[The Old Man]

It had become dark. Not completely dead dark, but dark enough that even TN-1017's white armor didn't show up as anything but grey (along with the ID and status indicators overlaid on his image by the heads-up display in H-482's helmet). If there was anything dangerous on this rock, H-482 thought, then they needed to sully up that gleaming white as soon as possible.

They were positioned in a standard staggered watch position, with Ten-ten ahead and low, down on one knee using a tree trunk for cover. His riot shield was set up in front of him as further cover. It also provided a rest point for his blaster rifle. His melee baton was on a strap over his back. H-482 stood a few paces back, in the open where he could be seen and where he in turn had an unimpeded field of view. Anything that came at them would shoot at him first and then be taken down by Ten-ten.

"I hear something," Ten-ten told him.

H-482 listened. Up above, the wind blew enough to rustle the tree fronds together, giving a steady background noise. Above that, he could hear the muted conversation of the Rebel scum. He'd like to complain about how loud they were being, but it wasn't his place and they weren't that loud. He couldn't even make out what they were talking about. First sergeant was much closer to them. If she wanted them to pipe down, that was her call, assuming she was even listening to them. More likely she was chatting with FL-2216 on a private channel and had the pickup for the guards muted.

Closer still to him personally was the general, lying on the ground to his left next to the Rebel pilot. They'd been talking earlier about their position in their galaxy, but they'd been silent for a while now. He glanced over. They were still there, the (activated, functioning) code cylinders the general wore (as opposed to the dummy ones the Rebels had) marked his location along with the fact that, yeah, H-482 could see him lying there staring upward. There was some motion on the horizontal trunk their heads were propped against. Possibly one had his arms spread along it and was moving his hands but that didn't make anatomical sense given their position.

He'd heard, or thought he'd heard, a faint clicking noise just moments earlier. Maybe from out in the darkness, but he hadn't been sure. H-482 turned back and asked Ten-ten, "What do you hear?"

"A rustling." So not the clicking.

"Where?" He scanned the arc they were watching. There was nothing suspicious in it. It might have been dark, but his helmet compensated. Aside from some intricacies of color vision, he could see as well as though it were broad daylight. There was a little ground vegetation – mostly ferns and other epiphytes – but not enough to provide concealment. He cast his line of sight upward, then turned to review the rear profile of the shuttle behind him in case something had dropped down on it. He wondered if he should switch over to infrared when Ten-ten spoke.

"Right in front of- Oh."

Ten-ten didn't sound upset, but H-482 still swung back in a hurry, with a note of alarm in his voice. "What?" There was an adage from way back in the days of the Empire, probably from the clone era: The only old stormtroopers were nervous ones. H-482 was no exception.

FN-9021 broke in. "Something up over there?" He was on relief duty, but standing with FN-9037 and FN-9048 on perimeter duty on the starboard side of the shuttle. All the guards were on the same channel, but they ignored conversations not directed to them. Still, it meant they had heard Ten-ten's words and H-482's near-yelp of a 'what?' Just as they were supposed to.

Ten-ten said, "It's a- a bug. Or an animal. It came out of the ground."

H-482 walked closer, blaster swinging down. The thing in question was a segmented bug-like thing about the size of his hand. It didn't look threatening. He was glad to see some kind of life on this rock. "Stand down," he muttered for the benefit of the rest on the channel. "I'm looking at it." The thing was blue-grey, maybe more grey than blue (the helmets did funny things to color in the dark), and it was waving antennae in the air. It was an arm's length from where TN-1017 squatted. H-482 considered stepping on it, but decided not to. "Just leave it alone. It's not-"

"Stop that!" came the general's voice, clear and commanding.

"What?" the pilot's voice was softer, confused.

"That's not you! Oh! It-" The general scrambled to his feet. H-482 swung that way. The general was waving his arms erratically. The pilot was getting up. H-482 converged on them on one side as First Sergeant CL-0745 and Staff Sergeant FL-2216 came up on the other, from where they'd been standing overwatch from the ramp.

H-482 grabbed the pilot's arm to yank him off-balance and away from the general.

"Hey!" the pilot said, tone offended.

"It was on me!" the general said, hastily running his hands over his hair and neck.

"Over here," FL-2216 said, drawing CL-0745's attention to the tree trunk the general and pilot had been leaning their heads against. "That's it." Her blaster was pointed at something.

"Let go of me," the pilot growled, jerking against the grip. H-482 jammed the muzzle of his blaster against the man's side, hard enough to get his point across. The pilot stilled.

The general had turned to the sergeants. "What is it?"

"Some kind of creature, the size of my hand, ten or twelve legs, maybe pincers."

"Kill it."

"Wait-!" said the woman who had earlier helped the general with repairing the shuttle. The Rebel mob had moved closer, bringing the camp light with them.

CL-0745 stepped on it anyway. It crunched audibly, like that shell was surprisingly thick and durable.

"Was I bitten?" The general was feeling around on his neck. The Rebels came over, shining their light over the scene and causing his helmet visual intake to struggle with the glare. They murmured to each other about the creature, apparently spotting a few more of them if their words were any indication.

FL-2216 moved between the general and the newcomers, blaster sideways across her body at hip level in warning. CL-0745 took a look at the general herself. "I don't see anything, sir."

"I don't feel anything, either," the general admitted. He looked around, turning in a half-circle. He ended facing H-482 and the pilot. "Release him. He had nothing to do with it."

H-482 let go immediately. He doubted the general saw the displeased scowl the pilot shot at him before straightening his jacket and moving away. The feeling was mutual as far as H-482 was concerned.

The general said, "If most of the life on this planet is nocturnal, then we should make our camp inside the shuttle, cramped as it may be."

"Yes sir," CL-0745 said. "I'll see to clearing the furniture and moving it into the cargo holds below deck."

"Commander?" the general said, looking at the pilot in an obvious prompt.

"Yeah?" the pilot said.

"Does the Resistance intend to sleep outdoors or inside?"

"Inside. Until we know what we're dealing with here."

H-482 thought that at least they'd be able to keep a better eye on the scum that way. There was something wrong about this place. He thought about it as he returned to the perimeter position where TN-1017 was and once again scanned the forest. Earlier, there had been plenty of sunlight. The fronds at the top of the trees didn't block it all out. So why so few plants on the ground? Also, no birdsong, no droning of insects, no hooting or calling of anything.

The other troopers had been mostly raised on ships and in sterile, controlled environments, so maybe it didn't strike them as odd. H-482 considered that he'd seen the movement of that bug on the trunk earlier, but he hadn't seen it as what it was – a potential threat – until it was literally crawling on someone. The general, in fact. He thought he heard that clicking noise again – still from out in the darkness and he still saw nothing that was causing it.