Finished my second deployment with the navy, so there will be a hiatus for all my stories until mid October. Gotta reconnect with my 1 year-old and wife. I hope you all understand.
Big thanks to Firehawk1100 and Kuiil for being my betas.
The Ones That Are Left Behind: Part Four
Commander Coquer was young, too young. Alarik knew that the commander would be as such from the gossip among officers, but seeing it—him, was a bit of an eye-opener. Based on Coquer's youthful complexion and physique, he would wager that the boy was around his own son's age.
Young enough to enlist, kill, and die for his beliefs, but not old enough to even sit in a pub and order a drink.
Why would Dooku allowed his ward partake in this war after the death of his only son? Was losing one child not enough for the shrewd Serennian?
Alarik relented the thought, knowing he shouldn't judge Dooku so harshly. From what Mina had told him about the Serennian, he was charismatic man who cared deeply for change. A true revolutionary.
The void of losing one's child changes a man, practically always for the worse, never able to find the special object that could filled the emptiness. Thankfully, he never experienced the hollowness himself, and he sympathized to those that did. Perhaps that was why Dooku acted like he does on the war field. To release the aggression and hatred that had to be running rampant in his heart against the government that played a role in the death of, not only his son, but also his wife.
Alarik wondered, if he went through the same traumatic incident, would he be like the Serennian? Would he be as callous, vindictive, and full of simmering hate that would burst at a moment's notice as Dooku? Or would he continued as he was, chivalrous, kind, ready to fight for what was right. Or would he simply be wasting away in a pub, staring at the bottom of a glass, debating whether or not today would be the day he would rest a barrel in his mouth, preparing to join those he lost.
He pushed back those melancholy thoughts. Hopefully, he never would have to the experience such torture, enjoying a nice long life with his wife and child, perhaps seeing his grandchildren as well.
Alarik's misgivings about employing children into war were neither here nor there, though. What he should be worrying about, was his new position as executive officer and the complete unprofessional appearance of his superior.
Coquer was flanked on both sides by two B-1 series battle droids, all three weren't armed. A clear apathetic aura surrounded the boy, his shoulders slouched, having a bit of a hunch in his back. The child's hair was completely disheveled, far out of regulations with the ends reaching past his shoulders. His uniform were in a worse state, wrinkled, improperly fastened buttons, and lacking the collar insignia of his high prestigious rank.
Alarik's nose crinkled, disapproving the poor state his new commanding officer was in. He quickly remembered the situation he was in and who he was with, wiping the expression off his face. Based on the glazed over look in his eyes, the boy didn't even realize the disrespectful stare Alarik committed.
He removed his sea-bag from his shoulder, placing it on the ground. Straightening his spine, holding his head high, he saluted his commanding officer.
"Lieutenant Alarik Bonteri," he introduced himself with confidence booming in his voice, "reporting as executive officer of the Alacrity and Third Fleet of the Confederate Navy as per my orders."
Alarik stayed in his position, waiting for the courteous reply to welcome him onboard. Seconds ticked and irritation was bubbling inside him with every tock. His jaw tensed, actively holding back the urge to frown at the impudence. He guessed the rumors of the boy's haughty nature was indeed true.
The child didn't returned the salute or even wave him off, simply sighing at the formality of greeting a new member of the crew. Alarik bit his tongue to stop the curses from leaving his mouth, greatly insulted.
His commander turned around, completely done with the conversation. "Show him around. I'll be in my quarters."
Alarik blinked, offended by the boy's orders. The boy just pawned him off to some droids. Was he worth so little of the child's time he couldn't grant him a tour himself?
He lowered his arm, his lips pursed into a thin line, trying not to utter something that would get him court marital. As the boy walked away, the two droids approached him.
They both saluted him in unison. At least the machines knew the meaning of respecting tradition.
"Evening Lieutenant Bonteri," the droid on the left greeted with quite the enthusiasm, "I'm Prim and—"
"—and I'm Reflector!" the right droid finished with the same level of passion. "Welcome abroad the Alacrity, sir!"
Alarik was stunned at their introduction, a complete loss of words. His commanding officer, a commander in the Confederate Navy, leader of one of the ten fleets that made up said navy, named his droids.
The rumors about the commander were false. The reality was far worse than any gossip that an individual could tell. He was a child in every sense of the word. There was no arguing about it. No way to defend the boy's complete disregard of order and discipline.
