Fives waits with Rex and the rest of Beta squad as the door to General Skywalker's private room slides open with a weak hiss. It reveals a groggy-looking Jedi on the other side. The General seems exhausted, blinking blearily at the assembled clones who stand in front of the door. He looks startlingly bare without the layers of his Jedi robes. He wears only a thin sleeveless shirt and baggy sleep pants, hair sticking up in the back. His prosthetic arm glints gold in the low lighting, uncovered. Fives can't remember the last time he saw a Jedi looking this… soft. Normal.
"Sir," Rex says with a sharp salute. "Sorry to bother you during your rest hour, but these boys wouldn't stop asking for you. They say it's urgent."
"Urgent? Is everything alright?" The General's voice is hoarse. He squints past the Captain to where Beta squad stand assembled in the hallway.
"We're sorry to disturb you, General, but we really need your help," Fives says, stepping forward. His entire body feels electrified and on-edge, as if he's about to step out of a dropship and onto the battlefield.
"We can wait for you to get ready, sir," Echo starts to say.
General Skywalker waves a hand. "It's fine, Echo. Although my quarters are fairly small. I'm not sure all of you will fit."
Del nudges Fives. "Take your batchmates in. The rest of us can wait out here. We already heard the story on the way up."
Fives nods. He motions to his batchmates, and Domino squad follow the General inside his room.
The General's quarters are both more orderly and more chaotic than Fives had expected. Droid parts lie in organized piles all over the room, carefully sorted. Several additional boxes of unorganized parts wait to be sorted into the bins against the walls. The room smells just a bit of tibanna gas and burnt metal. A lone workbench sits opposite the bed, covered by a variety of tools and parts. An unfinished clone-sized prosthetic leg sits on the shelf. It looks similar in style to Droidbait's arm. The small bed is the only clear space in sight.
The General rummages through the mess and comes up with his robe, which he puts on. "I would invite you to sit, but I don't exactly entertain very many visitors up here besides Snips and sometimes Rex, so I've never invested much in more chairs."
"That's alright, sir," Cutup says, voice nervous. "I wish we were here with better news."
The General's expression darkens. "Right. Let's hear your report."
Fives braces himself. They'd already decided it would be best to be upfront. "We believe we had some sort of vision, sir."
"A vision?"
"Yessir, we think so."
General Skywalker frowns. "Explain."
Fives almost launches into an explanation, then pauses, taking a breath to stem his impatience. "Perhaps it would be better for Droidbait to speak, sir." He has the most experience with this sort of thing, after all.
The General nods.
Droidbait jumps a little, but then steps forwards, squaring his shoulders. "Well… in the beginning, we woke up in a strange place. It wasn't any planet I've ever seen or heard of before, sir. The ground moved like liquid and reflected images like a mirror, but it was solid underneath us. We could see stars above us, but little else."
"Any familiar constellations that could have helped you identify a location?" the Jedi asks.
"No, sir. I checked," Cutup says.
Droidbait continues. "Eventually we encountered a disturbance on the horizon, not unlike the hurricanes we used to see on Kamino. In the eye, we found two figures: a woman with green hair and a gold dress, and a man with red markings on his face and black clothing. They called each other 'Brother' and 'Sister'. They were in the middle of a fierce battle when we arrived."
"What kind of a battle? Were they strong?"
Fives shivers to remember. The crackle of nearby lightning as the two had fought had made the skin on the back of his neck stand up. It had made him feel like a baby loth-cat cowering in front of two rampaging gundarks.
"Very strong. They hovered in the air and shot lightning at each other," Droidbait describes.
"Force lightning?" the General muses. "Why were they fighting?"
"The Sister said she was trying to delay her brother's plans."
"Which were?"
"I'm… not completely certain as to every detail, sir. They each mentioned choosing champions of some sort. She revealed to us that we're her champions."
General Skywalker strokes his chin in a very Kenobi-esque consideration. "Champions?"
"I'll get there, sir."
"Very well. Continue."
"Eventually the man seemed to pull ahead. He reached out and formed an image of Krell out of… shadows, or something, and claimed him as a champion. Then he disappeared. Apparently, they choose champions to accomplish their wills in our world."
