Chapter Forty One

The bright lights continued to whiz past, one after the other.

He felt detached, a strange feeling of anonymity and familiarity both at the same time.

He accepted the inevitable.

It was another person, being rushed along the length of the corridor, another brother bleeding and broken from another senseless act of war.

'What have we got?" He heard the female voice, strong and authoritative, the sound somewhat comforting, in a strange kind of way.

"Clone. Lost a lot of blood, along with his legs. Just inject him. I don't need any more complications tonight." The male said as he turned to leave the perfunctory Infirmary.

"OK," she said and began to fill a syringe with the luminous green liquid.

He tried to open his eyes, but his lids wouldn't obey. He tried to speak, but his lips didn't move.

'No legs,' he thought, 'better off dead.'

Then his thoughts drifted to the woman waiting for him back on Coruscant and the child growing safe inside her.

"N-n," he tried again, willing his words to be heard. "No," the sound as gentle as a kiss.

She stopped and looked at the young man bleeding in front of her on the gurney. It was the first time she had seen a clone from the Republic, let alone treated one.

A perfect male specimen.

She lifted an eye lid and flashed something bright into it, and watched as the pupil constricted at the artificial invasion.

'Pupillary light reflex,' she muttered to herself.

His automatic nervous system awoke and his head flinched ever so slightly.

The woman then looked at the man opposite her, punching something into his data pad, before he turned to leave the room and say, "Get the porter's to remove the body as soon as you've done. Don't know why they didn't put a blaster bolt into his head on the Hanger Deck. Would have saved us all a lot of trouble." The doors electronically opened and she watched as the new self appointed Warden left.

"Sure," she said, "sure," a little more quietly.

That's when her medical training took over. The oath she had made all those years ago.

She had to stop the bleeding, the loss of his legs were the least of his problems.

Quickly she emptied the syringe into the sink and grabbed another. She leaned forward, injecting the hypo into his arm.

The soldier was becoming more conscious, more aware of the pain racking his body with every breath as the nerve endings tingled back to life.

Both of his brown eyes opened, startling the young doctor, and his left hand grabbed her arm hard as she frantically began to triage the clone,

Soldier,

Patient,

Man,

lying in front of her.

"Save me," he said, with a voice husky from dehydration and shock. "Save me, please."

She nodded her head quickly.

He closed his eyes and was at the mercy for the first time in his life to someone other than a brother.

The drugs began to take effect, his last thoughts were of Freya as he slumped into a pharmaceutical induced coma.

#

The red dust swirled, his long coat moving directionless as he strode with purpose towards the docks.

The early twilight his ally, as the eerie light coupled with the dust cast a slender shadow across the baron landscape.

He knew it was time to move on.

The Claxis docks; a place where ore was shipped out to neighbouring systems.

A place where other 'cargo' would also make its way off world.

The Dock Master glanced over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck. He suddenly felt – uncomfortable, and turned to see the solitary figure standing in front of him.

'Now where in the Nine Corellian Hells did he come from,' he thought to himself.

He quickly took in the stranger's attire.

A long full length coat with a scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face

He was human, a drifter he deduced.

The Dock Master was the 'unofficial' king of Claxis and like all before him, he knew everything about getting things on, and off the plane. However he felt anxious, no intimidated by this particular stranger, and he had come across a few in his time.

"I'm looking for a passage to Grevel IV," he said, "no questions asked."

Through a throaty laugh and while still chewing on a bad smelling cigar, the Master simply replied, "these are ore barring barges son, no room for passengers here."

"I can pay, surely we can come to some sort of arrangement?"

The older man revealed a toothless grin. "What do you have that could possibly persuade me?"

The stranger deliberately moved his coat aside slowly and unclipped a small pouch from his belt.

The Master was instantly drawn to the ancient weapon hanging alongside the Bantha money sack.

"We have no need for Jedi here," he said low and cautiously. "I don't need any more trouble than I already have," his eyes watching the coat cover what had been briefly revealed.

"I simply need a ride to Grevel. Here, for your trouble and recommendation." With that, two high quality gems were placed in the Masters hand with stealth like speed.

"I'm no Jedi Sir, just a traveller."

"Well now," he said as he placed the red jewels into his pocket, "it looks like you are either running from someone or got very lucky in a game of chance recently."

"Call it both," he said, unwinding the scarf and smiling, "the game of love."

The Master noticed the corners of the strangers eyes crinkle and he relaxed momentarily.

