And Now It Can Be Told

In the tube where I was born
I could have sworn
There was so much to see
There was so little to be
But I was free
I'm a quarter century old,
And half a century high.

"Half a Century High" - Phil Ochs

Mos Eisley was full of scum and villainy.

It was kind of fun, in its way. Fives huddled deeper into the heavy folds of his large cloak, hoping no one would pay too much attention to him. He didn't expect to stand out. People here were a riot of color, species of every sector of the galaxy running through one Hutt-dominated port, bringing in their accents, tattoos, fashions, weapons, manners, ships; all dusted with a unifying layer of fine yellow sand. The daily sounds of people in motion dominated the place, of voices shouting and speeders buzzing by, of the indecipherable chatter of arguing Jawas, the sounds of cantina jazz and the occasional snort of a pack animal rearing its head.

Fives trundled forward, taking his own, winding time. The meeting was for later in the day; he wanted to reach the rendezvous point well ahead of time, to check it out, to be sure he wasn't being watched, tailed, or set up. Operating alone, he was endlessly cautious these days, bumping from one contact to another, checking on various contact points in the network, talking to escaped brothers and parents of youngling Force-sensitives they'd hidden in scattered places and bolt holes.

It had been Clink who set up this meeting. The trooper was one of the first they'd gotten out. Fives was feeling vaguely cranky about the entire thing. Clink had been oddly secretive, but almost jubilant, insisting it would be best if Fives met this particular contact himself.

"You'll know what I mean after you talk to him," had been the only explanation. "Don't look so worried! I figured you've got more contact with the Captain and Commander. You can get word out to more people than me, and faster. Trust me. Meet the guy."

Fives was a little tired of the cloak and dagger routine, but he was enjoying Tatooine. In the army, everything was kept clean, uniform, neat. Mos Eisley was a sentient mess, and though at one point in his life, he may have found that intimidating, he'd grown accustomed to it, almost welcoming. He could be any normal man. Not a clone, not a soldier, not a deserter. Few passed him a second glance. It was a kind of privacy in a crowd, an assumption that he was like everyone else. He grew up being accustomed to acceptance among his brothers because they all appeared the same. In these new places, he was given acceptance among strangers because they all appeared different - united not in their presumed sameness, but in their actual uniqueness.

It was a fragile thing, though. Seeing multiples of brothers together could tip someone off.

Strawberry hair. Green eyes. He still hadn't gathered the courage to try visiting Ghorman.

He bit his lip, sighed, and quickened his step a little, shuffling to the side to avoid elbowing a rather large Weequay. He wondered if it would be a good idea to try finding General Kenobi or not, while he was on-world. Perhaps he'd try contacting Ahsoka to ask her opinion. He hoped the old man was doing okay, but Kenobi was ranked so high above him it was hard to imagine simply showing up on the man's doorstep just to say hi, even if it was on Ahsoka's behalf. Assuming it was possible to find him at all.

Fives had gained a new appreciation for the choice of disappearing onto Tatooine. If you kept your head down low enough, an ordinary looking human man could melt into thin air if he wanted.

Kenobi was supposed to have gone to the desert. He'd went out to the edge of the city last night himself, and stood on the rise of a dune at dusk.

It was the image of Tatooine he'd seen as a child. Twin suns setting into a deepening sky, poised above an unending horizon.

(In the tube where I was raised
I was amazed
Of the pictures I would lean
That went flashing on the screen)

Naboo. Chommell Sector. Mid-rim.

Primary Species: Human. Gungan.

Secondary Species: Amaran. Glurrg.

Capitals: Theed (human). Otoh Gunga (Gungan).

Green plains, golden fields. Wide blue oceans capped with white waves. Heavy swamplands, wet brown-green, elegant human made structures with curving arches of gray stone. Elaborate clothing on humans in wide, paved streets. Gungan cities surrounded by flowing mossy water, lights dancing out windows like glowbugs.

Beautiful planet.

Coruscant. Coruscant Sector. Core.

Primary Species: Human.

Secondary Species: Multiple.

Capitals: Galactic City. See also: Republic City. Capital City. Coruscant City.

Endless spires touched by pollution enhanced red sunsets. Wide white dome of the Senatorial Building. Spires into the sky around a massive Temple. Streams of speeders instead of streams of water, flowing around duracrete buildings and transparasteel windows. Species in trendy clothes, walking briskly between buildings. Species scraping for food, driven by poverty. Politicians shouting lofty rhetoric in a circular chamber of black hovercraft.

Beating heart of the galaxy.

Ryloth. Gaulus Sector. Outer Rim.

Primary Species: Twi'lek.

Secondary Species: Humans. Devaronians. Rodians. Jawas.

Capitals: Kala'uun. Lessu.