Now he could see why Dooku abruptly assigned him to his ward's command. To teach the boy the meaning of being a solder.
The two droids spared a glance at each other, gradually dropping their salute.
"Uh," the droid on the left—he refused to humor the childish behavior of regarding to the machines by names—said, looking at him. "Are you okay, sir?"
"Are you experiencing hyper-lag?" the machine's companion asked. "Red, our ship's medical droid, could—"
"How I am is no concern to you, droid," Alarik spat. He picked up his sea-bag, hefting it onto his shoulder. "Now, show me to my living quarters so I begin with my duties."
The two droids flinched from his brashness. If these droids couldn't handle a simple harsh words, he bet the rest of the ship—hell the whole fleet, was the same.
I have a lot of work to do.
"Of course, sir." The machine's tone was different. No longer excited or filled with gusto, solely professional. Monotone as it should be. "Follow me."
As the two machines lead Alarik out of the hangar, he thought back to his home he was on for barely twenty-four hours. How he had to say goodbye to his loving wife and distinguished son after spending nearly five months away from them, constantly worrying them with his role as a serviceman in the chaotic war. How he was ripped away from them because of a boy who thought warfare was just a game.
The commander will learn how to be a soldier, even if it means beating it into him.
He refused to acknowledge he was taken from his family because of the incompetence of another.
The droids were hard at work, methodically accomplishing the tasks they were programmed to do with efficiency that was surprising. Alarik was astonished, seeing the machines worked as—if Mina and Lux was with him they would no doubt groan and voiced their distaste in his love of dad-jokes—a well-oiled machine. Based on his first impression of the fleet, he thought the machines would act below standards. Not only were they performing well above said standards, they were executing multiple jobs, interchanging among themselves who was standing at certain watch posts or assisting others.
Besides being utilized as the bulk for both the army and navy, each B-1 droids was programmed to conduct one or two additional jobs. Ranging from being an engineer that knew how to fix hyper drives, to firemen that was ready to be call upon at a moment's notice to combat deadly flames that was raging onboard ships. Occupations such as these were uploaded into battle droids at their creation. If the need of acquiring a droid with a certain programming, one only needed to rewrite their previous occupation script from the machine's memory banks and implant a new one in its stead.
One of the many benefits of using droids to fight in a war, rather than growing ignorant test-tube slaves like the clones. Cost efficient too.
Each script were intensive, and yielded multiple amounts of terabytes that quickly filled a battle droids' memory storage. Inventors of the droids, all of the different models of battle droids the Confederacy deployed, made it clear that they were only capable of containing a maximum of two occupation programming while still functioning at peak performance.
From what he saw so far, the droids stationed onboard the Alacrity, as well as the entire fleet, seemed to find a way to work around the hurdle that was holding the war machines back. Alarik didn't know how the boy pulled it off. There was no rumors about him being a genius in robotics or programming.
Alarik was impressed, and give credit to the ingenuity the child employed to accomplish such a grand feat. Probably the only praise he would give the boy.
"Lieutenant," a droid called out, walking up to him with a datapad in hand. "Here are the reports you've requested."
He accepted the device, paying the machine no mind. His grays eyes scanned the texts and numbers that was being displayed, soaking in the information.
The report he requested were the total number of droid personnel attached to each ship, along with the last time any one of the starships were dock at a shipyard, receiving any upgrades or correcting any damages sustained. It was also to prove if his hunch was indeed correct.
While familiarizing himself with his way around the Alacrity and the other ships apart of the fleet, he noticed something quite peculiar. A lack of a tactical droid.
It was standard military protocol that the strategic machines were deployed to warships that saw constant combat. And based on what he was reading, the entire fleet saw only combat, rarely taking a moment of relief.
Why was that, he pondered. The damages the fleet bore in its short lifespan demanded immediate repair at shipyards, but such orders were either denied or shoddy workmanship was employed and the personnel onboard had to fix it themselves.
Politics. It had to be. There was no other answer Alarik could think of. It was sad, even during trying times as war, people decided to act with such pettiness.
Hopefully, with him attached to the fleet, he could get the assistance they rightful needed. Starting with acquiring a tactical droid.
"You, droid," Alarik called the machine that handed him the datapad. "Write up an acquisition request for us to retrieve a new T-1 series droid. In fact, make it an order for five. One for each ship."
