'Well, I know I had it coming, I know I can't be free.
But those people keep a movin' and that's what tortures me...
Well, if they freed me from this prison,
If that railroad train was mine,
I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line...'
'Folsom Prison Blues' - Johnny Cash
Weapon inspections were routine after every simulation, exercise and battle. Their intended purpose was to keep the equipment in prime functioning condition. A misfired blaster could stun a trooper or even kill them if the weapon was on a high setting. A flame thrower explosion could wipe out more than a few soldiers and a malfunctioning riot control baton could short out and disable the wielder's entire armor system. Such incidents would cost lives, yes. But more importantly, they could cost a battle or a strategic foothold and then everyone would pay.
ZL-U58 waited seemingly patiently as her F-11D Blaster Rifle was disengaged, dismantled and the blast count logged. Still in full uniform, she shifted to her other foot in a slow and subtle move and behind her helmet, exhaled slowly. It was always prudent to show little of how one felt when amongst superiors and the Ordnance Officers were no exception. But under the body armor and the skinsuit beneath it, she was overheated, her body throbbing in a few spots from hits that hadn't penetrated the white plastoid, but had left bruises behind from the blow. The temperature controls in her suit were malfunctioning, the black suit clinging to her miserably hot skin, but she hadn't yet been able to report the issue. It likely wouldn't be repaired anytime soon. It was her duty to adjust to personal discomforts in the field.
As sweat dripped in a slow line from the tightly coiled blue hair at her nape and all the way down her spine, her helmeted head turned, tilted slightly as she spotted FN-2187 again, this time in the company of the imposing form of the Captain. FN-2187 was standing at another Ordnance table, his weapon in the hands of one of the inspectors, dismantled already. Phasma bent, plucked up the blast counter and held it beneath the helmeted head of the chastised Stormtrooper. Beneath her helmet, ZL-U58 sucked in a breath, her eyes tightening with worry. Had he shot at all? He'd been distraught, regretful about the dispatching of the villagers. Had he refused to fire...?
"ZL-U58, your weapon passes inspection. Take it and yourself to barracks. You are off duty." The crisp voice of the Ordnance officer had her tearing her attention off of FN-2187. She snapped to and nodded tightly. "Very good, Sir. Thank you." Taking the F-11D off of the table, she holstered it across her back, then gratefully jogged away from the Ordnance station. Her attention swung over as a gleaming flash of armor passed through her line of vision and she watched the Captain stride away in the opposite direction. FN-2187 was walking away from the inspection table, his pace much slower than her own had been moments ago.
If he was indeed in some sort of trouble, under some sort of observation for his actions on Jakku, it wouldn't be in her best interests to seek him out and risk being targeted herself for an internal review. She was loyal, consistently made good marks and had been slated recently for a potential promotion from ground assault to sniper, a promotion she badly wanted to go through. ZL-U58 had not busted ass for the last ten years since entering full combat at the age of eighteen to just lose it over a friendship.
She wrestled with herself for all of thirty seconds, then reasoned that if she could talk to him, give him some encouragement...it could only work in her and the Order's favor. Satisfied with that internal assurance, she changed directions and jogged towards him.
"Internal temp controls are busted," she muttered as soon as she got up beside him. "What say we get the hell out of uniform and get something cold to drink and some chow? I have some of that jerky in my bunk. That spicy stuff you like?" She kept her tone light, friendly as her and FN-2187 had always been friendly with each other. At one point in the past, she'd considered trying to tempt him into something a little friendlier, but his lack of interest had kept it platonic, totally friend-zoning her. She'd let it go, with only a little bit of regret.
"Can't," he replied shortly and beneath his helmet, she heard that same uneasy, erratic breathing. Her head cocked, eyeing him closely enough to see that his gait was jerky, his gloved fingers flexing closed, flexing open. It was easy to imagine the vibration coming off of him and into the air, waves of anxiety and nerves. "I'm being sent to re-conditioning." The way it came out of him was a rush, as if he wanted the words to be spat from his mouth as quickly as possible. If it had been mere annoyance, it wouldn't have bothered her. No one enjoyed re-conditioning...it was a measure taken when a soldier began to show signs of non-conformity. Just a precaution, to make certain they kept what was truly important in the forefront of their minds.
But it wasn't annoyance. It was fear, it was...disgust. Concern had her making a split-second decision and with a glance towards Ordnance as they left it behind and a sighting down of the corridor ahead, she hooked her hand under his elbow and gave him a yank. Catching him off-guard, FN-2187 cursed under his breath, began to pull back, but ZL-U58 was already pulling him through a refresher door.