"Their wills, huh? I'm not sure I like the sound of that. If you five are the woman's champions, what exactly does she want from you? And what does this Brother want from Krell?"
"She…" Droidbait hesitates, glancing back at Domino squad. Fives gestures for him to continue. They've already come this far, no use holding back information. "She spoke with us about that. She said that you're the Chosen One, and that we're supposed to help you. So that there can be balance. I'm not sure what Krell will do yet."
General Skywalker's eyes go wide. His expression shifts, undulating between anger, shock, and grief. "The Chosen One is just a myth."
Fives exchanges a quick look with his batchmates. He hadn't expected that. Cutup shrugs. Droidbait tries to flash a quick series of ARC signs, but his prosthetic hand isn't quite dexterous enough yet, and he gives up with a huff of annoyance.
"She was very clear, sir. She, at least, believes that it's you," Hevy says carefully.
The General looks torn. "The Jedi who freed me—Qui-Gon Jinn—he was convinced that I would be the Chosen One. The Council seemed to agree with him. Everywhere I went as a padawan, I heard rumors and whispers about it when I walked by. Even Obi-Wan believes it, I've overheard him speaking about it before. For a long time I believed it, too. But if I really was the Chosen One, then I'd be stronger. I'd be a better Jedi, too. I wouldn't ever lose control. I'd be able to save anyone, especially the people I love, but I couldn't—"
Even as the Jedi cuts himself off, Fives recognizes the haunted look in his eyes—it contains deep sorrow, and festering failure. It's the look of a man who feels crushed by anguished guilt. He wonders who the General lost to make him feel this way.
Echo sighs as the General glares at his own hands, seemingly lost in thought. "Whether it's a myth or not, it's what we heard. We aren't sure what any of it means yet."
The General's frown deepens. He sits still for such a long moment that Fives starts to fidget. Then the Jedi exhales, and his whole body shudders as if shaking away invisible demons. "Right, then. Continue your story. What of the woman? I want more details about her. Do you think she can be trusted?"
"She seemed… kind of sad, to be honest," Cutup says. "She didn't want to be fighting, but she did anyway. She kept us hidden from the Brother during their battle. Additionally, the Force feels… light, whenever she's around. Peaceful. She warned us that the Brother will be helping Krell. That's why we believe he might try to escape soon."
"I trust her, sir," Droidbait says firmly. "She appeared to me before, when I was injured."
The General looks startled by this. "When you lost your arm?"
Droidbait's cheeks color a little. "Yes. It was just me the first time. I honestly thought it was a simple dream until now."
"I've heard of rare instances where people untrained in the Force have visions, but never quite like this," General Skywalker says. "But perhaps Obi-Wan knows more."
"So you believe us, sir?" Hevy asks.
General Skywalker pauses. His gaze assesses them each, slowly. Then he nods. "I believe you. I told you before, but I trust you all with my life. I don't know exactly what this vision was, but if each of you all dreamt the same thing… "
Hevy nods. "We did, sir."
"It would be far too reckless, even for me, to dismiss it as nothing." The Jedi stands. He reaches over and tugs a wad of fabric from underneath his pillow—the cover for his prosthetic. He slides it on and flexes each finger, jaw set. "Rex. What are our options?"
Rex, silent until now at the back of the room, steps forward. "Communications with Coruscant nowadays are heavily monitored. Additionally, the men keeping Krell under guard won't be able to help us. It's more likely they'll be aiding him in his escape than trying to prevent it."
Out of the corner of his eye, Fives sees Hevy's head droop a little. Despite Fives' many reservations regarding the Coruscant Guard, they don't deserve this kind of fate. And they helped his batchmate in his moment of greatest need. He makes a silent vow to both Hevy and his enslaved brothers that they'll find a way to help them eventually.
General Skywalker scowls. "Senator Amidala won't be able to do much to help us in this situation, not with how closely she's being watched. We could alert some of the Jedi who are aware of Domino squad's situation, or at least those conscious of the chips such as Master Windu or Master Fisto, but they can't stand guard all day. Someone's bound to notice. And even if they were discreet, eventually they'd be called away on other duties."