How the child survived this long without one was beyond him. Their strategic mindset had shown time and time again that their usefulness was something that shouldn't be ignored.
"Uh, sorry, sir, but I can't."
Alarik blinked, confused about what he heard. It sounded to him the droid refused an order.
He finally gave the machine his full attention, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me, droid?"
The machine buckled from the intense glare. "I can't, Lieutenant. Commander Coquer made it a standing order to never have those models onboard his fleet after he decommission TA-125 at the Annexation of Elom."
Alarik tutted, rolling his at the droid's explanation. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that the child threw a tantrum and destroyed the tactical droid. Those in the military tended to vent their aggression upon the droids, wasting a perfectly good tool to pacify their own heated emotions.
"Military protocol states warships, such as this one, is required to have at least one tactical droid stationed onboard." He leaned in close to the droid, hovering over the cowered machine with his height. "Are you disobeying a direct order from the Supreme Commander of Droid Army?"
The air around them became thick, and other droids ceased working, staring at the two of them.
"I…" The machine hesitated, looking around the bridge at it fellow machines. One of them gave a slight nod which the droid responded with one of its own. "Y—Yes, I am."
The droid straightened its spine, now standing at eye level with him. "Unless stated otherwise, Commander Coquer's order will stand."
Troublesome, Alarik thought. A glitch in the machine's program. No doubt from the extra work the child did to allow the droids to accomplish more than one trade. If a single droid acted like this, then there must be other offenders as well.
A fleet wide memory-wipe was necessary. He wished it wasn't. It took time to conduct the deed, as well as it is a black mark on one's career to have one so early, but such things couldn't be allowed to continue.
First thing first though, he would need to inform the boy about the offense. He doubted the boy knew such things were occurring in his fleet.
Speaking of the child, Alarik wondered where he was. Commanding officers belong on the bridge, only spending time outside of their post when they needed to sleep or eat. He highly doubted it was the boy's bedtime.
"In that case, droid," Alarik hissed. "Where is the commander now? I will get him to retract his previous order."
"The commander should still be in his quarters," the machine answered. "After our notice of extension on Mygetto, that is where he prefer to stay if there was no battle to be fought."
Alarik's eyes widened, rage swirled in them. Enough is enough.
He moved, quick and with purpose to the elevator, leaving gawked droids behind.
If the commander wanted to be a child, naming the droids and act like he was above them all—fine. Alarik could trudge that migraine. But a dereliction of duty? Leaving simple minded B-1 droids as officers in charge of warships in the fleet? Refusing to receive a tactical droid because it poked holes in your plans?
No. He wouldn't stand for such sins. The boy's actions mocked everyone who lost their lives in this war and those who stand against the corruption of the Republic.
The boy mocked Adel.
The doors slid opened and Alarik stomped out, storming towards the boy's quarters. He burst through the doors without a courtesy announcement of his presence. His footsteps were loud and unruly, making sure his anger and frustration was known to all.
He expected to see the boy alone, not with company. The child was with a B-1 droid, which was standing dumbly at his side while he played chess by himself.
The droid whipped its head at Alarik's direction, its body conveying the shock it couldn't emote. At least the machine had the bloody decency to register his existence unlike the boy who kept playing the board game, ignoring him entirely.
"L—Lieutenant Bonteri!" the droid stammered, walking towards him. "What are you—"
Alarik pushed the machine aside and headed straight for his insufferable commanding officer. Even with him towering over him by his side, the boy still disregard his presences as he continued playing chess.
"I don't know who taught you how to be a soldier," Alarik spat, making the boy flinch, "but this blatant disregard of responsibility and protocol ends today."
The boy's response was simply moving the black knight forward, taking a bishop. Alarik's frown deepened as his brows knitted together.
The B-1 droid weaved its way between them. "S—sir, please. The commander is still—"
"I didn't ask for your opinion, droid."
He shoved the machine out of the way. The droid yelped, falling to the floor with a dull thud.
Alarik walked around the table the child was playing on, standing face-to-face with him. He slammed his hands on the board game. Black and white pieces jerked in the air then crashed back down. Some landed on the floor, rolling to be forgotten in hard to get spaces.