Letting it fall shut behind her, she lifted her hands to unseal her helmet and pull it off. Cool air rushed over her sweaty skin and she exhaled roughly in relief. Moving to one of the sanitizers, she set her helmet on the sink edge, then peered down the line of steamers and sonic showers, listening for the sound of any other occupants, but it was quiet save for the bubbling of the steamers and the faint dripping of water from a shower someone had used earlier. Satisfied, she turned to face him.
"What's going on? You were shaky on the transpo. You're shaky now and don't tell me it was Slip dying. It's bad, but...you and I both know going in people we like are gonna die." It was harsh, but all too true. FN-2187 might have been new to battle, fresh from Sanitation, but he knew what could, what would happen in a ground assault. She turned and braced herself over the sink, staring for a moment at her face, her ruddy pink skin even redder than usual from overheating, the blue hair plastered in unappealing sweaty ringlets to her temples and neck. She grunted, then turned on the sanitizer and scooped the chemical-scented filter water over her face and along her coiled braids.
Behind her, ZL-U58 heard the harsh breathing of her friend as he yanked off his own helmet. Her face dripping, she turned, wiping away water with the back of one hand and stared at him as he simply bent over, hands on knees, and closed his eyes, as if concentrating on pulling in one breath after another. He stayed like that a long moment while the tension spread through her body and tightened a knot in her stomach.
"This is wrong," he finally said. "All of it. Wrong."
ZL-U58 forgot about drying her face and stepped forward, water trickling down into the neck of her skinsuit. "What is wrong?" She asked lowly, but she already knew what he was going to say and that knot in her belly only grew.
"This!" She flinched at the roar of his voice. "All of this! You, me...every one of us...we're just machines, 58! We eat and we sleep and we shit when they tell us to and now we kill when they tell us to! Those people...some of them weren't even armed. There were kids! And we just...put holes in them. Damn it!" He turned and kicked a shower door hard enough to send it off its track. Water blasted on in the stall.
ZL-U58 ignored the damage and rounded on him, getting in his face, her stomach killing her and something like panic beginning to well up inside her.
"This is what we are, 87! This is who we are! We are in the right, we are the loyal ones! If we're asked to do things that are questionable, it's best to not question them. And I have been doing this far longer than you and I can tell you that this galaxy will never have peace, will never have any kind of order if we can't put it right again! I don't enjoy killing children...but better those children die now then suffer later in a world of anarchy and chaos." As it came out of her mouth, she knew that some detached part of her mind was repulsed by such a philosophy, but she couldn't find it in herself to truly disagree.
"Listen to yourself, 58!" FN-2187 shoved forward, grasped her by her shoulder pauldrons and shook her, his sweat-slicked face inches from her own. "You had a family like me once. You don't remember them, but I've heard we came into the academy at the same time. We weren't born into this like a lot of us are. So you had a family and what do you think happened to that family, huh? What, 58? You think they just...handed you over? No, of course they didn't! They were probably slaves and had no choice or they were free and you were just ripped away from them. What does that tell you, 58?"
He shook her again and this time she threw up an elbow, blocked his arm and shoved him away, taking several steps back from him. The panic was undeniable now and it was nausea churning in her aching belly as the words came out of her in harsh, staccato rhythm.
"It tells me the Order knew best...I'm an alien, 87! You think I would have lived free for very long, being female, being a Zeltron? The Order saved me, they gave me a home and a purpose and a reason for being. We're part of something greater than ourselves, you and I. We are going to make things right."
She had no idea how animated her face became when she spoke of the First Order, of her role in it, how her eyes lit up and her smile went bright. But FN-2187 saw it and he shook his head, began slowly backing away from her, picking up his helmet.
"I thought you were at least a little different, 58. Just a shred different. You helped Slip, but...you're just as crazy as Hux, as Ren. We're gonna die, you know...if it's not the Resistance, it'll be the Order itself, the minute we mess up." He pointed at her, his lips pressed thin, his jaw tight. "The minute we don't please or show non-conformity, we're as good as dead because then we're complications, not assets. I probably won't even make it out of re-conditioning without tripping off more red flags. I'm getting out...I'm not dying like this," he muttered quietly, as if talking to himself. ZL-U58 stepped up, her hand outstretched to him.
"Don't do this...don't be stupid. You're my friend." She drew to a halt on her own words, staring at the stricken look on the other soldier's face, at the raw pain in it as he said:
"So was Slip. And they didn't even get his body, 58."
And on that, he was gone, leaving her alone in the refresher with just her bedraggled reflection and his words playing through her head.
The third chapter will be coming in a couple more days. If you have a tumblr and are interested in Star Wars fandom shenanigans, you can find me at bluemilkinaredsolocup.