COME ONE COME ALL! WATER FOR CHEAP LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WE TAKE CREDITS, WE TRADE. IF IT'S WORTH SOMETHING ITS WORTH WATER!"

Deuce watched silently. He had been standing there for almost an hour, leaning against a miscellaneous building along Araphoe street of Petra's mercantile district. To anyone else, it seemed as though the old clone was just seeking sanctuary from the |Rhydellia's vengeful sun in a spot of shade. Deuce was watching. His old marksman instincts were kicking in as his eyes carefully scanned the scene before him. Right across the street was the Gharast Civic Center, one of the oldest buildings in Petra. The rockrete structure was built as a trade house for people to come and hawk their wares. As Petra grew a market and subsequent buildings were erected around it. As the centuries passed the mercantile district was formed with the civic center at its core. The structure itself was worn and old. Centuries of degradation and the damage sustained during the Patriotic War left it a husk of its former self. Many of its ornate architecture was lost to the blasts of cannon fire. However, it was now bustling with life once again. Andrei Xeras, the face of Krasniy's water trade proudly called to the audience, almost boasting their stock of clean drinking water. Almost mockingly, as if to say your leadership has failed! If they can't do their job then we'll do it for them! And, it was working. Ever since Krasniy reopened the civic center as a water distribution center, the people immediately flocked to Araphoe street as if it were a religious pilgrimage. Entire families lumbered in to cash in their valuables for a drink of cool water.

After a few successful shipments of water to Petra, Krasniy had struck a deal with the Drover. In exchange for their continued supply of water to the city, Krasniy was given the old civic center to set up shop in since they had the manpower to spare to distribute the vital resource. Deuce was staunchly opposed to the idea. He had heard the stories of Kransiy and even though he took them with a grain of salt, he knew that if more than a few people whistled the same tune then it had to be worthwhile. However, the young Governor was more focused on quickly resolving the water crisis than to be wary of Krasniy's reputation. And rightfully so. In the past weeks, water riots were beginning to become a common occurrence. Deuce's men had been forced to fire stun blasts more times than he liked; which was never. In recent weeks Deuce had begun receiving reports from his scouts that Krasniy was buying up property around the civic center from desperate landlords. And, while this was his first time out in the district himself he didn't miss the distinct lack of Republic troopers. Instead, he was seeing more and more Krasniy triggermen, walking about with blasters ready and braced across their chests. It seemed that there were fewer clones and more triggermen the closer you got to the mercantile district.

"Kinda reminds you of bein' in the field 'eh sir?"

Another trooper walked up beside him. From worn out and faded medic markings on his armor, it was Shaman. One of his oldest brothers and friends.

"Yeah,"

"Remember Geonosis?"

"First or second round through?"

"First, most of the boys had already downed their canteens by the first hour."

Deuce gave a nostalgic chuckle, "Yeah, by the time we routed the clankers, we were all swallowing our spit to try and stay hydrated."

"The Captain gave the quartermaster hell but we got those refills once we were back at the staging area." Shaman reminisced.

"Yeah…"

"That water never tasted so good."

Deuce took off his helmet and took a swig from his own canteen. "Speaking of."

"Right," Shaman nodded, taking a swig. He grimaced as it went down. "I swear they don't even purify the stuff anymore. This tastes like it's been sitting in a rusty pipe forever."

"Just be happy we get a steady supply. These poor saps gotta offload everything they own just for a drink."

Shaman sighed. "Beats having them rioting at our doorstep."

Deuce pulled Shaman away and walked till they were out of sight and earshot. They rounded the corner into a littered cobblestone alleyway.

"Look Shaman, isn't this all a little funny?"

"How so?"

"Oh, come on. Don't make me spell it out. Now that Krasniy has their foot in the door they barter for their own property in town? And now they're trying to expand it?"

"Expand, sir?" Shaman echoed. He motioned to an overturned bench and Deuce stood it up and the two sat down.

"Xeras brought a proposition to Drover yesterday. To have their own security forces present in the district for 'merchandise protection'. And it passed. Now there's Krasniy men all over this place."

"So?"

"So, I'm no Jedi. But I know a political ploy when I see one. Pretty soon people are gonna see Krasniy as the ones who took care of them, not us, not Drover. They're gathering support. Right now it's water and a few goons patrolling the street, then what? They'll set up food depots or whatever other necessities that they can supply without trouble. People are already reporting trouble to the Krasniy guards instead of us."

"It does take a load off of us. With all due respect Cap, we are short of a full legion are we not? We need the help."