He thrust his forefinger in the boy's face. "You are a commander in the Confederate Navy, the second highest rank in the branch, and the only one with your rank that has command over a fleet. Do you have the slightest idea what that responsibility pertain?"
"It means—" He grabbed the chessboard and threw it. The many pieces clatter against the floor, some of them no doubt now broken. "You don't have the luxury of acting as a child anymore."
"No more naming our droids. No more staying in your room. No more denying a direct order from our Supreme Commander in receiving a tactical droid."
Alarik took a step back, breathing heavily from his rant. There, he'd done it. His misgivings was voiced and the boy now have to respond.
The child's head sank, his hands clenching into fists. "...I need more time…" he rasped.
Alarik blinked. Time?
Alarik's face wrinkled in anger, his nostrils flaring.
There was no time. War was here, and no one can outsource their duties and responsibilities to others. Did the child think this was all fun and games? Did he think those that died were laughing in their graves from the entertaining competition they played? Did he think the tears the survivors shed were because of pure enjoyment?
The raging emotions within Alarik got the better of him. His fist moved before he realized it, aiming at the boy's jaw. The abrupt attack was however stopped a mere inch before it made contact, halted by the B-1 droid he shoved earlier. The droid held his wrist in a vice grip, photoreceptors trained on him.
The B-1 series were lanky, but that didn't make them any less strong. They were still machines after all, which meant they were still physically stronger than the average human.
"Please, Lieutenant Bonteri. The commander is still in mourning."
Alarik's expression quickly shifted from rage into puzzle.
"What are you talking about?" Alarik questioned.
When it was clear he held no more hostility, the droid released him. It glanced at the boy, as if debating with itself whether or not it should speak.
"An associate of the commander had ceased functioning these past few weeks," the droid explained, looking at Alarik. "He requires more time to be fully operational again."
The child lost someone? No, not child. Coquer lost someone recently.
Alarik didn't know that. If he did, he would've acted more understanding, not…
"I'm sorry." He looked at Coquer. "I wasn't informed about your lost, sir."
And here he thought his commander was just a spoiled brat. Kriff, he was about punch a grieving person.
"I…" He scratched the back of his neck, feeling guilt and shame spreading through his system. "I'm sorry for my words and actions, Commander. My leave I requested was cut short due to me receiving orders here, and I guess I'm still aggravated about it."
He began walking around the room, picking up the scattered chess pieces and board. "I haven't seen my family since the war started, and I'm sure you know how long this war feels like it's be going on for."
Once gathering all of the pieces—some were chipped and one or two were missing—he went to Coquer, placing them on the table.
"I—" Alarik cleared his throat. His throat suddenly felt so dry. "I too lost someone in this war. Adel was his name. We were best friends, brothers if I'm being honest."
A whimsical smile graced his lips. "We were together since the beginning, always getting in trouble with our teachers in the academy and didn't stop even when we became adults. He made me realized the diamond my wife was when we're teenagers, prompting me to ask her out on a date. He was my son's guideparent, too."
He chuckled, recalling another pleasant memory about his friend. "Adel almost burst into tears when I asked him to be my best man…"
Alarik fell quiet, opening and closing his right hand repeatedly. Talking about Adel was still hard for him to do, no matter how much therapy he went through to come to terms with it.
"…what happened to him?" Coquer asked, his voice meek.
He sighed, closing his eyes. "The Republic conducted a raid on our outpost on Ruusan."
They weren't even supposed to be there that day. Their CO decided to stop at the outpost to deliver some goods the outpost requested over the net and they so happen had extra of the supply.
"I'm sorry for the loss of your friend."
I was right there, practically in arm reach of him. If only I reacted quicker, then he would—
No. Alarik sharply inhaled through his nose then exhaled his mouth. Don't go down that road again. There was nothing more you could've done.
"Me too," he said, opening his eyes.
Alarik grasped a white pawn, moving it two paces forward. "If you don't mind me asking," his eyes trailed up to Coquer. "Who was your friend?"
Grief was difficult to handle, especially for one that was still not even an adult. Coquer had to be suffering for so long without anyone to confide in. Battle droids didn't make the best of counselors.
"His name was Trench," said Coquer as he moved a knight into the game.
"The Harch?"
He didn't know the infamous being had fell in combat. News travel slow from where he was stationed at prior.
