CT-1552 – Coruscant

Medical. A place that any decent clone dreaded being.

Of course, Dreamer could only complain so much about the painkillers keeping the headache at bay, the kind bedside manner of the medical droids, and the constant fussing of the apprentices. Yet no soldier wanted to be stuck in the medbay. It was a tacit omission of weakness, viewed by every soldier as the sanctuary of those that weren't up to snuff.

If Dreamer had his way, he never would've seen the inside of the medical bay, much less be nursed to health in it. Yet there was no way around it. His captain had ordered it, General Durel had ordered it, and the next in line for the title of Jedi Grandmaster had ordered it. With so much weight behind the commands, what could Dreamer do but trudge to the bay in the manner of a beaten man?

Then he'd gotten a set of orders equally unpleasant. Whatever was wrong with him came from some sort of shrapnel in his head, something that had left him completely baffled. The battle on Bothawui had been chaotic, but he certainly would've remembered something being thrust into his skull.

Yet they showed him the scans, and there it had been. Utterly baffled by the mysterious object, he'd accepted that something had to be done. Due to his genetic structure. They'd said it was best for the doctors on Kamino to poke around in his brain.

Some part of him didn't want to leave the Jedi Temple. He'd grown fond of the place, and some strange feeling came to him, some certainty that he wouldn't see it again if he left. It was a gut instinct that he typically took seriously, and he wondered if he would be ordered elsewhere once he was stuck on Kamino.

He'd yet to hear what grand task had seen Neria held back from the rest of the group, thought he could guess. The fortitude she'd shown during the fight with the instructor had been nothing short of impressive, and so had been the growth she'd shown in the short time between her new instructor and the operation.

Yet something still felt off about her. The way she exerted power seemed something unlike General Durel. Perhaps she still hadn't changed since she'd been taken on, simply learning to mask whatever darkness lurked inside her.

It disturbed him, the idea that the brash but ultimately kindhearted teenager could ever turn to evil, but then, perhaps that was what made the dark side so insidious. It was often too late before people realized it had taken them, and by then, they didn't care.

He also hoped to see General Durel and Kurik before he left. The former was a fine soldier and a good comrade, the highest compliments the clone could think to give, and he wanted to leave some parting advice for Kurik. He didn't know if the kid would actually listen, but then, he understood that to be something of the standard operating procedure for teenagers.

"Dreamer."

The call came from Master Shaak-Ti, the calm Togrutan looming by the entrance of the medbay. Shrouded by brown robes, only her hands and head were visible of the alien Jedi. The medical droids stayed out of her way as she approached, a gentle and serene presence.

Of all the Jedi Masters, she was the one he had the most experience with. She'd been there through his training, then she'd spent her last four months in the Jedi Temple. Serene and implacable, she was the model of a Jedi Master.

"General Shaak-Ti," he said. "What do you need of me?"

"We've got a transport coming in half an hour," she told him. "We're going to send you out on it, best to get your things packed."

"Understood, ma'am." He swung his feet out from under the covers, planted them on the floor, and stretched on his way up. "Thank you for the notice. I still need to get my paintings packed."

"Hm, you're the only clone I've ever known to paint." To his surprise, she followed along with him as he left the medical bay and hung a left to his room. "Knew a few that wrote, one who tried to make movies, but never a painter."

"You would think I was the only one who ever daydreamed, to hear my brothers speak of it."

"As you well know, I've seen a lot of clones come and go through Kamino. Your brothers all want to be tough, never want to admit that anything beyond the war occupy their time. You literally put one of our Jedi Knights on your shoulders and led a skirmish against a force-user. Maybe more of your number should dream."

"That's very kind, General."

"And at least you have something to keep your mind busy after the war." She nodded, a small smile forming on her red lips. "I sense this conflict coming to an end. I don't know what the Galactic Senate plans to do with the clone army."

"I would think that we do what most soldiers do. Just stay in or find other employment."

"As you say." To his surprise, the Jedi Master sounded preoccupied. Her amethyst eyes turned up to him, and he was momentarily struck motionless by their intent. "Dreamer, I see danger in your future. I don't know why, I don't know how. With Grievous running from Kenobi and the Separatists falling back, it's hard to say what danger you could face."

"Pirates, perhaps?"

"Perhaps." Master Shaak-Ti glanced down, paused for a moment, then looked back up. "Be careful, Sergeant. I would be saddened to hear that you weren't coming back."

"And so would I," he said, stopping outside his room. "Thank you, General Shaak-Ti, for the warning."

"It's no problem." Her gaze moved down the hall. "I must prepare, now. I'm putting one of our oldest and strongest Padawan through her trials soon."

"You don't mean..."

A small smile came against to her face, and she said, "Farewell, Dreamer."

With a swish of the robes that shrouded her, the Jedi Master was walking back down the hall, knights and padawans both separating the make way for the highly respected leader of their order. Then she was down the corner, disappearing from Dreamer's view.