"Ah, a man after my own heart! And who are you running from, the girl or the husband?" He swung a large arm around the stranger's shoulders in a friendly embrace.

"The Bounty over in Bay 13 is leaving for Sondor. There you can get another ride to Grevel IV. Captain's name is Fletcha. Mean SOB so watch your back, but something tells me, you can hold your own."

The lone figure bowed slightly and made his way to the typical vessel used for transporting all types of cargo.

Very inconspicuous.

He made his way over to a man holding a manifest and watched as the Etti rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

He smiled to himself and wrapped the scarf back around his face.

He had to get on board that ship.

He could feel them coming for him.

Time was running out.

#

The ARC was back from another recon to the Outer Rim.

'Another waste of time,' he thought as he spent the better part of seven days lying in bushes on his belly watching the gang of Pirates, waiting for them to make contact with the suspected Separatist network.

No one came and he had been pulled unceremoniously off the planet, hitching a ride back with the 41st to Triple Zero.

The longer this war continued, he wondered how out of touch the Republic was becoming. Other ARC's had been complaining bitterly as well. Stating that they too, had been sent on wild goose runs, then extracted before they had a chance to discharge one single blaster shot.

They were trained to kill, no sit on their shebs and wait out the war.

He walked the quiet corridors of the GAR barracks, heading towards the one room with four bunks. He was hoping, secretly wishing they were in, but he hadn't seen any of the familiar blue and knew, he was probably going to eating alone again tonight.

These were the times he missed Echo.

He could always count on the fellow ARC to bore him senseless with the reg's regarding something inane or insignificant. Then he would tease him, making Echo turn red in the face and cross only to reel him back in with a friendly embrace or laugh.

"You take life all too seriously ner vod," he would say.

"The guidelines are there for a reason Fives," he would stress, "they keep you alive."

Why then, did he step outside the guidelines that day?

Why, when he had everything to live for, did he risk his life in that Hanger bay?

No matter how many times Fives went over it, he couldn't figure out what must have been running through Echo's mind that fateful day.

He swung into the quarters.

Nope, no one was there.

Fives walked over and sat on Hardcase's cot and absently looked at the data pad sitting on his pillow. He wiped his hand over it and then pulled himself up off the bed, stretching his neck and sighed.

'I really miss Echo.'

He left the small room and headed towards the Mess. It was full with brothers quietly going about another bland military meal. He grabbed a tray and stood in line, waiting for the ubiquitous bland Republic food to be slopped into the compartments, the exact calorie rations meticulously measured by the Kaminoans since birth.

He looked at the beige food, and even went so far as to sniff a piece of supposed bread.

There was no aroma whatsoever.

Fives filled up a cup full of caf and turned to find a seat.

He walked past a few tables before he noticed an empty chair on the end of one. He looked at the two sitting and knew exactly why there was a spare seat. They were Republic Commando's, still in their kit, obviously just back from another hop.

Fives walked towards the table and stood for a second before he asked, "is this seat taken?"

The man opposite lifted his helmet off the table and placed it quietly at his feet, indicating the space was free.

Fives pulled out a chair and sat heavily, all the time looking at the men in grey.

He knew about their hard upbringing on Kamino, but more importantly, knew of their reputation, they were a surly looking lot, and kept mainly to themselves.

'I bet I could take him on,' Fives thought as he watched the man opposite eating, continually looking down at his plate.

The one next to him he wasn't too sure about.

An ugly scar ran the length of his face. The wound itself would have hurt, but the fact that it had scarred instead of being completely healed in the Bacta meant that he must have been injured for a while before he had a medic get to it.

Now that must have been painful.

Fives assumed the position. Looking down at his plate like the hundred or so others and began to eat. One tasteless spoonful after another when he heard the soldier opposite speak.

"You're an ARC with the five oh first?"

He continued to chew his food as he made eye contact.

Fives nodded his head, "yeah, that's right."

"You just in?"

"Blue milk run in the Outer Rim. Complete waste of time."

"Welcome to our world ner vod," the scarred man said without lifting his face from his food.

"How long you guys back?"

"Not sure. Awaiting new orders." The Commando opposite replied. "The names Niner," he said, quickly wiping his hand across his chest plate before extending it across the table.

"Fives."

They held hands for the briefest second, before they continued eating.

Then the Sergeant began to chuckle. Fives did the same until both were laughing hard, across the plasti cups and laminated table.

"Fives and Niner," he said laughing and shaking his head.

The irony not lost on the two identical men.

#

Sly - I owe you one ner vod. . .