The corner of Coquer's mouth curled up. "The one and the same. And he wasn't just a friend. Trench was more than that, so much more." He brought his hand to his face, his body shuddering as he sighed. "And I never had the chance to tell him that," he croaked.
The tears came quickly, ugly and filled with regret. Alarik let Coquer continue with his sobbing, soaking the board with his tears, muttering in-between choked gasps his sorrows about not being there with Trench in his final moments. How much he loved him.
Throughout the mourning process, Alarik remained sitting in his chair, listening to Coquer's woes without a peep. He was in a similar state when Adel was killed by the clones, crying for what felt like hours to Mina via holotransmission about the loss of their good friend. Coquer needed this, just as much as he did when Adel passed away. Freeing one's soul of the grief started the healing process.
When it seemed Coquer couldn't produce anymore tears, Alarik spoke, moving another pawn forward.
"What was he like?"
Coquer wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. "What?"
"What was he like?" he reiterated. "Tell me how you two met?" He glanced at the board, gesturing at it. "It's your move, sir."
Alarik could see the hesitation in the Coquer's eyes. The next step in the healing process, was to not remember solely the loved one's passing, but the good and fun they'd shared.
"I was twelve when I met Trench." Coquer moved a pawn forward one pace. "And he immediately gave me a taste what was expected of me."
The words spew out of Coquer easily after that, regaling the incident of Gan Moradir, and many more stories after that. Throughout it all, he spun the tales with a found smile and a chuckle here and there.
The stories that were being disclosed weren't something Alarik was expecting. It was not entertaining and lighthearted as his was when he talked about Adel, but morbid and quite numbing to hear.
Most were about conflicts Coquer had waged in with the wise counsel of Trench at his side, detailing how approving the Harch was with every kill he committed. Then there was the odd bits, where Trench actually showed love and affection to the boy, acting somewhat of a father figure to the young Serennian.
It sickened him to hear the grueling hardships Trench put Coquer through and Dooku allowing the Harch to continue the clear abuse, but, from how passionate Coquer was telling the past, Alarik could tell the two obviously cared for one another. Cared for one another like he does towards his son, Lux and vice versa.
The game of chess ended with victory going to Coquer, who was in much better spirit than he was when Alarik first entered. His commanding officer thanked him for the game and officially welcomed onboard the fleet. Coquer promised him he would be more forthcoming with his duties starting tomorrow, stating along the lines that a Serennian's word was their bound.
Alarik stood from his seat, bidding the commander farewell, and made to the exit. The door opened, revealing the same B-1 droid that was in the room with Coquer earlier. He hadn't noticed the droid left during his and commander's heart-to-heart.
The machine's posture says it wanted to make a comment to him. "Yes droid?"
"I just want to say, thank you."
Alarik's eyebrow curled up. "For what?"
"For talking to the commander," it answered. "I've been staying by his side when I'm not on post but I don't know what to do or say once I'm with him. Organic emotions and thought process are still hard to comprehend."
"So, thank you, sir." The droid placed a hand out, inviting him to shake it. "Thank you for bringing the commander back to us."
Alarik ignored the friendly gesture, confused on what he was just told. "Wait. You stood by Commander Coquer's side as he mourned? On whose authority?"
Once noticing it wouldn't receive a handshake, the droid retreated the offer. "My own, I guess."
"Why?" Simple battle droids didn't act like this.
"Because he was in pain," the droid answered matter-as-fact. "It…felt wrong to leave the commander alone, especially after everything he'd done for us."
What is this droid spouting, Alarik wondered. The machine was acting like it had…
He eyed the battle droid cautiously. "Droid, do you care for the commander?"
"Of course!" the machine admitted too quickly for his liking. "All droids a part of his fleet does. He gave all of us names, showed us kindness that the other Confederate leaders refused to grant, and cares for the purity of our souls—though I do admit I don't know what that is yet."
It tilted their head to the side. "Do you know what a soul is, Lieutenant Bonteri?"
This was alarming. Very, very alarming.
"N—No, I don't." Alarik stammered. "Before you are dismiss droid, what is your serial number?"
"Serial number?" The droid looked deep in thought. "I...don't know. It seems it was erased from my memory banks somehow." It snapped their head to Alarik. "Oh, but my name is Rust, though! Welcome onboard the Alarcity, sir!"
Author's Note: Nothing really to add or say at this point. If you have any questions about the story just shoot me a PM.
Till Next Time