"Whoever's in control of the clones' control chips could notice, too. There are plenty of people on Coruscant who could easily help Krell escape. We don't want them to notice anything that could tip them off to the fact that we don't trust the Coruscant Guard anymore," Hevy says.
Fives shudders. Palpatine could very well be involved, and they definitely can't allow him to realize how much they know about the Guard's activated chips.
"We're too limited," Echo grumbles. "It may be best to consider a reactive strategy instead of a proactive one."
"You're suggesting we just let him escape!?" Fives blurts out before he can stop himself.
Echo gives him an unimpressed look. "It's either that or risk someone figuring out that something's off. That could have even worse consequences than Krell escaping."
There's not much worse than Krell, Fives wants to say, but Echo's expression reminds him that he's being irrational, especially with the risk of Palpatine's involvement. He takes a deep breath. If he's going to make it through this, he needs to contain himself better.
"What do you suggest, Echo?" General Skywalker asks.
"If we can't find a way to prevent him from escaping, our best option is to intercept him as quickly as possible once he does escape. Ideally, we would stop him while he's still on Coruscant. But with so many unknown variables, that's unlikely, so a good alternative is to meet him wherever he goes to hide. It would catch him unprepared, and hopefully without an effective defense."
"I like the idea, but how will we know where he plans to go once he escapes?"
Fives doesn't need to wonder. He's felt it before, and he feels it now: a deep-seated certainty, rooted in his chest alongside his heart. "Umbara, sir."
The General's eyebrows shoot up. "You're certain? Just because he was there during your last life doesn't mean it's where he'll flee to under these circumstances."
"Maybe not, sir. But if there's one thing I've learned since all of this started, it's to trust my gut. You can never be certain whether it's intuition or some crazy sign from the Force."
That startles a laugh out of the Jedi. "Padawan me would have said something similar." When he meets Fives' gaze, the expression is fond enough to make Fives' chest ache. This is the General he would follow to the very ends of the galaxy. Here is the man he had longed for, back during those last few terrible days of his life. "We'll have to consider other possibilities just to err on the side of caution, but if you're certain, we'll place it first on the list of potential options."
The General's caution feels unnecessary, but Fives accepts it with a nod. They'd learned this lesson the hard way months ago with their failed attempt to rescue General Ima-Gun Di and his troops—some things are fixed in time and space, unable to be changed despite the most diligent of efforts. Fives can practically sense that Umbara is one of them.
"But Umbara just seceded from the Republic," Droidbait points out. "We can't just hang out in their airspace waiting for Krell to show up. And what if we get deployed? We have no concept of the timeline for Krell's escape. He might be breaking free right now, for all we know."
"All good points. And the possibility of us being deployed soon is high," Rex says. "We've given Kamino all the support we can for now. We'll probably receive supplies, a shipment of shinies, and new orders within the next few days."
General Skywalker lets out a grunt of annoyance. "I know it's not ideal, gentlemen, but I'm not sure we can take immediate action right now. There are too many unknowns. We'd also need the Republic's support before making any moves against Umbara."
Fives wants to scoff. Kriffing politics. The General's done plenty of things without the Republic's approval before. What's stopping him now?
The General seems to sense Fives' frustration. He offers the ARC a little grin. "I'm not one to talk, but attacking Umbara on our own has the potential to get too messy. Even for me."
Fives huffs. "Yes, sir."
"For now, we can start preparing for a potential quick response, like Echo suggested. I'll see if I can expedite recovery and preparation around the ship. That way we'll be ready and available to move out if he escapes soon. I'll also reach out to the Jedi who know about the chips and discuss our options."
"Yes, sir," Fives chimes again, this time alongside his batchmates. He can't bring himself to be disappointed, but he feels no relief, either. He'd wanted an instant solution, but all he'd gotten was a few half-baked ideas and possibilities. That won't be enough to stop Krell.
"And in the meantime… I think I'll give Obi-Wan a call to see if he has any other insights about your vision. Is it alright if I share this information with him?"
