That could have gone a lot better, Hunter concluded as he stared down the two regs, flanked closely on either side by his brothers.
Tech might have been hyper-intelligent and extremely skilled, but as it transpired his skills did not stretch to piloting. He'd almost flown straight into the side of the Venator on their approach, and Hunter was fairly certain that one of the men they'd nearly run over during his impromptu crash landing was the blonde-haired clone standing before them. Which might explain why the guy looked like he wanted to hurt someone. Namely, the four of them.
Talk about getting off on the wrong foot!
At least no one had actually died, though with the way Crosshair and the reg with the kama and pauldrons were glaring at each other, that eventuality might very well still occur.
The blonde-haired clone seemed to be taking a few moments to process everything. Eventually, he blinked rapidly several times and smoothed his features somewhat. He still looked annoyed, but less like he was about to commit murder.
"About kriffing time," he murmured, almost under his breath but loud enough that Hunter had no problems hearing him. He suspected from the way both Tech and Crosshair stiffened that they too had heard the comment.
Eager to try and smooth some ruffled feathers before things escalated (as he knew they would if left unchecked) Hunter cleared his throat.
"Sorry we're late," he said, eyes flickering between the two regs because he wasn't certain which one was in charge. "We had some...complications leaving Kamino."
Complications being that it had taken Tech considerably longer than anticipated to become familiar with the Omicron's controls. He'd stalled the thing half a dozen times before managing to get it airborne and even then, it had taken both Crosshair and Hunter's combined brain power to fathom the rather complex navigational system.
The blonde made a huffing noise but, thankfully, did not make any comments that might escalate the situation.
"Don't let it happen again," he said firmly, though his voice was lacking in any real hostility. That was different to what Hunter had experienced with the regs on Kamino, and it caught him a little off guard.
"Err, right," he fumbled, trying to keep the surprise off his face. "I take it you're Commander Cody? Briefing said we were to report to him."
An annoyed look crossed the blonde's face and he pursed his lips.
"Captain Rex of Torrent Company, 501st battalion, serving under General Skywalker," the man said with a tilt of his head. "Your squad has been assigned to me by Commander Cody. "
From the way the Captain spoke, Hunter knew he was expected to recognise those names. However, living on Kamino for their entire existence had rather left them all cut off from the rest of the galaxy. The only outside interaction they had was with regs that rotated back for medical treatment, respite, or some such other reason. And they were not exactly chatty with Hunter or his brothers.
Hunter nodded his head in what he hoped was a respectful manner. He was less than fond of the ordinary rank and file, having suffered a tormented childhood at their hands, but he supposed if he and his brothers would be working with them for this mission then it would be a sensible idea to keep on their good side. Or, at the very least, not intentionally pick a fight if they could avoid it.
His eyes briefly flickered to the other clone who, judging by the way he stiffened, noticed the movement.
"Fives. ARC trooper."
The set of the man's jaw told of his arrogance. Hunter had never met an ARC trooper up close, only observed them from a distance, though they all seemed to possess the same haughty attitude, safe in the knowledge that they were better than everyone else. Hunter thought that this one might be in for a bit of a shock, because he knew that all three of his brothers, plus himself, had at some point in the past set new records on all the ARC training simulations on Kamino.
Judging by the smirk on Crosshair's face, he too was thinking along the same lines.
"I'm Hunter," he said by way of introduction, jerking his head at the other three. "That's Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair."
Captain Rex grunted in acknowledgement, giving Hunter and his brothers a quick glance over. His gaze seemed to linger on Tech's spectacles, Crosshair's hair and Wrecker's mismatched eyes, as though drawn to the most immediately notable features that made each unique. On the outside, at least. If he had a problem with the squad's appearance, however, he did not voice it, merely adjusted his hold on his bucket, and shuffled his feet as though eager to be somewhere else.
"Company briefing is at 1400 hours in hangar delta," Rex finally said, evidently in no mood for any further small talk. "You'll need to be geared up and ready to go. And make sure you bring enough water and rations for a five-day march. It's gonna be hostile territory, and there's no telling whether our supply ships will be able to reach us."
Hunter nodded briskly, glancing at his brothers whom he had expected to weigh in at some point during the conversation. Possibly, they were either too intimidated (which seemed unlikely) or too unsure of their new surroundings to step out of their boxes. Or perhaps they were actually giving regard to his previous request and trying their hardest not to kark up.
"Understood," he said, then, when noticing the way the Captain's eyes narrowed and the ARC trooper's nostrils flared, added a hasty "Sir."
