Graduation from the stormtrooper training facilities on Starkiller base comes without warning, a solid five months before it's supposed to. FN-2187 stares at the notice scrolling across an overhead holoprojector in the mess hall and flinches in surprise when several of the closest clones let out varied curses, Mando'a and Huttese and Basic mixing together. FN-2187 glances over at the nearest vod. He wears a kama and pauldron, and lines of maroon decorate his armor. FN-2187 can't remember his name off the top of his head. He signs a quick apology and question with the hand not clenched around his fork. His muscles twinge in protest at the movement—Commander Cody worked him over a few hours earlier in the training room, and he still hasn't completely recovered.
"You're fine, vod'ika. It's Fil," the clone says, dipping his head in response. "There are a lot of us."
FN-2187 makes a face. It's an explanation, not an excuse. He knows how important names are to the clones.
"In regards to that," Fil glares at the order displayed on the holoprojector, "this isn't the first time we've seen it. Near the end of the war, they started sending vode to battle months early."
"Months? Try years," a nearby shiny grunts. FN-2187 glances at him and winces at the lingering softness of his cheeks, not quite as lean or developed as most other clones that he sees.
"It's interesting that the First Order is resorting to early deployment so soon," Trapper says. "Are they that desperate for troops?"
"The First Order isn't nearly as well-equipped as they want the galaxy to believe," Fil mutters under his breath. FN-2187 tenses for a moment. Old instinct makes him hesitate at any statement that isn't directly praising the First Order, but he shoves it down with a huff of frustration. He knows better now. The clones have taught him well. Sometimes the lingering effects of the indoctrination still grab at him, though.
Is this good or bad? he signs.
Fil frowns. "I don't know. You've been training hard with the vode, but it's nothing compared to real battle." He reaches up with one hand and rubs at his neck, an odd expression passing across his face. "Or the real galaxy. You never know what could kill you until it does."
FN-2187 cautiously pulls his arms to his sides as Fil's form flickers. He has little desire to see how the other man died.
"But you'll finally get out of this facility. We'll finally have more options."
FN-2187 hasn't ever allowed himself to think too much about future deployment. He'd wanted to focus as much as possible on training. The idea of setting foot on another planet, of seeing different stars in the sky, of hyperspace travel and foreign species and actual combat—
He feels dizzy, suddenly. He can't decide if it's excitement or terror.
"You'll be fine, verd," Trapper reassures. "We've got your back."
The reminder effectively cuts his panic away. FN-2187 isn't alone. He never is anymore. He's got millions of brothers watching out for him. He trusts them far more than he could ever trust the First Order. He sets his jaw and lifts his chin. The clones closest to him grin in approval. FN-2187 glances around to make sure none of the scattered stormtroopers around him are watching, and grins back.
The graduation ceremony is anticlimactic, to say the least.
Perhaps if FN-2187 had still been brainwashed, conditioned to obey and cheer mindlessly for the cause, he would have found it more engaging. But he's not, and hidden in the sea of white-armored stormtroopers standing at attention on the parade ground, he's forced to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood to stop from laughing as Torrent Company flocks around him. They crack jokes and poke rambunctious fun at each guest speaker until heat rises in even FN-2187's cheeks—and he's not even their target.
Two months ago, just the very thought of laughing during a superior's speech would have terrified him into silence. Hardcase is a bad influence. FN-2187 doesn't mind it anymore.
The only time the clones go silent is when General Hux himself stands to address them. His attendance is unusual, but the Finalizer is docked on Starkiller base for a supply run, and Hux is impassioned enough to demand a right to speak. There are rumors that Ren is on-planet as well. FN-2187 doesn't doubt them. The Finalizer is his ship, after all, but the servant of the Supreme Leader doesn't make an appearance.
"Interesting," Jesse murmurs, eyes narrowed as Hux rants. FN-2187 gets the sense that the clones are analyzing the man, and based on the sneer on Fives' face and the raised eyebrow from Tup, they aren't too impressed. Hardcase makes a rude gesture at him that makes FN-2187 snort out loud despite his best efforts to remain silent.