Light-dark, fixed into place with one half always bright and the other always dim. Rocky, harsh, distant peaks skirted by gray mist, dancing in windy gales. Crushing heat. Twilight realms of habitation. Deep caverns of welcoming people, sharing hospitality in brutal environments.

A world of light and shadow.

The information rushed on. Naboo, Coruscant, Ryloth, Alderaan, Mandalore, Dac, Kashyyyk, Tatooine, Dantooine, Sullust, Bothawui, Shilli, Rodia, Geonosis, Trandosha. Planet after planet, image after image, data burst after data burst, racing across the inner screens of his helmet, streaming by in impacted flashes, so fast he could barely register one slide of information before the next pounded into his brain, over and over again, settling into his subconscious with a rapidity akin to an automated laser cannon.

His eyes groped around for a moment when it was over, expecting more brightness to explode into sight, but none came, and it took CT-27-5555 several moments to realize that the flash training stint was over. He groaned a little, pulled off the helmet, and let the back of his head hit the hard padding on the back of the chair he was sitting on. He rubbed his eyes with a hand, hoping the information was sinking in. Who knew when it'd be useful? And at least it was fast. He'd heard a rumor that non-clone instruction in this sort of thing could take years.

He was glad to learn it fast, but it didn't entirely make up for the uncomfortable, dull headache that would always take up residence after one of these sessions. Still. He looked at the helmet, the dull gray-white of it. It was always a little damp inside, from whatever brother had been sweating through the session before him. He grunted and put it onto the console.

Naboo. Images immediately bubbled up, pictures of Theed in summer, of lakes sparkling and damp swamplands.

Well, his brain was still working. That was always a plus. He grinned, and started peeling himself out of the chair. He tried pulling up images from the other direction. Colorful reefs and sapphire waters. Dac, also called Mon Calamari. Twin suns over a sand sea at sunset. Tatooine.

"Hey, Fives!" someone called, and he turned in time to see CT-27-5556 step up next to him from his own console. "Now that that's over, let's get some food," he said cheerfully, until his voice cracked halfway through 'food' and '56 blanched briefly in embarrassment, absently rubbing his throat. "Food," he repeated, recovering quickly. "Maybe they'll have the blue mystery meat today."

CT-27-5555 grimaced. "You like the blue mystery meat?"

"Of course! Tastes like nerf. Of course, so does the green mystery meat, the orange mystery meat, the purple mystery meat…."

"Alright, I get it, you're hungry," CT-27-5555 laughed, and the two of them angled themselves along with the rest of their squad, forming up to head down to the mess. It'd been a long morning of flash training, and several brothers were stretching, necks popping or cracking as they tried to loosen up stiffened muscles. "You think we'll ever see any of these places?" he asked as they all headed down the hall.

CT-27-5556 shrugged. "If we do, we'll probably be busy trying not to get shot."

"What, you want to travel?" CT-27-5558 cut in, leaning forward and around CT-27-5555 to join the conversation. "Want to see the galaxy? Well, you're in for a treat. Grand Army of the Republic Mystery Tours is open for business! Just watch out for the flying blaster bolts, because insurance doesn't cover injury or wrongful death."

"Funny," said CT-27-5555, trying not to look embarrassed. Of course the only way to see those places was if they were fighting there. He knew that. Still. There were so many places. So much life out there. The galaxy was beautiful.

"Anytime!" chuckled CT-27-5558.

They reached the mess hall. They were having the red mystery meat today.

He took a perch in the back of the room, at a high table overlooking the bar.

There was a back way out through the kitchens, which were in a direct line with his seat. Five strides to the kitchen door, perhaps three or four more to get through it. Two grimy windows were also at strategic points on either side of the room. Either could be blown out with a quick blaster shot, and being on the ground floor meant he wouldn't be likely to break his neck in a fall, should he end up making a dramatic exit that way.

It was the disadvantage in working alone. Times like this, he wished Echo, Rex or Ahsoka were there to back him up.

It was dim inside, most of the light coming from dull lights above the bar and through the dusty windows. There were only a few patrons scattered around. There was a drunk snoozing under one of the windows, a couple of men sitting in one of the secluded corners, tossing dice and looking for all the world like they were killing time. Some music sputtered through an audio system, trying to cheer up the sleepy, daytime hours of the cantina.

A waitress ambled over, her blonde hair tied up in fuzzy dreads into a ponytail, eyes made bright from a heavy rim of black. She slid a relatively clean looking glass to him, full of ale. "Anything else?" she asked, lifting plucked brows in query.

"No, thanks."