"That's true but I-"

"I also can't help but think your relationship with the Governor having an effect on how you're seeing this."

"Excuse me?" Deuce stopped. Which, in turn, made Shaman wince at his words, but he pressed on.

"Look, we go way back. So I'll keep it simple, I think you just want to protect your girlfriend primarily."

"Now wait a minute, that's no-"

Shaman raised his hands. "Hey, I don't care either way. None of us do. The skipper himself had his own romantic dealings, rest his soul."

"Yeah…"

"But the Skipper always put his men and his duty first. Look, you're no Krest. None of us are, no matter who dons the stripes. But I suggest taking a note from his book. These kinds of emotions are...tender. Make you say or do things that are...rather unsavory. Just make sure you're being careful."

"I will." Deuce sighed.

"So you think Krasniy is using their resources to garner public support?"

"I do."

"And what do you think they'll do with this support?"

"I don't know, but it can't be good, you've heard the stories."

"I have," Shaman nodded. "But you gotta realize that we can't just go around accusing people. We're soldiers, not prosecutors. And ya' gotta admit, what you're saying is a long shot at best."

"I know we need proof, but I'm way ahead of ya'. I got a team that's been keepin' an eye on 'em for a couple days now."

"Look, Captain-"

"C'mon Shaman we go back to the old days. Drop the 'sir' bit, you can call me Deuce."

"Right, Deuce. I got your back all the way. But we gotta be careful."

"Careful of what?"

The pair froze in place as Xeras rounded the corner, hands stuffed the pockets of his pants, smiling from ear to ear. He had been eavesdropping. His boots thudded against the dusty sandstone street as he strolled over like a fat alley cat.

Deuce straightened up, switching to his authoritative officer's tone, and put his helmet on. Standing up, he folded both hands behind his back and spoke. "Nothing for you to be concerned about, citizen."

Xeras leaned backward and gave a mock salute. "Woah, sir, yes sir hehe. Good to see you boys in white taking a load off. I'm sure the heat ain't too kind under all that armor. Hell, I only wear the chest piece." He knocked on his armor.

"Thank you for your concern. But we learn to adjust."

Xeras nodded in satisfaction. "Sure, sure, I bet you clone boys are a tough lot. And, I'm always happy to see a trooper of such rank come down and check up on us personally. I'm sure y'all are swamped as it is."

Both troopers just stood there silently, like the armored sentinels they usually were.

"Well as a token of my gratitude I'd like to give you boys these." Xeras tossed each trooper a small metal canister which they each caught with ease. "Cool, clean, and freshwater. From my personal stock taken from the first spring, we ever tapped."

"Much appreciated." Shaman nodded, clipping it to his belt.

Xeras stared at them for a moment, absentmindedly nodding his head; a mischievous smile stretched across his lips. "Well alrighty, I'll let you two get back to whatever it is y'all was doin'. Y'all have a good day now."

Xeras gave a mock salute and strode off, whistling a jaunty tune as he left. But, when he reached the end of the alley he spun around on his heels and planted himself sturdily. "Oh, by the way. Hope we're not causin' any kinda trouble havin' our boys out and about. Water's very valuable and we like to make sure our merchandise is protected to the utmost of our abilities. No hard feelings."

Cillian took a swig from his flask. He winced it down and walked into the aired-out cottage that was once his brother's home. Furniture was overturned and all manner of scraps and debris littered the floor. The white adobe walls were covered in plasma burns. Seeing the house in this state compared to what it was before stirred something inside Cillian. The memories of Barak and his family played in his head as he walked through the ruin. Despite sifting through the ruined cottage time and time again, there was nothing to indicate who had done this. Nothing to indicate why Barak was targeted.

"Am sorry, Cillian. But, if ye didnae find anyfin' then it seems we're at a deid end." Grom sifted through a pile of debris absentmindedly with the barrel of his rifle.

Cillian leaned against the wall and took another swig of his flask.

"Aye, ye might wanna take it easy on that," Grom commented.

Cillian looked down at the old metal container and noticed it was half empty. When they arrived, it was full. He nodded and stuffed it back into his coat. "Right, sorry. It's just…"

"Aye…"

"There has to be something here that can tell us who did this. This ain't the work of bandits. If anything they would've set up camp here. Probably kept Barak's family alive for ransom or worse."

Grom frowned at the idea. He'd been in many battles on many fronts and seen horrific things. But that didn't make it any easier on his conscience. Cillian continued pondering for a moment. Then it clicked.

