The Clone didn't like the look of the sky. It was dark, almost black, the thick storm clouds roiling about, tossed back and forth by a howling wind. Rain was an almost daily occurrence here on the "belt" of Aakaria, but it was never dark like this.

The angry sky seemed to reflect the feeling of the Na'taves, the people who lived on this planet. The Na'tave government had already changed hands once during The Clone's stay here. It seemed that it would do so again, as the people grew annoyed by the Republic's presence on their world. Meisheb, the current ruler, seemed the lone voice of reason. She alone seemed aware that the outpost was meant to guard against invasion, where the other Na'taves seemed to think that the troops were here simply to try and assert the Republic's authority over the planet.

Time had a way of blurring the past. The Na'taves now compared the lone outpost to the invasion troops of the Separatists, and now accused the Republic of "stealing" their valuable ore, ore for which they had no use. The Na'taves not only didn't use it, but they were singularly disinterested in trade with other worlds, meaning it had no value to them. They had agreed to let the Republic mine it, but now they had become restless and angry.

The Na'taves were well known to be creatures who acted more on whim than careful thought, and the sane leadership of Meisheb was not conducive to such. It had been inevitable that her reign would be a short one. Unfortunately, the issue of most political interest was the Republic troops, and so they found themselves at the center of a conflict which should never have involved them.

The Clone had known from the very start that his stay at the outpost wouldn't last. He had known that he would be reassigned or killed one way or another. In fact, it wasn't so long ago that a native species, the Eglamork, had come very close to killing him with a venomous bite.

Unlike the Na'taves, the Eglamork were reasonable creatures as a whole. When left alone, the Eglamorks had no quarrel with anyone. The clones had merely needed to learn this. They had learned how to recognize a nesting site or hunting ground, and to avoid them wherever possible.

One clone, Bristler, had been grounded to the outpost for untoward belligerence towards the creatures, resulting in permanent animosity between himself and any Eglamork he encountered. Since he had been confined indoors, there had been no more trouble between Eglamorks and the clones. This was a good thing, especially for the clones. They had found out the hard way why the snake-birds were called Eglamork, or Flying Death.

The Clone sighed wearily and turned from the window to the Na'tave that stood before him, tail lashing angrily. The Na'taves were extremely cat-like, with luminous eyes and retractable claws on paw-like hands. This one was young, as was evidenced by his short, nearly black, whiskers.

"The Na'tave people refuse to put up with your rough treatment of our mothers and kittens," the Na'tave, named Kaaz, groused "if our government will not order you away, you should go on your own. Otherwise, the people will have to take steps,"

"We have not been near your villages in over a month," The Clone said.

"Our people near the mines are the ones you have bothered," Kaaz replied, eyes narrowing.

He knew well that The Clone hadn't been that far from the outpost and therefor could not in good conscience assure him that there had been no trouble there. All The Clone could do was cite the reports he had received, which Kaaz immediately questioned.

He hated politics. He could tell that Kaaz was really trying to further his career by backing The Clone into a corner on this, and there was no way out. The Clone didn't have the wit to cross verbal swords with a politician. His fighting was done with the barrel of a gun. It was all he knew.

"You know very well that no one lives near the mines," this was said by Grampa Joe, the Sergeant who ran the outpost.

He had been elsewhere when Kaaz arrived, probably drinking in his quarters. Someone had announced the arrival of the Na'taves to him, and he was just now coming to The Clone's rescue. The Clone breathed a sigh of relief on seeing that his Sergeant's eyes were mostly clear. He was fairly lucid. That was good.

"The curious come to see what you are doing," Kaaz countered, doing a good job of feigning neutrality "and the toxic gas your operation releases into the air poisons them while your people abuse our weak and helpless,"

"Nobody makes them go to the mines," the Sergeant replied "I see this as being a problem on your end, not mine. My people stay in the area of the mines, per instruction. We do not approach your people, nor do we initiate contact with them,"

"Our kittens are dying!," Kaaz spat, lashing his tail.

In the face of the Sergeant, his argument was withering and dying before his eyes, and he didn't like it. The silver fur along his neck rose as he puffed himself up importantly.