She shrugged, and he managed to hear her mutter something negative about working the noontime crowd in a cantina. He allowed a half smile into his glass. She was right – he couldn't afford much of a tip, and bars didn't do much business this early. At least all he wanted was a drink to nurse until Clink's contact arrived and wouldn't keep her too busy. She leaned against the back of the bar and began picking at her nails.

He sipped quietly, pushing the legs of his chair back until he was balanced on the rear two pegs, eyes flicking across the room. Minutes stretched into an hour.

The waitress came back, standing across from him with her hands on her hips.

"You sure you don't want another one?" the waitress asked for the third time, looking vaguely irritated.

"Completely sure."

She rolled her eyes, turned, left. The man huddled near the window seemed to wake up, lift his head, and look around, blinking blearily. Fives sipped at the dregs of the drink, mostly melted ice now. He frowned, letting the rim of the mug hide the gesture. The man was good, he'd give him that. He tipped the chair back down onto all fours, set the glass back down, and called out, "Hey, miss? I changed my mind. Bring me another one. Actually, two."

She looked over her shoulder, gave him a weird look, then rolled her eyes and pulled out two fresh glasses.

The man sat down across from him and said, with a grin, "Buying a brother a drink? How kind of you."

There were changes there. But cosmetic and temporary. Brown eyes daubed with a drop of dye to turn them dull green, a bit of artful stubble and a bit more dye to lighten hair into a murky auburn, wisps escaping a fitted cap. A bulky coat made him appear more rotund than muscular. A shuffling gait made him seem to lumber awkwardly.

But the shape of the eyes was the same. The broadness across the nose and the angle of cheekbones and chin. The same high forehead, though mostly hidden by the cap. Little things, certain tics and tendencies, a wariness that couldn't be easily dropped, gave him away. It was harder to hide one brother from another.

The waitress set the two mugs down onto table, one in front of Fives, the other in front of the other man.

Fives picked his up, took a pull, set it back down. The man across from him smiled.

"Null ARC-7," he said, by way of identification. "Mereel."

"CT-27-5555. Fives." came the reply, then a pause, then, more quietly, "501st."

Mereel lifted a brow, then his drink, in acknowledgment.

(Such an easy way to win
Talking to my twin
I was extended by the wall that held me in)

Ahsoka yawned, then looked at the chrono while sipping a cup of caf. She wrinkled her nose at the bitter flavor, but inhaled deeply to breathe in the scent. It was early in the morning onboard, and she was prepping them to jump to hyperspace.

The comm went off, with Fives' transponder identification. Ahsoka flipped it on. "Hey Fives. Everything alright?"

A small, handspan high blue figure shimmered into life, wearing an old coat and a wide smile. "Everything's fine. Better than, actually. Rex around?"

Curious, Ahsoka tilted her head and said with a chuckle, "Sure. Just a second. Let me pry him off his breakfast." She set her caf down, stood, leaned outside the door and called down the hallway. "Rex? Fives is on the line and being all mysterious."

"You're going to get a bit more 'mysterious'," the little hologram chuckled, and Ahsoka arched an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips as Rex appeared in the doorway, looking a little bleary eyed from sleep.

"Why are we being mysterious this early in the morning?" he asked, running his hands over his face a couple times, vigorously, to wake himself up.

"Because I've got some news. Nothing for over channels. Can you two make it back to base within the week?"

Rex and Ahsoka exchanged a look of puzzlement, then a shrug. Ahsoka said, "I think we can manage. We were planning on going back middle of next week anyway for a food run and visit. Just finishing up a few special deliveries out here."

Fives looked between the two of them. "Plan to clear your schedules for a couple weeks." When Rex and Ahsoka began to protest, he cut them off. "Unless you've got an emergency, clear a couple weeks and then expect to be busy. This is big."

The protests died and became serious. "How big and how bad?" Rex asked.

Fives smiled. "Very big, and not bad at all. But it takes a bit of time. Get to base next week and I'll explain."

The pair hesitated, seeming to lean together, as though to brace themselves. It was a rare thing to get some kind of good news these days, and it made them wary.

"We'll be there," Rex told him.

(I gave all the mind I had
And whenever I was sad
I had my friends
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high)

Fives shut off the tiny holoprojector and smiled.

When I first heard that the Skirata clan in the Republic Commando series had found a way to reverse the clones' rapid aging, I wanted to use it. When I came across this song, I knew I had to find a way to use it, because my goodness does it seem to be about the clones. I've been reluctant to cross over too heavily into Karen Traviss's work though, for a variety of reasons, (conflicts with TCW canon, Traviss's issues with Jedi, etc., etc.) and so kept the actual contact to a minimum as to not create more canon-conflicts than necessary.

If you're wondering, Clink is an OC, who had a very brief stint in chapter seven. He was the guard keeping watch on Slick. I figured I could reuse him.

One more chapter to go.

~Queen