each of them looked back with a fire in his eyes that he recognized. At that moment he could almost feel paternal towards them if he allowed himself. And that made him want to tell them that it wouldn't always be this bad, that the training would only get easier from here. He wanted to be able to say that it would help, that pushing them this hard would keep them all alive. But he rarely ever lied to anyone about the serious stuff, and he wasn't about to start now - especially not with the people he was going to lead straight into hell. He took his time looking at all of them, making sure they made eye contact.

"Sometimes you'll take the enemy out fast. Most days it's going to be an endless grind of push and pull where the only reason to keep on your feet is because you're dead if you don't. It's days, or weeks, or months of campaigns where you'd give anything for even a solid hour of sleep, running on barely enough food, on a planet that never wanted you there in the first place. It's knowing that every day of every hour of every minute could be your last; and then it gets worse because that rule applies to everyone on the ground - and for you that means knowing you will be watching family die." He sighed and looked at them. "War is designed to break people in all the worst ways. And every tactic flows around the ideal of making sure it's the enemy that breaks first. But the sad truth is that our enemies are mostly droids and they don't have a will to break."

He continued moving around slowly, because this was a hard truth that every clone under his command needed to understand before joining up with the squad. They would be fighting to pay for their freedom, and the cost was going to be steep enough without even factoring in the death toll. He needed them to come into his Century with their eyes wide, because if he failed in that, then he was no better than the Republic who put them here, and every other Jedi who took a clone squad into battle with the promise of 'the force is with us' and nothing more.

"Anyone who joins my squad, their job is to fight. Mostly it's going to be fighting the battles that no one else realized needed fighting in the first place. Sometimes it's going to be less straight-forward. Sometimes you're going to have to fight from the shadows, or with words and not weapons. My job is to get you ready for the reality of those situations. And the only way I know to get you ready is to break you first. I will break you and I will push and push until everything but the core of your being is stripped away." Methos grinned bitterly. "And yes, you will hate me while I do it." He turned to Sever and Apex. "But at the end of it you are going to be more than just 'good soldiers' - you'll be the most effective force in any situation this galaxy can throw at you. You'll walk the line and not stagger because you know what your rock bottom feels like and realize you can survive it. You'll know who you are, what you're capable of, and how to turn that into victory both on and off the battlefield… I can't make you indestructible, but I can damn well try."

He pointed at the door. "Hard doesn't begin to describe what's about to happen. Anyone who wants out is welcome to walk away. You're all more than capable in whatever you do, no matter what role that becomes… That's why I pushed you so hard today. Because I will never ask something of you without making sure you first understand what I'm asking and at what cost. You just got a hint of the first step in one possible future."

He turned, once again taking his time and looking at each and every one of them in turn. "So, gentlemen, what do you want your next step to be? It's your choice. Whether you join my squad or not, by tonight you will all be free men, like Sever. It's your life, choose it. I'm just asking you to consider joining in fighting for the ideals the Republic should stand for."

Methos stepped back. He'd said everything he could; from this point on this group would have to learn by doing. But he also knew that what happened right here, right now would set the precedent for future recruitment. So he fought the urge to cross his fingers as the clones quietly discussed a few feet away what he'd told them. While they did so he studied the damage done to the simulation room, identifying each clone's contribution by the blast marks on the wall.

The Force shifted and he got a flash of… something.

- They were the silent squadron, the ghosts in the machine: fast, efficient, ruthless. Brothers made of steel with hearts that burn like the sun - and the entire galaxy would fracture but they would stand strong; unbreakable. And they may have started off as the Sith's endgame but they would take that fact and make the man choke on it. Bonds forged by choice, will, and family giving them immortality of a different kind, ensuring that the legacy of the Brothers of Kamino would endure -

"-Is he okay?"

"What am I, an expert? How the kark should I know?"

"Should we call Gimbal?"

Methos blinked as he took a deep breath and became aware of a hand on his arm shaking him. He focused and turned to look at Sever, who was worried and trying to hide it. The feeling (vision?) was already fading, leaving Methos only the vaguest details, the surety of the clones' decision, and that his plan was going to work. And hope for the future.

Strange, really. He'd never really been one for Force visions. He coughed and gave himself a shake. Sever sighed quietly in relief.

"You with us, Boss?"

Methos blinked incredulously. "Boss?"

"You said no 'Sir' or 'General,'" Sever shrugged. "We've got to call you something. 'Hey, you' doesn't seem appropriate somehow."

"Boss." Methos tasted the name on his tongue. And that, like the group surrounding him felt right. "I like it."

Beside him, Sever gave a small grin, then stepped back as the others stepped forward, each of them shuffling as they awkwardly didn't salute. Sever glanced at all of them and then shrugged wryly at the effort before turning back to him.

"Sigma Squadron 396-723 reporting for duty, Boss."

Apex snorted and crossed his arms. "Kark it. One way or another they'll be sending us to hell. Way we figure, it might as well be with someone who we like and is honest about it."

They smiled, with teeth. Methos gave the smile right back.

"Well, boys… Welcome to the jungle. Let's go find some other crazies to make the trip more interesting."

---

Aurebesh Squadron

CT-5575, Ochi, had been waiting less than a minute before the door slid open. Instead of the Jedi, however, four other clones appeared - and stopped dead in the doorway when they saw him inside the room.

"What's he doing here?" demanded the one in the lead. CT-3301. It was Aurebesh Squad. His brothers.

"Good question," replied CT-4776, his voice cold enough to frost Tatooine at noon in the middle of summer.

CT-3824 and CT-4010 glared openly, but before either of them could add their opinions on their former squad mate, a new voice with a crisp Core Worlds accent chimed in from behind them.

"He's here because I asked him to come, the same as the rest of you. If you'd please step inside and stop blocking the doorway, perhaps I can tell you why. Unless, of course, you'd rather go back to Maintenance Squad."

Ochi's squad mates - former squad mates - entered the room the rest of the way, though none of them showed any desire to get any closer to Ochi than they had to, instead sitting down at the far end of the table. Entering behind them was a human male who could only be the Jedi who summoned them all here.

And he looked every inch the Jedi, Ochi thought, with his pale tunics, dark boots, and flowing robe. Not to mention the very conspicuous lightsaber hanging from his belt. Now that Ochi saw him, though, he realized that this man had been all over Tipoca for weeks and was only now dressed to the nines, as it were. Ochi had thought him one of the contractors brought in to train specific squads.

The Jedi eyed them all seriously.

"First things first. I will not be calling any of you by number sequences. Designations aren't names, and no matter what anyone else says, each of you is a sentient being worthy of a name."

Ochi could swear he could hear his own heartbeat with the silence that followed that statement. None of their instructors, none of the Kaminoans, had ever asked anything about names for them. They were just clones, after all. One was much like the next.