They don't have to wait too long to receive orders after that. Their training schedules are suspended as a result of the early deployment. FN-2187 spends most of his free time waiting in the barracks, knee bouncing in anticipation. It's only a few hours later that they finally get news.
Slip bursts into the room with a datapad in hand. FN-2187 jerks up on instinct, one hand reaching down to his side for a weapon even though he isn't even in armor. Zeroes swears. Nines freezes from where he sits at the table opposite FN-2187.
From where he's leaned against the wall, Wolffe snorts. "Udesii, kih'vod. Someone would have told you if the station were under attack."
"Yeah, the vod-comm would have told us," Sinker says.
Next to him, Boost snorts. "Vod-comm? Is that what we're calling it now?"
"You got a better name in mind?"
FN-2187 rolls his eyes at them as he stands, turning back to his living squadmates. "Slip?
Slip gapes at them for a long moment. He raises the datapad. "We've got deployment orders."
"Sithspit, you're kidding," Nines says. Slip mutely hands him the datapad. Nines skims it with a flick of his finger and goes pale. "The Finalizer."
FN-2187 blanches. "Ren's ship? That's…"
Boost and Sinker shift close to read over Nines' shoulder. Nines tenses involuntarily when Boost accidentally drapes an elbow through his shoulder. Too distracted to really care about the discomfort, the stormtrooper passes the datapad into FN-2187's waiting hands.
Force. It's the truth. They've been assigned to Kylo Ren's flagship. FN-2187 shudders. The stories stormtroopers tell of the man's destructive temper have never seemed more vivid.
Slip can't seem to decide whether to be excited or flat-out terrified. "We're finally leaving Starkiller base."
"Not a moment too soon," Zeroes says. He seems the most pleased out of all of them, pride flashing across his face. "Our training scores must have improved a lot for them to land us such a distinguished deployment."
FN-2187 barely restrains a snort. Their training scores improve because Slip, Nines, and FN-2187 work hard to function as a team. Zeroes himself continually fixates on his personal score.
"I can't decide if this is a good thing or not," Sinker mutters. The playful tone from earlier disappears as he speaks.
"Alert the others." Wolffe's eye narrows. "Quickly."
"Use the vod-comm, you mean?" Boost says, but he wastes no time in sticking his head out the door. "Vod. Spread the word. There's news of deployment." FN-2187 hears the closest brother speak in acknowledgement, then the faint sound of him speaking to another brother further down the hall. The notice will be spread through the majority of the clone ranks in minutes—hence Sinker's fond nickname of vod-comm. Any other group relying on spoken messaging might mess up the information as it travels between members, but the clones are terrifyingly efficient with it.
"When does it say we leave?" Zeroes asks.
"We've got a few days." Slip plops himself down onto his bunk right as Jesse phases through the wall with a cry.
"Force, is it true?"
"The vod-comm would never lie," Boost says.
Commander Bly slides into the room from below with a few of his men in tow, coming up right underneath Nines' feet. FN-2187 fights not to react as Bly signs a tasteful hello in ARC sign.
"The rumors about Ren aren't exactly reassuring," Jesse says. One hand reaches up to rest on his temple. He grimaces. "Sith are more trouble than a barrel of rathtar."
"Not to mention harder to kill," Wolffe growls. FN-2187 glances at his scar and swallows nervously.
Vode pour into the room, filling it with anticipatory chatter. Domino squad appears in the far corner. Commanders Gree and Blackout lean through the wall. A group of shinies pour in so quickly that one runs right through FN-2187. He flinches, half-expecting a memory, but none comes this time—just the familiar chill and goosebumps of being walked through. Multiple voices address him, cutting over the sound of Nines' next comment.
FN-2187 sighs. Quiet, please, he signs. The clones nearest to him notice, nudging each other into silence and spreading the word. FN-2187 sees a shift of translucent movement out in the hallway and knows that the vode have filled that space and then some in their concern.
"Did anyone call the Alor'ad?" a clone commander in scuba gear asks the quieting room.
A scout raises a hand. "Elek, Al'verde! He's on his way"
"Good work, Stak."
"We'll have to do more flash training again," Slip says with a groan. FN-2187 struggles to zone back into the conversation of the living. "Learn the layout of yet another ship."