"Did you check the safety vault?"

"Eh? Safety vault?"

Cillian stood up. Excitement was welling up in his chest. "Barak built a safety vault into this place a few years back. When things were just starting to get rough. A place to stow his family if trouble came knocking. How could I forget?"

He motioned for Grom to follow as he chattered to himself. The two exited the cottage and walked into the garage. The garage was more of a large shack made of sheet metal with a rockrete foundation. Inside were a myriad of workbenches, tool racks, and storage containers. "I've only been inside once, back when it was first built." Cillian explained as he looked. He reached behind a stack of crates. "But if I remember correctly-aha!"

There was a click and a large panel on the floor that was depressed slid off to the side and disappeared, revealing a metal staircase leading down into a dark stairway.

"Looks lek it wis secure," Grom said, scanning the stairwell with a flashlight.

"No, there is usually a second switch. If it opened after only one. It means whoever caused all this got in."

Grom readied his rifle. "After ye."

Cillian took point, blaster, at the ready; slowly making his way down the stairs. Each step echoed down the long but cramped stairway. Each step announcing their presence to whoever was inside. The air was stale and the smell of old stone and dust filled the nostril. At the end of the stairway a door opened with a swift FWOOSH. Prompting Grom and Cillian to hug either side of the doorway. After a moment Cillian stepped through with Grom close behind. The safety vault was less of a vault and more of a small cell. In the far corner were a series of bunks built into the wall. There was a sink, a shower, crates of supplies, a table, chairs, among other amenities. The first thing they noticed was the immediate smell of decay. The longer they stood in the room the worse the smell got; to the point where Grom and Cillian tied bandanas around their faces to try and cover the smell to no avail.

Grom tried the light switch and in return received a massive spark of electricity emanating from the ceiling. The pair flashed their lights up and found that the main light in the center of the ceiling was shot out. As they continued searching the vault they found more and more signs of a struggle. Suddenly Grom cried out in disgust and there was a loud crash. Cillian whirled around and shone his light at Grom. The clone was up against a wall, his hand clutching to the bandana around his face. On the stone floor in front of him was a corpse.

"Ah hell 'at's pure boggin!" Grom gagged.

Cillian was repulsed by the stench emanating from the corpse. But, despite the eye-watering hell that filled his nose, Cillian crouched down and began searching the body.

"Nah, 'at's all ye. Am no' diggin' through no corpse."Grom inched himself away from the scene.

Cillian's eyes burned and he fought bitterly to keep from becoming a gagging mess. Eventually, his eyes settled on a blood-stained patch on the corpse's shoulder that read:

KRASNIY CO. SECURITY DIVISION

Cillian retrieved his knife and cut the patch from the corpse's sleeve. Grom was waiting for him at the top of the stairs sipping his canteen.

"Am sorry mate, but there's naw way am going back doon thir." he apologized as Cillian wiped his hands.

"Don't need to." Cillian took a swig from his flask and tossed him the patch. "Looks like we found the culprit."

"Krasniy?" Grom said in disbelief. "Whit th'hell ur they doin' round here?"

"Tu'zamak did mention that Krasniy was muscling into the water trade. Apparently been makin' big moves in Petra."

"'At auld weequay finally bein' useful." Grom sighed.

"We're heading back to Pecado."

"EH? Wha- gonny no dae that." (Please don't do that.)

"We gotta talk to Tu'zamak and figure out what he knows. I also gotta grab something from home."

"Did ye forget 'at yer wee husband said tae never come back?"

"I know, but it's important. You don't gotta come with just wait at Tu'zamak's or-"

"Nae a chance! If thir's a chance that A can make nice wi' Aphras am takin' it!" Grom protested sternly. "Aphras' ma charaid n'all." (Aphras is my friend too).

"Then we're going back to Petra," Cillian said, exiting the garage.

(A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry, this took a while. Lack of motivation to write anything and the load from classes have been a bit much. But, I'm still here and I'm gonna work through the slump. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I've decided I wanted to give Duece and the boys a bigger role alongside Cillian and Grom. I want to continue to tell their story while also telling new ones. Thanks for the support not just on RoR but on Krest too which is still getting love well after that story has come to an end. I never started this to gain a following but the amount of support and love I've been getting is wild and I'll never get used to it! So, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I hope you all stick around for more!

Edit: I just now realized I posted an older version of this chapter. Sorry if it was a bit messy, this is the polished and newer version of the chapter. totally my mistake!

-SwingWatchaGot)