The clone stepped into his small room, looking around at his effects. What scant possessions he had were already packed in a trio of small boxes, with his paintings and gear all that was left unpacked.

Thankfully, he already had a tube prepared for the finished canvases, but he paused when his eyes fell upon the one canvas he'd never dared to paint on. His first canvas, still as well-preserved and plain as the day he'd bought it.

It was frustrating, not knowing what to paint upon its surface, the material practically crying out to him to be filled. He ignored the quiet urge to do something with it. He'd find something worthy of its blank stretch one day.

Dreamer packed his first canvas with extra care, setting it apart from the others in its own tube. After taking a moment to mark it, he turned to his gear, the last items that required his attention before he left.

Clones weren't required to wear their armor in the Jedi Temple, both to maintain the appearance of a peaceful enclave and because it was wildly unnecessary when the Jedi were more security for the temple than the clones could ever be.

And the weapons remained out of hand for the same reasons.

Yet Dreamer donned the armor regardless, for the sake of easy transport. His weapon was worn, but he kept the small carbine in the holster at his thigh. Once he was fully dressed, he swept the room one more time for any miscellaneous items, but it was clear.

He gathered the three boxes under his arm, slung the tubes over his shoulder, and started for the landing pads.

The Jedi Temple was more subdued so close to dusk. Most of the younglings were either being led to a late dinner or early bedtime. The instructors were all either in small groups, sharing reports of progress or methods before splitting up back to their rooms.

The corridors were noticeably light on Jedi Knights or Jedi Masters, but that was to be expected. With so many masters who were on the battlefield, it followed that the knights would also be out there in a last press on the retreating Separatists.

He wondered if the war would over by the time he was back. Would he be back on the battlefield alongside a General Halai? Would he be telling his brothers that he'd spent the final hours of the Clone Wars in a medical bay in Kamino?

For all that he dreamed of a life outside of battle, he'd always expected to attend the last gasp of the Separatists, to fight alongside his brothers and the Jedi in the final battle. Yet there was nothing for it. He had orders from practically everyone with rank over him.

He wasn't the only clone at the landing pad. Two of his brothers were also loafing around in full gear, both of lower rank than him. When he approached, both snapped to attention in greeting.

"Sergeant," one said. "Sorry, we were—"

"Don't worry about it." Dreamer waved a hand dismissively. "You guys headed to Kamino, too?"

"Yeah." The lowest ranking of the two, a private, shook his head. "Can't believe this. The war's almost over, and we're going back there for guard duty. You, Sergeant?"

"Medical. Took some shrapnel to the head on the battlefield, I need some specialized attention."

"Ah, we..."

The corporal was drowned out by the peel of engines, and they all looked up to find their transport descending upon them, a standard Republic transport vessel that would likely link them up with a corvette outside atmosphere.

"I don't like being away from the temple," Dreamer muttered to one of the clones, looking out at the shuttle. "I don't like it at all."

"C'mon, Sergeant," the corporal said as the shuttle perched on the center of the platform next to them. "It won't be all that bad. You can be back around the swishing robes once they get that shrapnel outta your head. Don't know why you're so concerned."

His thoughts came back to that uncomfortable twisting in his stomach. Everything just felt wrong, and he didn't know why.

The clone trooper was just about to climb the ramp to the open hatch, then something landed atop the transport with a thud. He looked up to find a walkway an entire thirty meters above them, and realized who it was even before her head popped up above the hatch.

"Oh, sorry about that," Neria said to the two clone troopers next to him who had raised their weapons. "Just...wanted to say goodbye before you took off."

The clones lowered their weapons, glancing between each other in confusion as Neria hopped off the top of the transport and landed on the pad next to him with a practiced ease.

"You didn't have to come all this way, Padawan Halai," he said. "I'm going to come back, I've been told."

"You don't seem so sure," she told him. "I can sense it, you know. You're doubting. Scared."

"Scared?"

"Anxious," Neria replied by way of correction. "I'm going to be right back here when you get back. I can feel it, we'll see each other again. Don't worry so much, Dreamer, you always worry."

"I have to, ma'am." Her face scrunched up in friendly irritation over the title, as he intended. "You and the general never seem to worry about anything. One of us has to."

"Well, then, I'm not worried that you'll come back," she said. "And by then, I'll be a knight."

"And I'll be congratulating you," he promised her. "Just try to safe until I come back, eh, Padawan?"

"You know I can't promise that."

"I know. Good luck."

"And you, Dreamer."

She gave a short nod, then strode off to the entrance of the temple. They took a moment to watch the curious Twi'lek go, but then they turned back to the business of getting Dreamer off the world.

The clones looked at each other, then their helmets turned back to the sergeant. He could feel their dubious gazes, well aware what they were feeling. It was something all the clones seemed to share, an almost superhuman empathy for one another.

"Padawan?" the corporal asked. "Not 'Commander', Sergeant?"

"Get deployed with the Jedi one day, brother," Dreamer said. "Trust me, you'll understand, then."