"Are you really complaining?" Zeroes glares at him. "We've just been assigned to one of the most prestigious posts in the entire First Order!"
"I doubt any post in this entire di'kutla army is prestigious," a clone mutters right in FN-2187's ear. Only months of experience prevent him from flinching. He glances to the side and relaxes at the shock of short blond hair that greets him. Rex offers him a two-fingered salute. "I hear you're getting deployed."
"What about you, Nines? Do you want to complain about it, too?"
"Kriff no, Zeroes, what deathsticks are you on? It's an enormous responsibility, but it's a privilege!" Nines doesn't sound quite as convinced as his words claim. FN-2187 watches him shove his hands behind his back to hide the fact that his hands tremble. He wants to reach out, but doesn't dare.
"Eight-seven?" Zeroes challenges.
FN-2187 meets his gaze and puts durasteel into his voice. "It will be an honor to serve with Lord Ren. We couldn't have hoped for better orders."
Commander Thorn whistles, just his head visible through the wall. A cluster of shinies gasp, impressed.
Rex snorts. "Good work. If I didn't know any better, even I would believe you."
FN-2187 nearly opens his mouth to respond out loud before catching himself. He's lived with the First Order for the majority of his life. He knows all too well how to play the system, act as the mindless drone that his superiors want him to be.
They're in for a nasty surprise, once the clones finally figure out the best way for FN-2187 to start sabotaging them from the inside.
His answer placates Zeroes enough to calm the room. Slip huffs at him, but doesn't try to resume the discussion. Nines watches FN-2187 through narrowed eyes.
FN-2187 gets to his feet. "Refresher," he mutters when his squadmates all peer at him. He makes his way out the door. There are so many clones following him that everywhere he looks is a swirl of blurred motion over the backdrop of the base. It's disorienting. He can barely tell one clone apart from the next.
He locks the door of the private refresher—the one technically reserved for ranking officers, but the vode will position someone down the hall to send word if someone comes this way. He leans against the sink and takes a deep breath.
"You okay?" a vod asks.
FN-2187 isn't entirely sure. "Kriff."
The clones hover, concerned looks flashing over the faces not covered by helmets.
"I just didn't expect this. Kylo Ren… he's dangerous. He doesn't care about stormtroopers."
"Are you afraid?" Rex doesn't seem judgemental, just worried.
"I don't know." He should be, probably. He's a traitor in the midst of a sea of loyalists. Ren works outside of the official military command structure, but he serves the Supreme Leader all the same.
"Getting onboard Kylo Ren's ship will give us more insight on how to best make our move." Rex twitches like he wants to lay a hand on FN-2187's shoulder—a habit that he's still unable to shake. There's something dark in his eyes. "But you'll be close to a Sith."
FN-2187 tenses for a moment, remembering the vode's stories of bloodthirsty Zabrak and men who shot lightning from their fingertips. Sith are powerful. "Will he know what I can see?"
"I don't know," Rex says solemnly. "He might."
FN-2187 takes a deep breath and tries not to think too hard about what that would mean for him, or how quickly his death would follow.
"We can find a way to get you out, too," Rex suggests. "We can help you get to the Resistance and do what we can with them there instead. You have more than one option here—"
"No," FN-2187 interrupts. "No, I can do this." He thinks of his ori'vode, the strength he's seen in their memories. "I need to stay." He knows it as sure as he knows his serial number. "I'll be able to help them so much more from there."
Rex exhales. "Alright."
Around the room, several other men voice their approval. FN-2187 takes strength from the determined looks in their eyes and finally moves away from the sink.
"I'm proud of you," Rex says. Something in FN-2187 leaps in elation. "Kotep kih'vod. You've changed so much in such a short time."
"He would last against me for at least a few minutes in a spar now," Commander Cody says with a smirk. "Before he wouldn't have lasted ten seconds."
Rex huffs out a laugh. "That too. We'll help you every step of the way. Ren won't know what hit him."
FN-2187 lets out a shaky breath. This won't be the first time he's willingly putting himself in danger, and it won't be the last, either. He meets Rex's gaze. "Thanks, ori'vod."
He can do this. For his brothers.