General Skywalker leans forward as he asks, expression determined. Fives has no doubt that General Kenobi's evening is about to be interrupted by an angry ex-padawan asking about strange visions in non-Force sensitive beings and a centuries-old prophecy.
"Go right ahead, sir," Echo says, voice knowing. "Hopefully he'll have some good ideas."
"Are you alright?" Rex asks as they leave the General's quarters. His gentle gaze pierces Fives like a blade, threatening to reveal old inner wounds only partially healed.
Fives sighs, allowing his shoulders to slump. His thoughts on Umbara have warped and twisted during the months of his second life, tangling together enough that he can barely tell one emotion from the other. The idea of facing Krell again, this time with batchmates to lose on every side, horrifies him. At the same time, when he thinks of returning to Umbara he feels a thick mantle of exhaustion and a bone-deep, instinctual resignation.
"I'll be alright, sir. I've known for a while this was coming." He remembers the shock of watching Umbaran fighters knife through Kamino's stormy sky. "I just didn't expect it so soon."
"None of us did," Rex says. He looks tired. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes. Bits of scruff dot his chin. He motions, and Fives falls into step beside him, allowing the rest of Beta squad to pull ahead. Droidbait and Cutup are eagerly relaying the General's words to the rest of the squad. Fives tunes them out. He feels as tired as Rex looks.
"I have a favor to ask of you," Rex says eventually.
"Of course, sir," Fives answers instantly. He would do anything Rex asked.
"I want you to come up with a new training regimen," Rex says. "One that helps our companies better prepare for sentient opponents and an openly hostile environment."
Fives takes a moment to consider Rex's description. Realization comes quickly. "You want me to come up with a way to train the men to fight on Umbara."
"Echo can help you program the training rooms with good simulations. Drill the men on the landscape, the enemy's tactics and vehicles, anything you can remember that might be useful."
"I can't guarantee my information will all still be accurate," Fives warns, but his mind is already whirling with possibilities. It's a good idea. A great idea, even. Using what he remembers of Umbara to train the battalion will prepare them to deal with the devastation that caught Fives and the 501st so off guard during their first life. It will also give him something to do—some way to prepare, to be proactive and distract himself from the reality of their new opponent.
"Even the slightest advantage will make it worthwhile to me," Rex says, expression dark. "I won't have what occurred during your first life happen again. We'll prepare ourselves to the best of our knowledge beforehand."
Fives feels a surge of gratitude. "Captain. Thank you. You don't know how much it means to me."
Rex nods grimly. "I've heard you tell your story several times, Fives. If there's one thing I've remembered from it, it's that Umbara is bad news. I won't let us go in unprepared, and you're the only person who can get the men ready in time."
Fives sets his jaw. Rex is entrusting him with this. He's going to do it right. Their survival could very well depend on it.
"I'll get started right away, sir," he says, determined. "I'll do everything I can."
"I know you will, Fives."
Droidbait knows that he's dreaming, because he has both arms.
Mist billows around him, cool against flesh that should be metal. He stares at the fingers of his left hand, moving them one at a time. It hasn't been very long since the installment of his prosthetic. Though he feels as though he's getting the hang of things, it makes a lump form in his throat to see his own limb again, whole and new. He knows he won't get it back outside of dreams. The prosthetic is good—as good as the General can make it, which is pretty impressive, but it can never replace what he's lost.
He tears his attention away from his hand and glances at his surroundings. He can't see much, just a few distant glints that could indicate light through the mist. The ground is solid rock, and he knocks a pebble or two skittering into the misty shroud as he takes a few steps. Perhaps a few weeks ago he would have been nervous to be dreaming of such a strange place. Now he mostly feels curious—this is different from his previous dreams. There's no strange reflective ground nor swirling constellations above. He walks aimlessly for a while, dragging his hands through the air to watch how the mist curls around them like waves of living vines.
Movement flashes in the corner of his eye. He whips around just in time to see a pale cloak flap as a hooded figure dashes away. The mist billows in response to the momentum.
Droidbait doesn't think. He tears after the figure, breaking into a sprint. Mist whips past him, cold against his cheeks. The mysterious figure is quick. They dart through the fog, plunging into the thickest clouds without hesitation. Their white robe blends into the misty swirls. They disappear, and for a moment he thinks he's lost the trail, but then a skittering of pebbles to his left restarts the chase.