"My name is Methos," the Jedi said finally. "I am here to offer you a choice. I am aware of what happened with this squad, and to be honest, breaking you up was one of the stupider choices made after that mess a couple of months ago."

"Sir," CT-4776 objected frostily, "With all due respect, how could we be a squad anymore after he ditched us? We were brothers, and he just left us behind to sneak onto one of the transports headed to Geonosis!"

"We were two weeks away from graduation." Ochi felt his temper rising, but managed with great effort to keep his voice level. "Two weeks. The only real thing left to do was pass that final test. They needed every one of us for the battle, and they were going to make us stay here on Kamino because we hadn't taken a kriffing test."

CT-3301 actually slammed his fist onto the table.

"That doesn't give you the right to leave us behind! Do you even care that we were labeled failures and sent to Maintenance?!"

Ochi's face flushed, anger and guilt hollowing out his stomach, but Master Methos held up a hand. Despite the wave of emotion in all five clones at the table, all of them actually stopped to look at him.

"Ochi. You inserted yourself onto a troop transport against orders and managed to go undetected until the end of the battle." The Jedi held up a datapad that had been concealed in the wide sleeves of his dark brown cloak. "The report states that in spite of your rather unorthodox method of arrival and the fact your ship was among the last to land, you saved at least a dozen lives by the time all was said and done. And when you were caught, the commander in question recommended that you return to Kamino for more training in reconnaissance and infiltration."

Master Methos's expression turned flinty.

"Each of you has a valid complaint. Ochi was almost certainly correct that Aurebesh Squad should have been part of the expedition to Geonosis. And I'm never one to underestimate the value of a single person or squad in the right place at the right time. However," the Jedi paused for emphasis. "He should not have gone off on his own without the rest of his squad to back him up."

There was a moment of silent confusion around the table.

"Sir, are you saying we all should have infiltrated transports to Geonosis together?" CT-3824 asked slowly, one hand unconsciously scratching the back of his head in his habitual manner when uncertain or uncomfortable.

"It seems like the most reasonable solution to me," Master Methos replied blandly.

"Now, before I go any further, do each of you have names you would like me to call you by?"

CT-3301 shot an angry glance at Ochi, but seemed to calm.

"The boys in Maintenance called me Hotspot. The nervous one is Rue, our squad medic. Or, he was, before all this happened."

CT-4010, no, Rue, seemed almost surprised and anxious to be named, but nodded a voiceless agreement with Hotspot.

"Well, I'm Cabur," CT-3824 said stoically.

"Rime." The clone formerly known as CT-4776 didn't seem all that enthusiastic about this sudden turn in events, though Ochi knew full well that Rime would warm up again. Eventually. Probably.

"Hotspot. Rue. Cabur. Rime. I'd like to introduce you to your brother Ochi, who will hopefully serve as your squad sergeant in a hand-picked company I'm putting together."

Dead silence fell. Ochi and the others stared in flabbergasted surprise at the Jedi. Of course there'd been rumors going around, it was impossible to miss them. Ochi would bet his last credit (if he had any) that none of Aurebesh Squad had realized until this moment that this Jedi was the one those rumors centered on.

The silence continued an uncomfortably long time.

"Well? I'm not going to force you to join," Master Methos remarked, causing Ochi to almost jump in his seat. "And, all things considered, I'd much rather have you join as a full squad. Together. But you have to be willing to put the past behind you and move on. Can you do that?"

Aurebesh Squad looked at each other. Ochi, reading the faces of the men he'd known for a good portion of his life, felt a surge of relief.

"I'm in," Rue flashed a quick smile. "I just wish it didn't have to start out the way it did."

"You were a good squad leader, Ochi." Cabur stared him straight in the eyes. "I'm not going to let what happened affect the rest of my life now that I have a chance to change it."

"Any chance to get out of Maintenance Purgatory works for me," grumbled Rime.

"What Rime means is that he really wants to go blow something up. And I'm all for that." Hotspot's lips twitched, ever so slightly. "Can't let Ochi have all the fun."

Ochi swallowed, overcome with emotion. He may never have the same easy relationship with Aurebesh Squad that he did during their training together, but at least this was a second chance for them, a chance for him to make up for stranding them in Maintenance. He suddenly noticed that Master Methos was looking at him. Waiting for him. Ochi realized that the Jedi was actually waiting for him to say something, rather than assuming Ochi would automatically agree with his offer.

"I don't know what brought us to your attention, or why you decided to choose us. But I'm grateful." He swallowed, suddenly nervous, but he held his head high. "So, thank you for what you've done for my brothers. I want to be a part of what you're putting together."

---

Ninety-Nine

Methos watched as the clone studied his options, methodically plotting future moves and countermoves before deciding. While waiting he took a glance around the small space the man kept as a personal haven. He snapped back to attention when the clone huffed and waved a hand around the room.

"I apologize for the mess. I'm afraid I don't get many visitors down here in the maintenance sector, Master Jedi."

Methos scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I've slept on alpha grain in a Bantha barn. You have to be trying if you want to offend my sensibilities. But, seriously, I've said it many times- Methos is fine; preferred in fact. I'm no ones master, least of all here."

Ninety-nine looked up at him with a wry grin. "Perhaps I'm merely being respectful."

Methos returned the grin. "Perhaps… More likely some of the shine has worn off that Kaminoan programming and you recognize when a bloke can take a good jab or two."

"I would never… That would be disrespectful."

He snorted and shook his head. Ninety-Nine chuckled as he finally moved his piece from the top tier to the middle, then frowned as he waved at the holographic board Methos had produced at the beginning of their discussion.

"What's this game called again? Hadn't heard of it 'til you showed up."

"Hmm." Methos studied the board then focused on the question. "Oh, three dimensional chess. It's a little like Dejarik, but the movements of specific pieces combined with the multilevel platform allow for more sly and/or deceptive tactics. It's a good training tool, actually."

"Planing to make it part of the curriculum, are we?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Methos cleared his throat. "Now, this group you mentioned... What got them working maintenance?"

Ninety-Nine hummed, then sighed again as Methos moved his knight, deftly taking out the clone's rook.

"Behavior, mostly. Wrecker and Chase got assigned because of insubordination; but they just didn't agree with the orders they were given. For Slip-shot and Arch it was low test scores; but I doubt it was lack of abilities." Ninety-Nine shrugged then nodded towards him. "You'll get on with Sneak, and Shank. They got knocked down to here because of 'overt lack of respect to authority'."

Methos nodded, "I like them all already."

"Then there's the twins."

"The... Twins? Bit of an oxymoron for this group, isn't it?"

Ninety-Nine leaned back and grinned. "I'm leaving that one a surprise. You want to know why we call them that, you'll have to meet them for yourself. Not to mention I'm curious what those Jedi senses of yours will make of them." The clone's smile slowly vanished and he motioned at the bare, tarnished walls around them. "It's not good for them, being down here." He lifted his hands, showing how they were bent and shaking. "I'd do little good in the field, so I've got no chance, but they should have. Their good kids who have a lot to offer, they just need someone able to see it."