Their final training test is more of a formality than anything else. The First Order needs manpower. FN-2187 watches a squad three months younger than them beat the course by the skin of their teeth and still obtain a passing score. It's… disheartening. Especially after hearing so much of the brutal regimenes that the clones had to follow while in training.
Regardless, FN-2187 and his own squadmates do their best. Zeroes stays with them this time, surprisingly, and the four of them maintain a tight formation as they barrel over barriers and knock out the various turrets positioned around the room. Once they've finished, Zeroes is quick to turn away from them again.
They pass the test easily. FN-2187 remembers a time when receiving a passing score was all that he lived for. Now he can't really bring himself to care that much. What he does value, however, are the grins and the thumbs up he receives from the cluster of vode watching nearby as they exit the training grounds.
"Kandosii'la, vod!" one calls out, and FN-2187 doesn't know that word exactly, but it sounds similar enough to kandosii for him to get the jist. Well done.
His heart swells. He smiles as he pulls his helmet off. "Vor'e." He whispers, but it isn't quite quiet enough.
Nines frowns as he looks over. "What was that, Eight-seven?"
FN-2187 winces inwardly. "Nothing, sorry. Talking to—talking to myself."
Nines hums as they file into the barracks. Clones follow them in, silent for now. FN-2187 catches a flicker of ARC sign out of the corner of his eyes, but it isn't directed at him, so he ignores it for the time being.
Slip and Zeroes head for the showers. FN-2187 sets his blaster on the rack. Nines shifts closer to him, almost too close. FN-2187 frowns.
"Everything alright?"
"You say things that I don't understand sometimes."
FN-2187 stiffens. All around him the clones begin to shift closer. A low murmur runs through the room.
Boil pushes his way close, peering at Nines warily. "Stay calm, kid. You're okay."
FN-2187 takes a breath. Should he deny the accusation? Nines… is a good squadmate. He's loyal to the First Order, but he's willing to work as a team. FN-2187 likes him.
Nines doesn't wait for an answer. "Once, you told me something. A word in another language." He speaks so quietly that FN-2187 barely hears him. The other stormtrooper busies himself with nursing a bruise on his side, jaw clenched. "It was after a training session, kind of like this. What was it again?"
He seems… honest. Curious, even. He won't meet FN-2187's gaze as he speaks. A guilt that FN-2187 is all too familiar with flashes across his face. It's enough to make him relax.
"Vode an." FN-2187 shoots a meaningful look at the hovering clones as he speaks. "It means, brothers all."
Nines shifts his weight uneasily, brow furrowing. "But we aren't brothers."
"Not by blood. But we are brothers in arms. The First Order put us in a squad together, so we might as well fight together. I'll watch your back, and you watch mine."
The cluster of clones hanging around them make varying noises of agreement. A few muttered calls of "Oya!" echo in the space of the hallway.
Nines frowns. "That's what you've been doing. You keep… making us work as a team."
"I don't make you. But yeah."
"Why?"
"Because…" Because an army of vode teaches him daily what it means to call another brother, to care for others and guard their lives as closely as his own, to be alive. "Because you're my squadmates, and I won't leave any of you behind. We should trust each other, but we can't do that if we're always competing."
"Atta boy," Fives says from somewhere out of sight. FN-2187 knows it's him from the drawl spinning his words. "Jate, kih'vod."
Nines nods once, still frowning in confusion. He doesn't say anything else. FN-2187 waits to see if he'll say anything more, ask anything else, but the other stormtrooper turns away instead.
"He'll come around. Don't worry," Boil says reassuringly. FN-2187 taps his fingers against his thigh nervously and hopes that he's right.
The Finalizer towers above them as their assigned battalion marches up the ramp into the depths of the ship. Hundreds of shadows flicker across the durasteel floor. FN-2187 moves in time with the rest of the stormtroopers and struggles to keep his breathing even.
There's no going back after this.
Commander Colt flickers into view next to him. "You okay, kid?"
FN-2187 risks breaking formation to sign a quick okay. It's the most he can get away with in a place like this.
Colt nods. "Jate. K'oyacyi, verd."
Staying alive would be much easier if he wasn't boarding the Star Destroyer of a Sith, but FN-2187 appreciates the sentiment anyway.
