Disclaimer: Naturally I own none of this.
A/N: The idea was floating around and once I started doodling Wikus with a lightsaber, I simply had to. This takes place along the Clone Wars timeline. Speech within / \ indicates Poleepkwa. Comments, reviews, and input are always welcome.
Chapter Six
Earth, District 10
Daylight did nothing to break the uneasiness inside the walls of District 10. The inhabitants mostly stayed in their tents and the stillness of the camp was unsettling. The few who did go outside kept far away from the main gates and they scurried quickly to their tasks and back. The night had been full of sound and light. The lights were switched off at sunrise but the helicopters had continued to buzz through the skies. Yet the events going on outside of District 10 remained out of sight from the residents. Extra MNU guards had been posted at the gates and in the gun turrets towering above the camp. But none had set foot inside the gates. And if the prawns were nervous the expressions on the human faces were even more strained.
Sat on a crate outside his tent Wikus was watching the helicopters. He had spotted the logos of familiar news channels on several of the machines. It made him ache to see them. He sighed and looked down at the tin of cat food in his hand. The sight of his black three fingered hand no longer filled him with fear or disgust. But he missed his old hands. It was easier to open these stupid tins Wikus thought fighting with the pull tab on the can of Meow.
He also missed watching the news. If he was watching the news he would know what was happening outside District 10. That he'd also be sitting with his wife, inside his own home, inside his own body was a big part of that feeling. Wikus didn't allow himself long to linger over those feeling of loss. Especially now that John wasn't speaking with him.
He had crossed the line last night in the tent and he was angry at himself for letting David get a rise out of him. Eventually Wikus knew he would have to apologize to John for his remark. It wasn't something he was ready for at the moment. The remorse gave way to the heat of anger. In his mind Wikus threw the blame back onto David, he'd never had made a comment like that if not for that fooken prawn. But the anger was better than regret. Wikus could do something with anger. He stood, threw the unopened tin of cat food into the dirt and headed in the direction of the main gate.
Not every Poleepkwa had been scared off by the activity. Wikus was surprised to see a few others walking without the timidity he'd been seeing all day. There weren't many about, but those that were, seemed to be heading in the same direction – towards the gate.
The gates were heavily fortified, thick steel plates mounted onto concrete pillars. After their loss at District 9 the MNU had done some redesigning of District 10. Wikus couldn't help but feel intimidated by the sentry towers which flanked the gate, each crowned with enough firepower to bring down a small plane. And on the other side of the gate the guards were heavily armed. No one but MNU approached District 10 these days. And the double fence surrounding the camp made sure that no one got out.
The sounds coming from down the road were the distant rumble of a large crowd. Without realizing it Wikus was slowing down as he strained to hear it perfectly. He came to a complete stop and listened with his head tilted, his antenna twitching nervously. A few others stopped and watched him. The noise reminded him of the crowds at sporting events, the voices of hundreds rolled into a single indiscernible roar.
The messages his antenna were picking up were far more intense than anything his human ears could have provided. As a human Wikus would have only heard the crowd, as a prawn he was amazed to realize that he could feel them. Their sound reverberated within the body. And whatever the crowd was doing here, the air was also thick with their fear and anger.
/What is going on?\
A prawn had fallen instep beside him, and looked nervously between him and the gates. Wikus looked to the prawn that had voiced the question and shook his head, unable to speak. The prawn waited for him to answer and after a moment stalked off with a disgruntled toss of his head.
In the security towers the guards were watching the growing crowd of prawns approaching their position. Wikus looked between the towers. Despite his expectations the guns mounted up there did not spring to life. They remained still, aimed at some neutral point of airspace above their heads. The prawns continued to the side of the gate, taking up places along the barbed wire fences. Wikus did notice that the guards were looking nervously between him and others and then down the road. They seemed to be talking on their radios and to each other with what Wikus could only guess was anxiety.
He found a spot at the fence but was wondering if it might not be a better idea to return to his tent. Just as Wikus was starting to turn away he saw the flicker of movement coming up the road. He stopped, craning his head to get a better view. Around him the prawns were doing the same, some even gripping sections of the wire and pulling themselves closer to the fence.
What he observed first was the sea of signs waving in the air. They were in every color and size, but even with the superior vision offered by his prawn eyes, they were too far to read. Below the waving signs were heads. And as the group approached the gates Wikus began to make sense of what the sound was. They were chanting, a monotonous buzz coming from hundreds of mouths.
Kumbaya my lord. Kumbaya.
A helicopter passed overhead and the song was lost in the roar of its engine. It was easy to assume he'd imagined it, but as the people continued up the road Wikus was sure he hadn't. The prawns watched with bafflement. More than a few turned and hurried away from the fence. He wondered if that might not be a safer course of action. But the approaching crowd was too fascinating.
Wikus looked up at the guards. Their tension was easy to see, but they continued to do nothing more than survey the situation. With the news helicopters circling the scene Wikus figured that whoever was in charge had ordered the soldiers to keep their fingers off their triggers. A bloodbath with a few hundred prawns wouldn't be nearly as big a deal as the slaughter of a few hundred humans. Even if those humans were alien sympathizers.
He could make out a few of the signs now. Like the variety of materials used, the signs themselves differed in their messages. There were hand drawn peace symbols, hearts, simple drawing of prawns and humans holding hands. Wikus was shocked, not by the signs, but by the number of people. They were coming up the dirt road on foot, a multifarious group of men and women of all ages and in all shades of colors and any variety of clothing. Finally Wikus understood why the guards were so nervous. There were hundreds of people approaching the gates.
Kumbaya my lord. Kumbaya.
Wikus sucked in a breath as he heard the song again. It was that classic refrain of the peaceful protest. But the knot forming in his stomach gave him little reassurance that this was going to end peacefully.