"That is not our fault," the Sergeant replied, then added agreeably "if you need medical aid, however, I would be pleased to call for a negotiator,"

"We are through negotiating!," Kaaz practically yowled "we want you to leave!,"

"And we would be delighted to," the Sergeant's said gravely "however, we have orders to the contrary. You seem to think there is someone at this outpost in authority, but you are wrong. However, I would be happy to establish radio communication with someone who is in authority, and you can bring your complaints to them. All I can do is ensure that those stationed here remain in line with the agreement that your people signed. I can't order an evacuation,"

This statement was somewhat simpler than reality, but it served the purpose.

"You have not heard the last of me," Kaaz snarled, then stalked out, taking his entourage with him.

"Fool doesn't know when he's got a good thing going. Not members of the Republic, but protected from Separatists for letting us mine an ore they don't even want," Grampa grunted, strolling over to his desk and pulling open a drawer containing a bottle and pouring some of its contents into a glass.

The Clone waited patiently for the Sergeant to spit his favorite expletive before responding.

"Bastard," there it was. The Sergeant sat down.

"Unfortunately, his people seem to agree with him. I've gotten a number of reports from mine workers that the Na'taves there aren't merely 'curious'. They're down there, actively trying to provoke both the miners and the troopers guarding them. They've even been known to throw rocks. We've got a problem on our hands, Sir,"

"Bah," Grampa shifted in his seat and looked at Jac out of half-closed eyes "Jac, you know as well as I do, that there's not a trooper among our ranks that would rise to idle threats,"

"That's just it," Jac replied "we're under orders to leave the Na'tave people strictly alone. They're testing to see how far they can push us before we fight back. The question is, what do we do when their pushing becomes a threat to this station?,"

The Sergeant didn't answer this, instead guzzling down more alcohol. That was the worst answer of all.

It told him that the Sergeant had already put a call in, asking for clarification of their orders. Some politician must have made the decision. Jedi were more reasonable. In short, they were strictly forbidden to defend themselves from the Na'taves in any way.

It came in the night, sudden and loud. A sound like thunder but not thunder, which split the air and made the ground itself tremble. It was a sound that woke the blood of the soldier, waking in him his instinct for battle. But it only chilled Jac to the bone. He was not afraid, the chill he felt was born of the painful knowledge that he could not answer the challenge which had just exploded through his front door. Nor could any of the other troopers.

They were under attack alright, but by the Na'tave people. Someone was shouting something about needing help, but Jac couldn't see through the darkness and rising smoke. Smoke. They were being burned out. Jac knew that they had only one choice. If they wanted to survive, they had to retreat.

Fleeing from the enemy is among a clone's worst nightmares. Born and trained to fight, their one purpose being to achieve victory in battle. Running... they didn't understand it.

Jac knew he must swiftly take the rookies in hand before their instincts and training overrode their orders. He fumbled in the dark for his armor and, more importantly, his helmet, which was equipped with a headlamp. A little light would make him a target, but it would also help him find the others.

Less than a minute later, he'd tracked down three rookies and run into a fourth in the hallway. Thus far, there was no sight of the enemy, or the Sergeant. He found the latter more worrying. He expected the Na'taves were launching whatever weapon was turning the outpost into an inferno. They'd go head-to-head once they were outdoors. The guards posted probably already had.

Jac remembered seeing the Na'taves fight once before. He recalled being glad that they were on his side. He wondered what they'd told themselves that made them willing to forgo their preferred method of combat in favor of using weapons.

But there wasn't time for such speculation. Turning a corner, he ran headlong into the Sergeant.

"I put a call out on the radio," the Sergeant said, giving Jac a shove towards the exit "they told us to abandon the outpost. I doubt if we're getting any backup on this one,"

Minutes later, those who could had escaped the flames and slipped away into the night. The clones paused for a moment to take in the appearance of their burning outpost, and then turned away before their anger could force them to do something foolish.

The fall of the outpost was also the fall of one of the more powerful radio towers on the planet. They couldn't communicate with the miners or sentry posts to find out if they too had been attacked, or to warn them of impending assault.

"We'll have to do it the old fashioned way," the Sergeant told his crew "we'll go and tell them ourselves,"

The clones couldn't know it, but their call for help had been relayed to the Jedi, who also heard the politics-based orders the clones received. It was decided by the council that these clones would not be abandoned, and a ship was dispatched to Aakaria, carrying Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano as well as additional clone troops. They weren't planning to go to war, just to extract their troops, using whatever measures proved necessary.

If the Na'taves didn't want the protection or trade of the Republic, so be it.