The moment he reaches the crest of the ramp and sets foot onto the ship, he feels a strange tug in his gut—something like nausea, perhaps, but lighter, less distracting. He barely has time to recognize the sensation before it fades, and the translucent forms of clones burst into existence around him. The ranks increase until ghostly soldiers fill the entire hangar, sitting on the anchored tie-fighters and perched on every available space. FN-2187's fellow stormtroopers march right through them. FN-2187 blinks at the sudden swirl of light and motion. He misses a step. Zeroes, next to him, glares.
The clones scatter after a few moments, presumably to investigate their new home. Only a few stay, stepping into the ranks with FN-2187 as his battalion comes to a stop to receive their barrack assignments.
"We'll find Ren to test whether or not he can see us," Rex says. "Until then, let's hope that you don't run into him."
FN-2187 is about to sign be careful until an officer in a black uniform glances his way. He stills, ice trickling down his spine. Force. He can't take any risks here. The consequences would be much more severe than they were during training.
Rex catches the twitch of his fingers and grimaces. "Sorry, vod'ika. I wish there was an easier way for you to talk."
FN-2187 lifts one shoulder in a tiny shrug, subtle enough that it shouldn't be noticed. There's nothing Rex can do about that. It isn't his fault, anyway.
A clone bursts through the nearest wall, sprinting full-tilt for Rex. Rex's hands go to the empty holsters at his thighs, grasping for weapons that no longer exist.
"Alor'ad! Ara'novor darjetii!" the clone gasps out when he's close.
Rex tenses. "What? Where?"
"He's—!"
The largest hangar door leading deeper into the ship slides open with a hiss. FN-2187 looks as far over as he can without turning his head. He catches a glimpse of a flicking black robe, a hint of silver metal—
Cold crawls down his throat and freezes his lungs. FN-2187 chokes on it, struggles to breathe. It permeates through his armor and sinks into his chest.
Kylo Ren marches across the hangar bay side by side with General Hux. They appear to be arguing about something, though FN-2187 isn't even close enough to hear the murmur of their voices.
The pressure of Ren's presence is enormous. Rex swears next to him, long and low. FN-2187 wants to think that he's imagining the subtle note of anxiety in the clone's voice.
He still can't draw in a proper breath. The air hangs thick and cloying around them—it's dark, somehow, tinted with anger and hatred. Fear kicks feebly at his mind, urging him to move, to flee, but he can't even move, rooted to the spot as the Sith storms past. Blackness creeps in at the edge of his vision. He sways a little. Panic bubbles in his stomach. Force, Force, he can barely move. If it's this bad from a distance away, FN-2187 can't imagine how it feels from close up—how are the stormtroopers nearest to him not buckling under the awful cold—?
A luminous hand appears from the side. A finger brushes FN-2187's forehead.
A field of plants sway with the gentle breeze. The air glows as the sun sets further and further into the sky. Cut leans back in his seat on the porch. His muscles twinge pleasantly from planting the new batch of jogan fruit earlier. An eopie lows somewhere in the distance.
"Cut?" A hand slides across the back of his neck, finding rest on his shoulder. He glances up to meet Suu's warm gaze. Her skin glows in the fading light of the sunset. "The children are ready for supper."
"I'll be right there."
She smiles, turning back to push the door open and slip inside. Laughter sneaks through the door before it closes, young and carefree. Suu's voice rises for a moment, inching towards stern. Jek and Shaeeah whine in complaint, but a moment later Cut hears the telltale sound of dishes clattering onto the table in preparation for the meal.
Compared to the cold, sterile labs of Kamino, Saleucami is paradise. It's been nearly a year, but Cut still gets like this sometimes—awestruck, incredulous, beyond grateful that somehow he'd ended up here instead of dying horrifically on the battlefield.
The door pops open again. Jek's tiny face peers at him. "Dad? Are you coming?"
Warmth blooms in his chest. He rises to his feet and revels in the beaming smile his son offers. This is what it must feel like to truly be at peace.
FN-2187 heaves. He opens his eyes and meets Cut's steady gaze. He struggles to get his breathing under control before anyone notices.