"Well, like I said, I'm not looking for the Kaminoans' idea of perfect... I'd take you in a second if I thought you'd joined."

Ninety-Nine blinked in surprise. "Me? Why?"

Outwardly Methos shrugged, inwardly he seethed at a universe that would make Ninety-Nine question his worth simply because of a few so-called 'defects'.

"Because you care. Because you're smart. Because you see things no one else does. Because the Republic might say wars are won on the front line, but the truth is it starts with people who can stand back and study the big picture to understand how to use it to their advantage. Because three dimensional chess is a training tool for war, and most people running this one wouldn't be decent after 10 years; you've got a handle on it after 10 games. Because there are millions of brothers in this facility and I bet you could name every one of them and tell me how to best use their abilities in a fight. Because I've got a Century of 63 men so far and half of that number were because of your recommendations." He huffed in frustration. "I don't like wasted resources."

The clone hummed thoughtfully and then moved his piece, taking out the knight Methos had just struck with. The immortal cursed softly under his breath and then shrugged again.

"Like I said, I'd offer if I thought you'd accept."

Ninety-nine nodded. "I'm flattered... and... it's tempting."

"But?"

"But, Iron Squad needs someone to show them how to properly handle a damaged blaster and make it functional; that will take some nudging in the right direction. Zeta squad needs someone who will replace damaged panels without reporting it; way I see it, better they punch holes in the walls than in a brother. And there's this new squad- Domino. Still shiny right now but they have potential to be one of the greats if they'd only realize it." The man smiled wryly. "So,yes, it's tempting... But eventually you'll leave and take a lot of the clones that protected our brothers with you. Someone needs to stay behind and keep an eye out on the ones left here."

Methos jerked his head back and shot his gaze towards the wall. He knew the man hadn't meant that last remark as a jab, but the blow still hurt.

He'd watched too many clones desperately trying to get his attention and sagging when he he passed them by- each thinking they weren't good enough. Each time he fought the urge to go back and explain; each time he bit back the bitter taste as he saw a group of people who'd been taught to measure their worth by their blaster scores. He didn't tell them about the programs Snitch and he'd integrated into Kaminoans systems. How it cataloged Jedi sympathetic to the clones situation and gave them position filling priority over those who thought them mere canon fodder. Because it wouldn't change anything. I still wasn't enough. Methos clenched his fists and exhaled a breath.

It was never going to be enough.

He knew before he spoke his voice would reveal too much. He spoke anyway. He owed them all the honest truth. Ninety-Nine hearing it would have to do.

"Believe me, if there was a chance of getting them all out, I'd take it." He snarled in frustration. "But I can't stop them from putting children on the damn front lines. I can't stop the Senate from sitting on their collective asses and deciding slavery is okay with a good enough reason. I certainly can't stop this gods-forsaken war from painting planets in your brothers blood." Methos coughed a humorless laugh. "Force wielder and Jedi Master and my sum contributions weigh in at 'bloody useless'."

He choked off his next words when he felt a firm hand clamp a vice grip on his wrist. He looked up and saw the man leaning across the table. His eyes held a bit of warm and a lot of steel. When Ninety-Nine spoke, his tone didn't offer any choice but to listen. The heat in his eyes told him it would be dangerous not to.

"Useless...? Do you think that Sever and his brothers would say it's useless? The clones you picked, the ones most wrote off as second rate who now hold their heads up high, would they say it's useless? Humble and the boy - two cadets who are going be raised by people who recognized their potential outside of their blaster arm, is that useless..?" The man waved his other arm. "We Clones have always just accepted our lot, it never seemed worth doing otherwise. We'd fight, we'd die, and we'd win the war. But we never talked about 'after'. 'After' didn't exist for us." Ninety-Nine snorted. "Then some brazen, loud-mouthed Jedi with a different perspective and enough snark to snarl at the system and force it to change came along and started talking about citizenship and rights and the value of a life. And now suddenly 'after' started to exist. Maybe we should study other subjects during down time for 'after'. Hey, look at this planet, wouldn't it be a nice to see 'after'. Do you think they might let us start families, you know, 'after'."

Ninety-Nine stared long and hard. "Do you really think those eight boys two floors down are going to think it's useless if you walk in there and show them that someone is willing to give a dwang?" He shook his head, "Because my brothers don't think it is. And I definitely don't think it is... So you take the time and deal with your feelings on the matter. But this is the first, and last, time you will ever utter the word 'useless' to describe what your doing here, understand?"

Methos swallowed hard and forced back his emotions. Some went willingly enough; the ones shocked at what he was doing causing the kind of ripples Ninety-Nine mentioned weren't so co-operative. He'd always like the man, had never had a problem seeing past the 'defects' that made him appear ancient. But he was seeing a side even he had missed, and it left him feeling humbled in a way he hadn't felt in millennia.

Once again he cursed the Kaminoans, the Senate, and the Jedi for idiots. (And himself; just for good measure.)

"Understood." Methos sighed as he corralled the rest of his emotions. "That really was overly dramatic of me- and a bit embarrassing. Sorry about that, Sir."

Ninety-Nine blinked hard. "Sir?"

Methos grinned lopsidedly.

"I am a firm believer in giving respect were respect is due. Showing a bit of deference with your rank is really the least I can do. You are a better man then a great deal of people with far fancier titles." Methos stood up, once again in control. "Unfortunately, that doesn't extend to showing mercy when opportunity presents." He moved his piece dramatically. "Queen takes Bishop for checkmate."

Ninety-Nine smiled, once again the warm, gentle worker he'd found kinship with.

"Hhmmm... Apparently you were a little too optimistic about me mastering this game already. Think I'd prefer the '10 year' approach if you don't mind."

Methos hummed affably.

"Fair enough. But winning isn't the entire goal when using the game to teach tactics." He reached out and powered down the holo-cube. It went dark and he pocketed it in his robe. "Sometimes what you learn by losing is almost as valuable as by winning."

"Well, as I said, just give these kids a look. I think you'll find they'll make a perfect addition to your little group."

"As always I shall defer to my superior; I will give them consideration and continue to collect my brood while leaving the rest in your more than capable hands." Methos stood to attention. "Am I dismissed, Sir?"

Ninety-Nine grinned wryly.

"Dismissed, Master Jedi."

"Cheeky bugger."

Methos walked out to the sound of laughter.

---

The Crazy Eights

"Well... That was fun. Remind me to thank the idiot who designed maintenance shafts 3 inches too small for the people stuck working them with a hefty round of blaster fire."

Methos heard the sound of storage compartments opening and slamming closed as someone growled.

"Beats wiping down bloody gurneys to a background chorus of dying screams, so stuff it, Chase."

Another voice, surprisingly deep.

"Why don't you all do me a solid and shut the kriff up?"

