Epilogue 3

Order 66 - The Coruscant Guard

Sketch had heard rumors.

The 501st had taken out the Jedi and were burning the temple. Sketch could look out from the Coruscant Guards mess and see the temple in the distance, smoke rising from its towers, extending them into the sky. He frowned; whatever was going to happen next, he didn't think he'd like it either.

Some of the troopers were jubilant; they'd heard news the Separatists had been defeated. Sketch wondered who had defeated the CIS, it seemed as though most of the army was on Coruscant. Except the 224th, except Punch still on bloody, muddy Mimban.

Hawker had laughed. "We'll get citizenship now," he'd said.

"The Jedi never controlled our citizenship, Hawker." Sketch corrected the younger clone.

"Then who did?" Hawker asked and Sketch, frowning, didn't have a simple answer for that. Hawker, laughing in his righteousness, strode from the mess, sliding the white helmet over his head, his stun baton in his hand.

Sketch hadn't heard from Chopper either. Sketch wasn't sure Chopper would be able to fire on the Jedi; one in particular but he'd heard rumors – blasted rumors again – rumors that General Skywalker hadn't been a traitor like the other Jedi. Perhaps his padawan wouldn't be a traitor either.

Sketch took another look at the Jedi Temple then glanced toward the Senate and a shiver ran down his spine. There'd been both rumors and news of a terrible confrontation with the Jedi in the senate building, but he wondered who had faced the Jedi? He'd seen the destruction in the news vids; there were a few blaster burns but there was a lot more light saber damage than could readily be accounted for by Palpatine's version of what had happened.

Sketch turned, moving swiftly almost running from the mess to his barracks. Quickly he armored up. He was off-duty at the moment; and that was also odd given the Republic was fighting treason, internal rebellion. Commander Fox had suggested they stay in the barracks if they weren't on-duty or on-call, but it had been only a suggestion not an order. Commander Fox was uncommonly hard-faced and angry for no reason. No apparent reason but he was liaison with the Jedi and the Senate every day.

Sketch moved toward the door, taking a last glance at his bunk and, on impulse, grabbed his flimsi-book of drawings. It was more a nervous reaction to some internal fear; ever since Slick he'd always grabbed either his blaster or his book when leaving the barracks. Now, he took both.

Commander Fox saw him leave... and said nothing, giving only a nod.

The city was oddly quiet; as still as the pause between inhale and exhale.

Quickly Sketch made his way to the port. There weren't many pedestrians although the weather was as beautiful as always. Those few pedestrians avoided him and his trooper's swift gait. His armor was his pass and at the port he strode through the gates toward the office Athualla Shipping shared with another small freight and transport company.

Ash had been Chopper's friend first but now Sketch counted her as a friend as well. She'd brought him a small box of chocolates once – specifically for him. He knew it. The box had contained only his favorites. Occasionally Ash played sabaac at the barracks with him and his squad even when Chopper was elsewhere. She'd brought him some colored pencils – high quality ones - and some art paper. She'd been delighted when he'd presented her a portrait of herself. Half the pictures in his book had been done with those colored pencils. One of her family, a faded ancient man with bright blue eyes, had brought him a holovid from Punch - now Lieutenant Punch - still on Mimban with the rest of the 224th. When I make captain, Sketch, I'll ask for you as my second, as captain I can request your re-assignment to me. Ash had let him touch her when she'd been pregnant; later she told him she'd had a son that she and her husband had named Knathen but called Bolo.

Odd, Sketch often thought, that she spoke so little of her husband when she regaled them with tales of her family.

The office was closed and Sketch slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. A closer look revealed that he had just missed whoever had been in the office. Making his way to the docks looking for an Athualla ship, Sketch gasped in surprised good fortune, there was one in dock prepping for departure.

"Ash," he called out. "Ash, are you here?" He realized he had a slight edge of panic in his voice.

An older man stepped out, suddenly wary at the sight of a stormtrooper. He was definitely related to Ash, her crystal green eyes and fine bone structure seen in this man's face. But his shoulders straightened and his hands clenched into fists at the sight of Sketch.

Sketch realized he was in armor and slipped off his helmet, unofficial, though a civilian might not recognize that detail.

"Is Pilot Ash Athualla here?" he asked politely. There was no need to frighten the civilian, not when there were so many rumors.

"No, she had another run. I'm Karner Athualla." He paused, his hands slowly unclenching but still attentive and... battle ready. "Can I help you?"

His posture was aggressive, as if daring the clone to try anything. Sketch wondered if he didn't like clones or was he always aggressive.

Sketch rubbed his gloved hand through his hair as he stared down at the stone floor. "No, no. I guess not." He slowly turned, his thumb rubbing the bound book of his drawings then quickly turned again. "Yes, you can."

Karner stood on the gangplank, his arms crossed, glaring at Sketch. Sketch took three steps toward him and Karner took several steps down, blocking Sketch's progress. But Sketch didn't plan to go any further.

"Can you give this to Ash? Please?" He held out the bound flimsis.

Even aggressive, even disliking the trooper, Karner nodded his head in admiration of the drawings as he thumbed through them, checking for … what?

"Nice," he murmured then he looked into Sketch's face. "Who shall I say is sending it?"

"She'll know." Sketch smiled softly. "She'll recognize them."

Sketch stepped back and Karner also moved into a slightly less aggressive stance, though his body still blocked the entrance of the ship's ramp.

Sketch shook his head. "Tell her not to come back to Coruscant for a while. Something is terribly wrong." He stood, his hands spread even with his helmet held in one. "And I don't know what."

Sketch had the sudden feeling someone was in the ship, watching him. He resisted the urge to look up, to try to peek around Karner's shoulder. He pulled on his helmet to see a message light; red for official orders.

"Go now, Karner. I think there's a message for us to move on the port, to begin transit restrictions so we can check for," his voice almost choked, "traitors. As soon as I check the message, I'll be bound by those orders. Whatever they are."

Karner's eyes widened; he turned and ran into the hold, giving Sketch barely enough time to move off the ramp before the engines fired up and the ship made a graceful, vertical life and was gone.

Sketch leaned against the stone wall, impervious to the scattered blowout from ships' engines in his armor. His arms came around himself as he checked his helmet message.

All troopers report to port.

What he'd thought. He leaned further into the wall, sliding against it until he was seated on the ground.

Throughout the night, Sketch regularly removed his helmet to wipe away tears as he mourned the death of everything he'd known.

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