"You alright?" the farmer asks. FN-2187 gapes at him from beneath the helmet, unable to comprehend the sliver of life the clone had shown him. Lingering warmth from Cut's memory burns in his chest. Ren's cold aura can't compete, fading away. Air comes easier to his lungs with every inhale.
Kylo Ren and General Hux leave the hangar without a word to the new recruits, disappearing. FN-2187 relaxes. The tension in his shoulders drains away.
"I'm sorry," Cut says. He pulls back a little. "I didn't ask if I could do that. But I thought something happy might help. You couldn't breathe."
FN-2187 has questions. So many of them. Constrained by the silence and the stormtroopers around him, all he can do is nod gratefully and hope that Cut understands. He seems to, if the soft look on his face is of any indication.
"Well, I guess we know that Ren can't see us now," Rex says. He wipes his forearm across his brow in relief. "That's not how I hoped to test that theory, though."
The memory of the seething cold Ren had produced lingers. FN-2187 clings to the peace Cut offered like a lifeline.
Kriff, if it's going to be like that every time, FN-2187 has no idea how he's supposed to fight against it. He glances over nervously at Rex and catches an odd expression on his ori'vod's face. Rex peers at FN-2187 curiously, like he's playing a particularly intense game of dejarik.
What? FN-2187 risks signing, mostly because it can be done with one hand.
"Nothing, vod'ika. You're alright. You should be able to get used to it. Sith tend to have that effect."
"Unfortunately, he's speaking from experience," Cut says. He glances at Rex. "But he reacted a lot more strongly than most would."
FN-2187 tenses. That sounds bad.
Rex sighs. "I know. I don't have any answers yet. We need to get him out of here."
FN-2187 forces air through his nose. He doesn't like to be talked about as if he wasn't there.
"Ni ceta, vod." Rex's apology soothes FN-2187's ruffled feathers. "There's a lot we don't know. Chief among them is why you can see us. The sooner we can get you to safety, the sooner we can start getting answers."
"Admiral on deck!" someone shouts. FN-2187 straightens his spine automatically. To his vague amusement, several of the clones in sight do the same before slouching again, rolling their eyes.
"Sur'ar. You'll need to know what's going on," Rex advises. FN-2187 turns his attention back to the First Order with reluctance and waits for his assignment.
That night, uncomfortable in his stiff bunk in the Finalizer barracks, he dreams again. He dreams of a girl who stands in the middle of a supernova unharmed and a man who rises with the stars on silver wings. He dreams of a massive black hand reaching for him, fingers hooked like claws, ready to swallow him whole. He dreams of endless sand and sky, winding together and blurring until he can't tell one from the other.
He remembers very little when he wakes.
A/N:
Mando'a:
Vod'ika- little brother
Verd-warrior, soldier
Udesii, kih'vod- calm down, little brother
Alor'ad- captain
Elek, Al'verde- Yes, commander
Di'kutla- worthless, stupid, useless
Ori'vode- older brothers
Kotep kih'vod- brave little brother
Kandosii'la- amazing
Kandosii- well done
Vor'e- thanks
Oya- Many meanings: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.
Jate, kih'vod- good, little brother
Jate. K'oyacyi, verd- good. Stay alive, warrior
Alor'ad! Ara'novor darjetii!- Captain! The Sith is coming!
Ni ceta, vod- Sorry, brother
Oof. Update on a Sunday night. Sorry about that! This is me wishing everyone a good week, I guess! Thank you for your patience with this fic in particular! I really appreciate the support! I've been hesitating to post this for ages, and it's just time to post it regardless of whether or not I'm satisfied, otherwise this fic will never go anywhere aa! Hence, update!
Am I skimming really quickly through these last few moments of Finn's stormtrooper training? Yes, yes I am. Because if I hadn't, I would have kept sitting on this chapter, and it never would have been updated! I need to get to some engaging plot ASAP for my own sake, which is why this chapter might seem a little rushed, but oh well. Hopefully it was still enjoyable for you guys! We'll get to Force Awakens stuff next chapter!
Also, whether or not Kylo Ren counts as a Sith can be debated for eight years without stopping, but to the clones, he would definitely qualify. Dark Force-user with a lightsaber? Probably a Sith. It's not like they would know the difference, you know?
Anyway, thanks for your support! Love you guys!