The pair of regs departed without another word, leaving Hunter and his brothers standing on the hangar deck of the Venator. Swallowing down his growing sense of unease and doing his best to ignore the stares from passers-by, Hunter plastered on his best fake face of reassurance and turned to the others.
"Alright, boys. Let's get to it."
...
Tech knew that what he was doing was, most likely, illegal, and certainly against protocol. Which was why he did his best to keep his data pad hidden as he hacked into the Venator's mainframe.
He hoped that any casual onlooker might assume he was waiting for a companion, as he leaned against the wall of the corridor, doing his very best to appear as though he belonged. And not like he had just sliced his way through some pretty well-fortified firewalls and downloaded the entire manifesto of the ship's crew and staff, plus a dozen or so encrypted files detailing battle strategies for their impending invasion.
He had, of course, undertaken a great deal of research last night, as soon as Hunter had (finally and with some reluctance) relinquished the mission briefing to him. By the small hours of the morning, Tech was well versed in Umbaran politics, its people, customs, terrain, weather cycles, main sources of commerce, and even religious views. He knew everything there was to know, but the stolen files from the Venator would add a bit more context and provide some light reading on their flight down to the planet's surface.
Because, above all else, Tech liked to be prepared. Knowledge was power, after all, which made him (in his own mind) the most adept and formidable member of the squad. Wrecker might have brawn, Crosshair his sharp eyesight, and Hunter his proficiency in hand-to-hand combat, but Tech had brains and an unnatural ability to retain massive amounts of information.
Another beep from the hidden data pad and he had access to the schematics for the Venator. This intel wasn't necessary for the upcoming mission, but Tech had never been on a star destroyer before and was eager to know more about the vessel. Besides, he had plenty of time to kill before the mission briefing. There was no sense in letting it go to waste.
Tech shifted his position so that more of his narrow frame covered the data port he was exploiting. He was mildly surprised that no one had yet noticed what he was doing, because subtlety and discretion were never his strong suits. It did rather bode badly for the state of the shipboard security that he was able to continue unhindered. He made a mental note to bring this to the attention of his superiors if the opportunity ever arose.
Glancing about the hallway, Tech allowed himself a small, smug smile. Clones moved up and down the corridor, most with the steady stride of men with jobs to fulfil and all oblivious to his slicing. Some wore the standard white plastoid, while others had painted or embellished their armour with patterns or motifs or symbols that obviously held meaning to them. Tech often felt a little sorry for the regs, most of whom seemed desperate to stand out as individuals in an army that shared the same face. He himself never had that problem, and he was to some extent grateful for that. Even if it was, more often than not, a burden.
Tech was just unplugging his data pad, deciding that he had pushed things as far as he dared, when something at the far end of the corridor caught his attention. Moving amongst the sea of sameness was a man that, like Tech, stood out for his uniqueness. He was unremarkable in height and build, his neat, sandy hair longer than the average buzz cut, with a thick beard concealing most of his face. Instead of armour, he wore long, ivory-coloured robes and at his hip was the unmistakable hilt of a lightsaber.
Tech's heart skipped a beat. He'd only ever seen a Jedi once before, being the togruta woman who oversaw the cadet training on Kamino, and even then that had been at a distance. His batch had never been considered for deployment, and therefore had never come under her scrutiny. The thought of actually interacting with a Jedi was far more intriguing than the files he has downloaded from the ship's computer. And if the opportunity arose to study one...well, Tech thought it was worth seizing that opportunity with both hands.
The man walked past Tech, head bowed over a data pad of his own, clearly lost in his own thoughts. The bespectacled clone cocked his head to one side in consideration, before hastily unplugging his pad and stuffing it into his belt pouch. Trying to appear as casual as possible, he fell into step a few feet behind the Jedi.
Tech followed the fellow through the maze of corridors, always keeping far enough back so as not to be noticed. Quickly pulling up the crew logs on his data pad, he located the Jedi within seconds, an easy task seeing as there were not many aboard the Venator without a CT or CC designation. Besides, the picture that accompanied the file was confirmation enough that the man Tech was following was none other than General Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The name was somewhat familiar to him, only from snippets he'd overheard from regs in the commissary, and bits and pieces he'd gleaned whenever he jacked into the holo net. But the very fact that the man had a reputation worthy enough to be the gossip of the rank and file spoke volumes. He was definitely worth further study.
Kenobi turned down another corridor, heading deeper into the Venator and away from the bustle of activity surrounding the hangar and armoury. The hallway was much quieter than the previous few stretches, almost empty in fact. Tech let his pace slow and dropped back even further, pulling out his data pad so that if the Jedi should notice him, he could feign distraction.