Faint dual laughter and curious shuffling noises.

"Aw, ain't life a bust!"

"Sounds like someone got chewed out by the skinnies again!"

"Do you need a hug?"

A sharp curse and the sounds of a mild struggle as a couple of shadows became apparent from the entrance to what was obviously a storage compartment of some sort.

"Shank, vod, come on. You know they ain't worth it." That voice grew loud and biting. "And would you two morons stop playing with- Wait, are you karking kidding me?! Where in all the hells did you get a kriffing grenade? No, cancel that, I don't care. Just enlighten me to which defect you two idiots possess that led to the decision to play kickball with an explosive?!"

Impressively synchronized snorts followed by a moment where Methos would swear he actually heard an eye-roll.

"Would you people relax!"

"We pulled it from training. It's a dummy grenade."

"Well, probably. More than likely it's disarmed."

"It's a solid... what would you say, 80?"

"Sounds about right."

"Solid 80 percent certain it's non-lethal."

Three very potent seconds of silence ensued, followed by a mad scramble with a lot of expletives and not much actually accomplished besides the grenade in question being launched around the room before bouncing out the doorway. There was more cursing as the clones en masse raced for the door... only to screech to a halt when they saw Methos, who used his foot to casually kick the grenade into his hand. He smiled at the stunned group, and the lead clone blinked.

"Umm... Are you lost or something?" the clone asked, still stupefied.

"Nope," Methos replied, his smile widening. He looked down at the explosive, examining it momentarily. "And the 'idiots' were right. I'm 100 percent positive this is disarmed. Still might give you one hell of a shock, but no bang, fortunately for all of you."

When a dual 'aww' echoed from the back of the group, causing most of the clones to turn and glare while another dealt a couple of smacks, Methos had to bite back an outright laugh. He motioned at the room.

"May I come in?"

A smaller, thin clone to the side looked around behind him then turned back incredulously.

"In to what?"

Methos blinked, rapidly reassessed the situation and how he was going to handle this before pocketing the grenade and sighing.

"Do you have a space where all of us can talk?"

One of the clones at the back of the group - the one that also happened to be two inches taller than the others with a deep voice - crossed his arms.

"Talk about what?"

"About the possibility of you guys not being in Maintenance for a start."

They stared at him for a moment like he'd grown a spare head, before two younger clones excitedly pushed their way to the front. Methos gave them a glance, then blinked at them with a thoughtful expression.

They were in perfect harmony with each other; in a way that went far past mere physical appearance. It was in every movement and in their very Force signatures, which entwined about each other in a manner Methos rarely saw in non-Force-sensitives. Even among a group of clones birthed from identical DNA, these two matched each other.

"I take it you're the 'twins' I've heard so much about?"

Mirrored grins beamed at him.

"Probably."

"Definitely."

They waved a hand at him and said perfect rhythm, "And we completely deny whatever you've heard."

"It's all vicious rumors and lies."

"Can't prove a thing."

Methos shook his head. "Right." He looked at all of them. "Guys, there isn't a catch here, okay? I want to talk to all of you. As a group to start, later on individually if you feel the need. Wherever you want that to happen is fine by me."

Eventually one clone with a diagonal scar running over his right eye broke with a sigh and motioned at the continuing hall to their left.

"We've got a room down there. It's not much, but it's... um... a room."

Methos motioned at the hall.

"The room it is."

They quietly filed past him, each one surreptitiously glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes as they passed. He sighed inwardly. This was going to be harder than he'd imagined.

---

Turns out 'it's a room' was an apt description.

A flat, bleak space that eight people had desperately tried to make into something with a livable personality. Sleeping pods on opposite sides of the room, with a sad, worn table in the middle and various crates and containers used as sitting apparatus. Various trinkets and data pads were stuffed into make-shift selves and corners, with a splash of color added by the words "It's not so bad once the insanity kicks in" painted viciously on one wall. Methos looked around, then casually draped himself over one of the larger containers because he was bound and determined to try to keep this as relaxed as possible.

At this point, he was pretty sure all it would take is one loud clap to have them all lunging for cover.

It took them a while to get comfortable, and Methos could feel their anxiety echoing through the Force. And he wondered what kind of punishment could create the hopelessness that thrummed off the very walls. He took a deep breath and pushed on.

"First, my name is Methos."

The tall one leaning up against the far wall, snorted derisively. "You don't say."

He let out a snort of his own, which surprised the others, and continued. "Now is the point where I'd like to put names to your faces." He waved around at them. "Who's who?"

They all glanced around at each other, then the one who'd earlier asked if he was lost (a small tattoo of a bird of prey on his neck clearly had a story behind it) awkwardly waved from where he sat against the wall.

"I'm Slip-Shot." He pointed beside him to the clone with the scar. "That's Wrecker."

Wrecker simply nodded at him and said nothing, but there was durasteel in his gaze that was encouraging to Methos.

The two sitting directly across from Methos piped up.

First there was "I'm Chase," from the small, thin clone. Then the one to the right with streaks of blond in his hair: "Guess you can call me Arch."

Methos turned to the Twins sitting on a bunk who shrugged. "Don't have names, everyone just calls us 'The Twins' or Clones 8932-A and 8932-B".

He looked at the remaining two. They glanced at each other for a moment, conversing silently before the tallest clone shrugged noncommittally and the other crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

"Name's Sneak." He tilted his head at the other. "This here's my vod, Shank... Now what did you mean by us not being in Maintenance?"

Methos shifted up, leaning forward as he took time to stare each of them in the eye.

"I've got this idea... It involves me and around a hundred clones taking on everything from Separatist droids to the idiots running the Senate. It's border-line crazy, and is going to piss off just about everyone on the 'who's who' list of both the Separatist and Republic elite. Thought you might like to help." He glanced around with a half-mocking expression. "At the very least I thought you might like to get out of here."

Every clone in the room all gone ram-rod stiff, and Slip-Shot had jumped up, staring intensely at Methos.

"Kriff, are you telling me all those rumors we've been hearing are actually true?"

"Depends on what you've been hearing, but..." Methos shrugged calmly. "Probably."

Now it was Chase's turn.

"They said you pulled three clones out of liquidation."

"Sever, Humble, and a Kid still labeled by designation," Methos nodded in confirmation. "Also recruited Sever's batch brothers - although they weren't on the chopping block - and a few others. Then there's Aurebesh squad, who also got stuck working maintenance on the other side of the compound... It's really a mixed bag, and my qualifications for what makes the cut is nothing like what the Skinnies are asking for. You're all showing promise."

Shank barked a laugh.

"Yeah, how's that?"

"So far none of you have called me Sir, General, or any kind of title at all." And didn't that please Methos far more than he'd like to admit? "And you haven't even attempted a salute or deferred to any standard rank protocol. Considering the droids have targeting vectors that look for that sort of thing, I'm just happy to possibly have eight people that I don't have to untrain in that."