Abruptly, Kenobi came to a halt, head still bowed. Tech faltered, unsure whether to turn back, stop, or continue. He slowed to an amble, watching Kenobi's back warily, until finally pausing a few yards away. Was it possible that the General hadn't heard Tech's soft footsteps? He was usually surprisingly light on his feet, although the empty corridor did echo considerably.
His hopes of going unnoticed were immediately shattered however when the Jedi stiffened, raising his head but still facing the other way. Tech instinctively felt the need to either withdraw or hide, though his feet seemed unable to move in any direction.
"Can I help you?" Kenobi asked, his crisp voice bouncing off the barren walls.
Tech swallowed quietly and again felt the need to run. He was never much good at confrontation. Better to deny everything and extract himself as quickly as possible.
"No."
Did he imagine it, or did Kenobi chuckle quietly?
"Are you certain? You've been following me for quite some time."
Tech's eyes widened in both shock and fascination. How in the galaxy could the man have known that? Even Hunter, with his exceptional hearing, would have been hard pushed to pick out Tech's specific footfalls moving in a crowded space.
The Jedi turned then, moving slowly to face Tech. His strikingly blue eyes were questioning, and a small, amused smile tugged at his lips. That azure gaze ran over Tech's appearance, taking in his auburn hair and spectacles, and Kenobi's expression switched from humorously scornful to curious.
"I hazard a guess that you are a member of Clone Force 99. Am I correct?"
Tech blinked and rapidly gathered himself. He wasn't certain of the best way to speak to a Jedi, but decided that cool and respectful was probably the most sensible course of action.
"Yes, Sir," he replied, straightening but not quite fully standing at attention.
Kenobi folded his arms across his chest, again giving Tech a once over.
"I thought as much. You most certainly don't fit the mould."
Why did his words make Tech feel so self-conscious? He was used to being picked apart for being different, but somehow, coming from a Jedi Master, the comment bit a little deeper than usual.
"We are deviant clones whose genetic material was manipulated to result in desirable mutations," Tech said, flatly reciting what he'd been told repeatedly throughout his life. He wasn't quite sure why he was telling Kenobi, but he felt the need to justify his existence.
Kenobi tilted his chin in a way that seemed to reiterate the fact that he was far superior to Tech.
"I read your file," he stated, as though talking to an idiot.
Tech felt a flush rise in his cheeks. The only way he'd ever been able to cope with the bullying (which he'd received from both the regs and his trainers in copious quantities) his entire life was by constantly reminding himself that he was a lot more intelligent than his tormentors. That fact alone, which he often repeated like a mantra when things got particularly bad, usually dulled the pain of both fists and harsh words.
But having his intelligence questioned by a Jedi? He had no way of knowing whether or not he really WAS more intelligent than a Jedi, seeing as he had absolutely no previous experience or data on which to base a conclusion.
Tech suddenly felt very small. He wished his brothers were there with him. He always felt much more secure with them around.
Kenobi didn't notice his unease, or perhaps he did and just didn't care. Tech was nothing after all, not even a proper clone destined to serve a purpose on the battlefield. He was just a reject. The Jedi's expression softened, and Tech almost let his guard down.
"Do you have a name?"
That was unexpected. So unexpected, in fact, that Tech couldn't help but answer, mostly because he was too surprised to fully dissect the question.
"CT-9903," he replied, then, realising that the man had asked for his name and not his designation, he added, "but my name is Tech."
The corners of Kenobi's eyes crinkled. It was an unfamiliar expression that Tech could not fathom.
"Well, Tech," the Jedi said with a small smile, "perhaps you should return to your squad and make sure everything is ready for departure."
Realising the man was dismissing him, Tech hastily seized the opportunity to escape the extremely uncomfortable situation. He quickly snapped a salute, before turning on his heel and scurrying back down the corridor, back towards the hangar, feeling smaller and more insignificant than he had in a very long time.
...
The Omicron was quiet, an oasis of peace amongst the frenzy of the hangar.
Crosshair sat at the very apex of the ramp, one leg propped on the top step, the other folded underneath him. Perched like this, half in and half out, a part of both settings, he felt comfortable. Well, perhaps comfortable was not the right word. He doubted he would ever be fully comfortable all the while there were regs within spitting distance. But there was a security that came from watching the world go by, knowing that he was removed and safe in familiar territory.
Running a cloth over the stock of the Firepuncher, Crosshair kept one eye on his surroundings while he stripped the rifle with nimble fingers. It was clean of course, having never actually been fired, but Tech had disappeared some time ago and both Wrecker and Hunter had gone to inspect the armoury in the hopes of acquiring a few more explosives, and there really wasn't much else to do while he waited for 1400 to roll around. Besides, his life may very well depend on the rifle functioning at optimum efficiency. He didn't want to run the risk of a fault when it came time to pull the trigger.
Crosshair couldn't wait for that time to come. To show everyone, least of all those reg bastards, that he was the best. And how could he not be, with such a weapon in his hands? His fingers brushed the working parts almost fondly. Crosshair didn't know what it felt like to be in love, but he concluded that it might be akin to how he felt about that rifle.
Holding the barrel up to the light, he peered down the length of it to check for any residue. It was, as anticipated, spotless, and he set the piece down and moved on to another. The weapon was complex in its compilation, but Crosshair was more than proficient enough to know what he was doing. A level of concentration was, however, required. Which was probably why he didn't notice the tall, dark-haired stranger approach the Omicron, pausing at the foot of the ramp. It was only when the man rested a foot on the bottom rung that Crosshair finally noticed him, instinctively reaching for his pistol. He half drew the thing from its holster, but decided to wait to see if the fellow was a threat before fully bringing it to bear.
Flustered at being caught off guard (he was supposed to be a kriffing sharpshooter, how could he not have seen the guy before he got too close?!) Crosshair narrowed his eyes.
"Whaddya want?" he snapped defensively, hackles raised. Hunter's voice rang in his head, telling him to play nice, but he ignored it.
The stranger's brows drew down in obvious disdain. Crosshair's hand tightened around the grip of his pistol. He wasn't sure he intended to shoot the newcomer but hoped, at the very least, to appear intimidating.
"Let me guess," the stranger said, piercing grey eyes smouldering with something that looked close to anger. "You must be with Clone Force 99?"
Crosshair snorted and turned back to his rifle, trying to appear nonchalant. In truth, there was an uncomfortable churning in his stomach, and he felt a little like a cornered animal.
"How perceptive," he drawled, the sarcasm in his voice biting. "What gave it away?"
The man folded his arms across his chest, adjusting the dark-coloured robes he was wearing so that they didn't bunch.
"Your attitude."
Crosshair allowed himself a raised eyebrow, his only indication of surprise at the response. At least the stranger hadn't commented on his appearance. That was usually the main thing the regs picked at. He was quite happy to be considered different for his attitude rather than his thinness and the grey hair that made him look like an old man, despite the fact that he was physically only in his early twenties.
Pretending to be engrossed in reassembling his precious rifle, Crosshair subtly glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye. He was still standing at the foot of the ramp, looking both poised and annoyed.
"Did you want something?" he asked in exasperation. Couldn't the guy see that he was busy and wanted to be left alone?
The intruder stiffened angrily, and Crosshair felt a fluttering in his stomach, the kind that usually preceded a punch-up. He knew it was stupid to antagonise a total stranger, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself. Instigating a fight was what he did when he needed to alleviate some tension. Most troopers would hit one of the training sims or spend a half hour in the shower alone, but not Crosshair. Violence was the best remedy when he was on edge and at present, surrounded by so many regs, and in unfamiliar territory, he felt coiled tighter than a spring.
The dark-haired man shifted his weight, enough that the folds of his robes stirred. Amongst the fabric, Crosshair caught a glimpse of something that looked suspiciously like the hilt of a lightsaber, and his stomach dropped through the deck plate beneath him. A small smile touched the lips of the man below him, as if he had noticed where Crosshair's eyes had been drawn.
"That's no way to speak to your superior officer," he said, annoyance evaporated to be replaced with outright cockiness.
Crosshair's hands tightened around his rifle. He'd karked up, well and truly. Unless he was very much mistaken, the stranger was a Jedi. And he'd openly been insubordinate. He'd wanted a fight, and no doubt it would be Hunter that would fulfil his need, once the Sergeant heard about this little encounter.
He knew he should say something, apologise for being an asshole, but his jaw seemed like it had been glued shut. And it was clear that the Jedi damned well noticed how tongue-tied he was, because the man's smile became a little bit feral.
"No comeback?" he asked, tone challenging. "I'm disappointed."
Crosshair opened his mouth to reply but snapped it shut again when he couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't sarcastic. The Jedi finally took his foot off the ramp, stepping back a few paces.
"Well then," he said in a falsely bright tone that made Crosshair's skin crawl. "I look forward to seeing you at the briefing."
With that, the man was gone, disappearing into the sea of regs and leaving Crosshair alone to reassemble his rifle and speculate as to how much trouble he was in.