Sneak snorted, muttering under his breath. "Guess that's one way to stay happy. Keep those standards low."

The twins edged forward, pressing close to each other as their voices edged with almost desperate hope.

"It can't all be true, though, right? You know-"

"-that the clones that sign up with you actually become people?"

Methos grit his teeth in frustration.

"You're already people. And don't you dare let anyone else tell you otherwise." He sighed and let out a heavy breath. "But if you mean that I'm making sure the clones picked become galactic citizens, then yes, it's true." He gazed around at the group, locking eyes with each of them individually. "Wish I could do it for every vod in this place, but I can only push so much before Senate stupidity pushes back."

Arch whistled slowly. "And now you're here talking to us."

Methos nodded.

"Which means that if we buy what you're selling we get citizenship, too?"

"No, it's not like that," Methos replied, shaking his head adamantly. At the crestfallen expressions he rapidly continued. "Look, I just mean you don't have to 'buy' anything. I'm offering a choice. I've got an idea of taking a group of commandos and making them into the best fighters I possibly can, with the intent on taking on the fights that need to be fought. Which is not necessarily the ones people are campaigning for... Yes, you'll still be Republic soldiers - but with actual rank and title and all that allows." He held up a hand. "But you can also say 'kark it', walk out that door, and never have anything to do with the Republic ever again. Each option has its pros and cons." He pointed at each of them. "But understand this, you have already been selected as part of the group... I've got eight documents with me that mark you as fully recognized citizens; those are yours. They are notarized and legalized and cannot be revoked no matter what decision you make regarding my proposal."

They all stared at him. They all kept staring at him. He took out the datapads and began to place each one on the table. Slowly, one by one, the clones came over and reverently took one of the pads.

"There's a lot of information on those. I've broken down your options and what benefits and restrictions each one carries. You've got a few days before I need to know which way you're leaning, so take your time, study the facts, and any questions you have you bring them to me and I'll answer them to the best of my ability. There's also a few finalizing details which I'll have to discuss individually, but that's once you've made your choice."

Wrecker tapped the side of the datapad into his palm. "Why us?" Methos looked up at him and he waved around at all of them. "What makes us so special?"

Methos drummed his fingers on the side of the container for a second, and then shrugged.

"Because a man I hold in highest regards told me I needed you; that all you would need was one chance to show me what you could do. So I took a look at your files and it didn't take long to make a decision."

He nodded to Slip-Shot and Arch.

"You two got slammed down here for low test scores; Slip-shot 6 months ago, Arch almost a year. Which is funny considering Arch actually had some of the highest kill counts against commanders during simulations," He pointed at Slip-Shot "and you, based on your written test scores, have an impressively high intellect."

The rest of the clones turned to them, and the two clones shuffled awkwardly. Slip-Shot rubbed the back of his head and muttered, "I like reading." Methos nodded.

"It's a useful pastime; but throw in a natural mnemonic memory and suddenly it becomes a weapon far more effective than any blaster." He rubbed his face and growled in frustration, "Of course, all that skill means nothing to a computer algorithm that was fatally flawed and only recognized hard numbers... Arch, that meant that the system ignored the fact that your kills would have been far more crucial in actual combat in favor of comparing you to your brothers higher - but less critical - test scores... Slip-Shot, your academic scores were some of the highest out of all the clones that year, but because your weaker with a blaster you were deemed 'ill suited' for combat."

He fought back a snarl and failed. "Because heaven forbid we actually have competent, intelligent people with actual brains shaping the battlefield... Next thing you know orders might get questioned and the status quo re-evaluated and, oh, the pandemonium!"

Methos paused, looked at the stunned, wary looks on all their faces, took a deep breath and smiled viciously.

"I don't like wasted resources. I especially don't like when those resources are people. I take special exception when those resources are people with skills that are desperately needed..." He waved a hand. "Anyway: Wrecker and Chase are here because of insubordination. That was established early on when they showed a tendency to question their trainers, and was compounded when they were placed in the same garrison." He looked at each of them. "There are eleven people alive today because you went 'kriff that' when your commander ordered you to stay out of a burning building... And believe me, the greatest dereliction of duty that day was when your superior had the audacity to demote you for it."

Methos turned to look at Sneak and Shank, then shook his head with a chuckle.

"And then there's you two." He smiled wryly. "Read the report about how that gang jumped your brothers as they were walking back to their barracks one night. Apparently they didn't think 'tankers' counted as humans so a free-for-all was okay. You ended up with three brothers in intensive care - and the lucky ones of theirs ended up eating through straws after the two of you found out what happened." He nodded in approval. "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving group of bastards. Good job... Also an extremely good thing you two have good test ranks and a semi-sympathetic commander or we wouldn't be having this lovely conversation."

The two clones looked at him, he looked back until they nodded. He turned to the twins and simply stared incredulously. "Did you two seriously manage to put a hole in the mess hall using nothing but a pot full of water?"

Around him the clones burst out, some laughing, some groaning but all of them lively for the first time since he'd interrupted their routine. The twins grinned proudly.

"It was purified, distilled heavy water."

"The kind used in coolant systems because it doesn't actively boil."

"And it wasn't the water that dented the ceiling."

"Yeah, that was the cutlery we'd used to break the surface tension."

"To be fair we didn't know the spray would be that large."

Methos simply leaned back and waited, amused. The twins shuffled.

"It was a big pot of water." They looked at each other then back at him.

"Honestly, it was a really impressive boom."

"If it wasn't for the exploding super heated water going everywhere we probably would've been okay."

"But it damaged one of the chef droids and so the over-sized Fish Sticks were not impressed."

Methos choked on a surprised laugh.

"Fish Sticks!" He chuckled and waved a hand at their bemusement. "Never mind, just haven't heard that one before." Then he got an idea and whispered mischievously, "You should see what you can do with a bit of Corellian milk powder, an air circulator, and a spark lighter."

The twins eyes grew large and they looked at each other with gleeful smiles as Slip-Shot groaned.

"Really? That's your response? Sure - you can just walk out that door and never have to deal with them again. We're stuck with them; and you've just gone and given them ideas."

Methos looked at the door and then at the clones and then at the eight data pads.

"Then walk out the door with me."

The clones looked at each other and Methos raised his hands in offering.

"That doesn't mean you're saying yes or no to my offer. But I've secured an unused section of sleep stations for the troops I've collected as a way for you to get to know one another. Some of them have already discussed this in length with me and should be able to answer most of your questions. I'll also answer any that you direct my way, as I said earlier. You're also free to talk with any of your batch-mates or friends you might have. You're... free."

For a second all of them just looked at him. Then the rest startled as the twins let out a huge whoop, scooped their data pads off the table, and raced out the door with a shout of 'freedom!'. Methos watched as the others just blinked at the door and couldn't hold it in anymore; he started laughing in large, gasping whoops.

"Oh... Those two... They're going to be... fun!"

He was still laughing as everyone but Shank left the room. After a moment he suppressed his mirth and got up, motioning the door to the clone. After a pause he fell into step.

"So, what do you get out of this?"

Methos smile dried and then faded. After a few moments he accepted the probe for what it was, and judged Shank as a man who could handle the answer.

"Do you want the long, elegant speech - or the brutal truth?"

"I'm not the elegant sort."

Methos nodded in understanding.

"I get revenge."

Shank paused mid step and Methos offered him a hard smile before he continued.

"For every time a civilian says 'They're not really people!', for every Jedi who believes a lie they know goes against everything the Order represents, for every politician who's stood up and talked about the 'good of the Republic,' and every infantile member of the social elite who's talked about the cost of war and the corruption of innocence without having a karking clue about what that actually means... They screamed at me to get involved, dropped me into this hell to watch children become weapons of war to be used and discarded, and told me to accept it as inevitable... So here I am, getting involved."

Methos stared into the man's eyes. "May all of them go ahead and choke on it."

Shank nodded, almost to himself and started slowly walking. The silence continued for a few more seconds.

"Can't say I trust you- 'cause it still feels like you're buying our loyalty... But I want to trust you, and that's a hell of a lot more than anyone who isn't a vod has accomplished so far... I'll talk to the others, let you know what I think later."

Methos hummed in agreement.

"I'll need you all in the training simulator tomorrow morning... Not a proving ground, I just need to see for myself where your individual strengths and weakness are should you decide to join the Century. Sever can tell you which one."

The clone glanced at him.

"This isn't going to be like other simulations, is it?"

Methos smiled grimly.

"It's a wake-up call. Anyone choosing to fight beside me is going to walk into it aware of what they're getting into."

"Some of the others, Sneak and me, we've got batch-mates out there..."

"If I could get them I would," Methos sighed, "But they're already attached to garrisons and in combat. The reason I can pull this little coup is because it's all done in-house and here on Kamino, and by the time anyone with authority finds out about it, it'll be too little, too late."

Shank didn't look happy, but he nodded.

"I'll let the others know. We'll meet up tomorrow, and then, we'll see..."

With that the clone jogged off ahead and around a corner and Methos slowed, then stopped. He let his mind wandered down some dark corners for a while before shaking out the cobwebs and bringing his mind back to the present; he couldn't afford to get lost in his head. He still had too much work to do.

---

The Final Few

Methos stepped from the 'fresher into his sleeping quarters and rubbed his hands, knowing the blood had been scrubbed off but feeling it regardless. He stepped towards the large window and rested his forehead and palms against the transparisteel as he strained to listen to the rain gently tapping on its surface. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it before releasing it slowly. He did it again, and again, and again.

He continued until the sound of rain finally became louder than the echoing screams of dying men. Until the smell of clean fabric overrode the stench of death and decay. Until he felt the cool transparisteel against his skin instead of clotting blood.

It took a long time.

The Separatists had launch a series of coordinated attacks. It had been well planned, well funded, and well executed. The initial reports had estimated the GAR Clone Division's death total alone was... catastrophic. Methos knew that any of the casualty estimates had been overly optimistic. Medical centers everywhere were filled to capacity, and Kamino was no exception; suddenly their facility had been overwhelmed with the dead and dying.

Methos knew protocol, knew how many clones would be dismissed as 'unsavable,' and had gathered his troops. He glanced over the ships coming in to dock, selected a landing platform filled to capacity, claimed priority, and proceeded to instruct his Century in the terrible art of triage. The least medically-inclined were left to sort the living from the dead; from there, duties varied all the way to Gimbal and himself operating on clones straight on the platform as they tried desperately to make them live long enough to get into medical tanks.

(And he'd never been more proud of them than when Gimbal declared, "Acceptable losses aren't acceptable. No matter the injury, if they have any chance, we give it to them," and not a single man uttered a word about Kaminoan protocol.)

Over the next 36 hours they'd saved as many as they could. But the distant look in his men's eyes told him it hadn't felt like enough, and he winced while he worked every time he'd heard a muffled cry as another clone realized he was looking into the face of a now-dead friend. Many had lost batch-mates; some had lost all of them. There are no comforting or inspiring speeches to ease that kind of pain, so he'd simply told them to take time to mourn and honor their brethren.

(And he had almost wept himself at the shocked gratitude they'd expressed in being allowed to do so.)

Methos took another deep breath.

Each clone they saved was a victory; he told his men that and it was the truth. But the harder truth was that most of those soldiers - children sent to fight a war they'd been physically trained for, but never mentally prepared - would be sent back out with healed bodies and battered minds.

There was a trick to survival. You have to want to live. No matter how bad it got, or how low the odds, you had to believe life was the better option. Because people who believed they were dead men walking proved themselves right. The clones, given no solutions or alternatives, would go back out to the front lines thinking it was all they had to offer. They would fight and bleed until the cracks turned into fissures and then they'd become just another statistic.

And there was nothing more he could do. He'd exploited every loophole, dodged every Senate obstacle, called in every favor he could.

He exhaled slowly. Then he pulled back one palm and smacked the window with it.

He had less than a day to lock in his final numbers. In less than a week, eighty-six clones would leave this place free men, whether as soldiers or civilians. But he would always carry the ghosts of the clones left behind: the hauntingly downcast faces of the young, and the vacant acceptance of the beaten.

Methos took another breath, and smacked the glass harder, with both palms.

He wanted more; needed more. Somehow he needed to find one more victory, one more angle that could get him more than he had.

(Just a dozen more. Six more. One more. Force above, let him find a way to pull at least one more soldier from this hell.)

Another breath, ragged, as he slammed the glass, palms stinging with the force.

There was no way to make it happen. Every world sympathetic or stubborn enough to grant citizenship had been gleaned. Every tribe and clan he had current sway with had been asked. He had done all that he could, there was nothing more.

Methos stepped back from the glass, hands in tight fists as he breathed harder. What was so fundamentally wrong with this universe that pleas for the lives of an entire race were coldly met with "We'll allow 86, pick wisely."

(And he knew that wasn't fair. That he wasn't the only one putting his head on the chopping block. Eighty-six men were free because people who cared were willing to place their heads right along side his... But that didn't stop the hatred at the injustice of it all.)

Methos didn't bother holding back the rage as it surged forward, instead he shifted his stance and drove his right fist into the solid transparisteel window. It cracked; his hand shattered. But as the pain ripped through, and his quickening flared up to heal the damage, he considered the brief release worth it. Rage was such underutilized therapy among the Jedi these days.

He flexed his hand and looked about his space. Knowing no matter how desperately he might need rest, he wouldn't find any solace in a quiet room alone with his thoughts. He took another deep breath and walked to the door.

The recovery wards could always use an additional pair of hands.

---

Methos gently stroked the shivering clone's head as the man deliriously muttered about not leaving his brother to die alone.

"Shhh... Shhh... Cuyir su, l'voden. Gar nayc jate brokar kyrayc. Par jii- udes, dralshy'a, bal oyacyir brokar akaanir tuur."

Whether the man understood the meaning or merely the tone, he let Methos gently lower him back down on the bed. He continued to stroke the clone's head as he hummed a soft tune, carefully weaving a sleep suggestion into the melody as he used the contact to reach out with the Force and ease the worst of the pain in the wounded soldier's body.

Force healing had never come easily to him (prompting an ongoing interest in conventional medicine throughout his lives) but he always made sure to remain at least capable of the basics.

As the clone drifted off to sleep, Methos took the time to scan the clone's bio data and adjust some of the recommendations made by the Kaminoan doctors. The cloners tended to discard and liquidate those they viewed as irreparably damaged or simply not worth the resources necessary to save them. Methos had different standards.

Changes made, he closed the file and moved on to the next patient in the room.

"Your compassion is admirable, Master Jedi." Methos startled as a Kaminoan nurse gracefully glided to the bio bed across from him, her voice surprisingly soft and warm as she made minute adjustments to the machines while resting one long, delicate-seeming hand on the sleeping clone's shoulder. "Perhaps more-so because they receive so little of it."

Methos immediately went for a condescending retort, but thought better of it and sighed instead.

"They deserve far more than that."

"Indeed."

One word, but the amount of compassion contained within it jolted Methos. That snapped him out of his mood and he took another long, careful look at the Kaminoan in front of him. Outwardly, she appeared like so many other of her kind, perhaps younger than the others he'd interacted with but little else to distinguish her.

In the Force, it was a completely different matter.

Where the others he'd met appeared much like their architecture - elegant but with cold efficiency - she radiated a warmth that gave the suggestion of spring's hope and promise infringing on winter's chill. Methos tilted his head in surprise. After a second of shared understanding, he nodded, then turned to focus on the next soldier with a tired exhalation.

The soft touch of her long fingers on his shoulder caused him to jolt in surprise. Never had one of the Kaminoans attempted physical contact with him. She pulled her hand back and stepped away, giving him space.

"Forgive my intrusion, Master Jedi."

He shook his head and sighed.

"Methos, please. Just... Just Methos." He waved at the room. "There are no Jedi Masters here."

For a moment she looked uncertain, her head bobbing slightly on her long neck. Then her dark eyes shuttered briefly and she nodded respectfully. The simple gesture carried great weight behind it.

"As you wish. I know it is late, and you are tired - but if I may have a moment of your time, I would be most grateful."

Methos looked down at the soldier beside him and reached out a hand, gently pressing it to his cheek and directing a wave of 'You are not alone, you are safe' towards the patient. Then he turned to the nurse and motioned to the hall.

"You have your moment."

They walked out together, turning to look at the healing soldiers lining the walls through the observation glass. Methos watched intrigued as the Kaminoan looked around and wrung her hands; it was a curious gesture from one of her kind. She took a deep breath.

"We are not without compassion - but it is not in our nature to be led by it."

Methos simply nodded again and after a moment she continued.

"Time and history have taught us that logic and knowledge more than emotion are our greatest assets. So we observed and studied and set our lesser emotions aside so that even in the harshest of environments we could ensure our survival. In time other races came to appreciate our vast intellect and skills and thus what had been forged for survival became our way forward into the galaxy."

She turned and offered a slight, sad smile.

"We are not without compassion, it is simply that compassion did not ensure our survival in a hostile world, and compassion is not what this galaxy desires from us." She turned back to the window. "Still, it is easier for some to set aside than others. Those who can look and see numbers attached to product rather than people."

She put a hand on the clear surface and sighed softly.

"Sometimes it is almost enviable."

She pulled her hand away and straightened, smoothing down the front of her wrinkle-free gown as she collected herself and turned to him.

"Forgive my outburst."

Methos blinked. He was far too tired to try and fill in the missing pieces of this conversation. Patience and conversational elegance had leapt to its death hours ago.

"It's fine," he replied almost tersely, but exhaustion made it impossible to care. "What exactly did you want to discuss?"

Methos was no expert on Kaminoan body language, but she seemed to waver in uncertainty. Only momentarily, however, before she pulled a data pad from her pocket and offered it to him.

"This."

Methos looked down, forcing his eyes to focus as the words swam on the screen. When he finally started putting the sentences together, the implications shot through him and woke his sluggish brain faster than a stim ever could. Because nothing could have prepared him for this.

This was something the likes of which miracles were born.

He looked up at the Kaminoan standing in front of him and wasn't sure whether to hug her or cry. He settle for merely holding up the pad demonstratively.

"This... You... I don't understand."

She smiled softly and nodded.

"We do not discuss our ways to outsiders. There is no reason for you to understand. We are adept at cloning because it has long been a necessity for the continuation of our own species, and more of our kind are created than born. Because of this, and our natures, we do not have 'family dynamics' as most cultures do. Instead, groups form based on desirable skills and traits, with intent to diversify and perfect the genetic profile of the whole. This means that a group can choose to create a new member, or select one already created who has not yet been chosen." She gestured towards the pad he held. "Because of this tradition within our culture, I believe I am able to offer what you might call a 'loophole'."

"You plan to adopt clones." Methos looked down at the pad, fresh understanding dawning on him.

"The clones listed on this pad are ones the medical staff here have deemed too mentally or emotionally damaged to be returned to active duty within an acceptable time frame. This means they are either processed into menial labor or liquidated should basic recovery prove financially unsound - as such, they have all been removed from service to the Republic."

Methos inhaled deeply. "Which means they now belong to no one, and are up for purchasing to anyone desiring, say, a certain set of skills and/or DNA?"

She nodded, then glanced down at the floor and sighed. It was a small gesture, subtle even, but coming from her species it spoke volumes.

"In our lifetime, a single individual from any group may select upwards of five candidates to add to their numbers. I have yet put forth any choices, and while we do not usually chose all at once, there is no law forbidding me from doing so. Nor against those candidates being of a different species. You have the necessary documents, as well as the financial details to ensure our choice cannot be contested. It is legal and unassailable under Kaminoan law and tradition."

Methos swallowed hard. Because he heard what she wasn't telling him, and if he was to accept the offer she was making, he owed it to her to know.

"And once this claim is legalized... what does that mean for you?"

She looked around at the space before them, then offered him a small, accepting smile; it was enough for Methos to know that the worst he imagined was true.

"As stated, this will be legal and binding - so whatever personal objections my people might have they will have no choice but to accept my decision."

"And what happens to you after that?"

"Groups are allowed to reject members from the whole should they provide acceptable reasons to why the rejection is necessary," she explained in a calm, factual tone. "Naturally, my superiors will conclude that I am far too emotionally compromised to maintain any professional position within this facility. I will not argue when it happens, because I see the truth of their logic."

He was holding the lives of five more men in his hands, and yet he didn't know if he could accept. He'd learned enough of Kaminoan culture to know that she would become nothing less than a pariah to her people. She was giving five more children the chance to become something more than fodder, but it was going to cost her everything.

And he didn't even know her name. That, at least, he could remedy.

"What is your name?" he asked respectfully.

She tilted her head, as if she was puzzled he'd want to know.

"Cansu Taymasp."

While the Kaminoans' personalities and culture might be logic-driven, their names were wonderfully poetic. Cansu Taymasp: My Wellspring Endures. How fitting, Methos thought, as he offered her a bow and switched to Cansu's native tongue.

"You are named true, Wellspring. There is no gift I can offer you that would compare to what you have given to the men you would save." He motioned at the pad. "There is a saying from where I was born: He who saves the life of one, saves the world entire. For the lives you have spared, you have my humblest of thanks."

He heard more than saw the shocked gasp, but she quickly returned his bow.

"You speak our language well; that is not something many outsiders accomplish."

"I'm a fast learner, and when one lives in another's home, knowing their language is simply a matter of respect."

She nodded, and he thought he detected a glint in her eyes.

"And possibly allows you to hear things that might otherwise be kept hidden?"

He quirked a one-sided smile. It barely qualified as more than a grimace, but it was more than he had managed since the deluge of injured arrived.

"That, too."

Her attitude quickly changed to one of business. Though still not quite as distant as others of her kind, Methos understood that it had cost her to show him the vulnerability she had moments ago. She nodded at the pad and then motioned to a point further down the hall.

"Come."

They walked in silence before arriving at a small room with a single occupant. Inside was a clone, strapped down and obviously drugged. The room in general was organized and warmly lit, but Methos could see signs of a past struggle; dented panels, and replaced equipment. Strangest of all was the fact that the sound of waves washing ashore and gentle music filled the room. He shot a glance of query to Taymasp, who gestured at the clone with one long arm.

"I have watched you, Master Jedi, and I know you are one who sees value where others do not. And so I offer you the broken because you will see what remains instead of what was lost. But my offer has one condition: you may chose four candidates from the list, so long as the fifth name is his."

Methos turned to look at the clone. He didn't have to reach out to feel the turmoil rolling off him, and even as heavily dosed as the man was he still shifted and murmured.

"Who is he, and what happened?"

"CT-9435. He has no other identification that I know of. And... He is the only survivor of the Zhar system conflict."

Methos winced and sucked in a breath. He'd read the report on that skirmish. Overshadowed by the ever-increasing cluster kark that Christophsis was becoming it went mostly unmentioned outside of inner circles; but in terms of loss versus gain, it was a devastatingly potent defeat. Sixteen cruisers lost, all personal and cargo destroyed.

Well, all but one, apparently.

"While he is mostly inconsolable, even incoherent, when conscious, during a brief moment of lucidity he told another clone about the Separatist attack and their tactics." Taymasp only allowed herself a slow breath. "We have sent messages warning your fellow Jedi that the Separatist droids now target and kill survivors found in escape pods."

Unfortunately, Methos knew all too well the reality of war. He found the revelation of the attacks on the defenseless escape pods altogether too easy to accept. A selfish, traitorous thought reminded him that he would die just like anyone else if he were in a pod destroyed by a ship-mounted blaster cannon. Being Immortal had its limits and couldn't reconstitute component atoms.

"The attack came quickly, and most of the soldiers on the ships did not have time to prepare. CT-9435 was lucky as his armor was equipped and sealed. When the order came to evacuate, the pod he was in properly ejected, but was violently impacted by shrapnel as the damaged cruisers exploded. Their pod quickly vented all oxygen, causing the rest of the unarmored personnel with him to perish from suffocation. Though, it was the excessively damaged hull and lack of life signs that spared him from the drones that were systematically ripping apart pods and executing the occupants. CT-9435 did not activate his beacon until the drones departed. But that also caused a delay in his rescue. In total, he spent two days trapped in the pod where the only sounds he heard were the final cries of the soldiers the drones found, followed by another two days of silence. By the fifth day - the day he was recovered - blackouts had begun when his oxygen levels reached critical."

Methos said nothing; he knew that pain.

"The music and waves help when he wakes. It is the silence and dark he fears most." She turned to look at him. "Such tragedy deserves more than what we will offer him."

How well Methos understood.

"I'll talk to the others, then we'll transfer him over to one of the smaller bays with my men."

Taymasp asked a silent question.

"While I applaud you recognizing his triggers, music and waves can only do so much," Methos said, gesturing around the room. "We'll handle him with a delicate touch, but what this man really needs is to be with family. He spent enough time with dead brothers. He needs to be surrounded by the sounds of live ones."

He turned and looked at her. She stared back at him intently. Finally Methos understood and he bowed slightly once more.

"Consider this my oath to you, Wellspring: He is coming with us and he will never hold a blaster again."

"Then you have given me the only gift I require for my aid," she said, returning his bow. "I will leave you to make arrangements."

Methos nodded as she glided away. He scrolled through the names, please at how detailed and organized the list was. His mistake was when he started to read it. Whether brought on by fatigue or nearly two weeks of being forced to chose, he was done. He just couldn't go through another list and pick a fraction of the names. He didn't have the mental resolve. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

These clones weren't like the others. They were the broken and beaten. How could he remain objective in the face of that? He turned, leaning against the wall as he looked at CT-9435. There would be too many like him. It wasn't his place, his right, to chose.

And then it occurred to him who did have that right. Who might need this eleventh-hour mission. He quickly stiffened and turned, almost running with purpose.

When he reached his destination he gave a second to pause and wonder how to go about this then gave a mental 'kark it', activated the door and slammed his fist into the panel beside it, immediately filling the bay with bright light.

His formerly sleeping troops were not happy and made him aware of this loudly and in many expressive forms.

"What the ever-loving hells are you doing, Jedi?!"

He was too spent to care that even Sever was ready to lay into him. But the vocal irritation from the clones lasted only until Methos brought two fingers to his lips and gave one sharp whistle. Sever rubbed the sleep from his eyes and focused on him.

"What's going on?"

Methos enlarged the list on the data pad and held it up for everyone to see.

"You all know our timeline. We've got 9 hours, gentlemen, and we've just been handed a rescue mission."

He handed the data pad to a stunned Sever.

"And you lot are the ones going to run it."

---

Notes:

MANDO Translation: "Be still, Little Brother. You are no good to them dead. For now rest, grow stronger, and live to fight another day. Confession time...

The line about 'Acceptable losses aren't acceptable'... Yeah, I stole that from SLWalker. Seriously go over and give her story 'Blackbirds: Year One' a read (actually, read the entire story series collection). It'll break your heart, but it's incredibly well written.