He grins as he runs. He can't help it—adrenaline flows hot through his blood, and he allows his stride to lengthen, for the thrill to settle in his bones. His breathing, heart rate, and muscles kick into gear, moving into an efficient rhythm that feels startlingly satisfying.
Suddenly Droidbait bursts into an empty space. He stumbles at the sudden absence of mist. A few tendrils desperately cling to his limbs, but they fade away as he steps further into the clear area.
Walls of fog surround him, creating an impenetrable circumference around a massive structure at the center. It looks almost like an LAAT-sized black hole, hanging in the air like a doorway. Indistinct shapes swirl in its depths. He can't focus on any of them directly, eyesight blurring each time he tries like the shapes form an optical illusion. White lines hang in the air to border it, forming intricate designs that loop against each other. They shine fiercely enough to be viewed clearly despite the fuzzy white fog as a backdrop. Droidbait stops short, transfixed.
The figure in the robe stands with their back to him, mere feet in front of the black hole. Their hood obscures any identifying features, but their silhouette seems vaguely familiar. Droidbait feels like he should be able to place it, but any idea slips through his mind like water through his fingers.
"Hey…" he calls quietly. "Um, hello?"
He jumps, startled, when a dark shape descends, swooping out of the fog. A bird with a long tail settles on the figure's shoulder, peering at Droidbait with piercing green eyes. It lets out a shrill cry. The sound echoes, sending shivers down Droidbait's spine.
The hooded figure shifts a little, head tilting as if looking at the bird.
A strange breeze kicks up. The mists writhe, whipping around, threatening to converge on the empty space.
"Whoa!" He raises his arms against the sudden wind. "Hey! What is that thing? What's happening?"
The figure doesn't react, but the bird's big green eyes blink at him twice. It puffs out its feathers and lets out another sound, softer this time, more like a chirrup than a call. Then the figure steps forwards, walking into the gaping darkness. Shadows swallow them up before Droidbait can protest.
The moment the figure disappears, the mists converge on him. His view of the strange portal disappears as the dark vapor condenses. He tries to move away, but the mists follow, darkening from gray to jet black, trying to cling to his skin. The consistency is sticky, almost tar-like.
Adrenaline thunders through his body, this time from fear. He lashes out, but his fist sinks into the darkness up to the elbow. He can't pull it free. He struggles more, but the darkness only presses in. It tightens around him like a vice. He fights for breath. He can't even see his own limbs. When he opens his mouth to cry out, it clenches, digging into his shoulders, waist, throat.
Light explodes above him. It descends like a hailstorm, punching holes through the darkness. The substance restraining him disintegrates beneath it, dropping Droidbait to the ground. He coughs, shielding his eyes from the unexpected brilliance.
A familiar warmth prickles across his skin. It settles in his chest as he regains his bearings. He takes a deep breath, allowing himself to relax. He recognizes that feeling. If she's here, he'll be safe from whatever the kriff that thing was.
The overwhelming light fades into something more natural. He blinks spots from his eyes as he climbs to his feet. He stands in the open area, white mists once again floating around him, held back by an invisible shield. The black hole portal that had once dominated the clearing is gone.
He doesn't see the Sister, though he could have sworn he felt her influence earlier.
"Hello? Ma'am?" It feels odd to address her like that, but Droidbait doesn't have anything else except 'Sister', and that feels even stranger.
Another gust of wind rushes past him, churning the mists until the clouds of vapor roll and twist like glittering silver nebulas. Droidbait flinches back on instinct, but the fog doesn't leap to attack him this time. Instead, a large shape dives from above. Droidbait prepares for a fight as it hits the ground, but as it emerges from the fog, his mouth drops open again, and he straightens.
The creature in front of him glows with the same radiance as the Sister. It stands on four legs. The back two are paws almost like a massive raxshir, but the front are more like the talons of a shriek-hawk, dexterous and with massive claws easily the size of his forearm. Magnificent white wings spread from its back. A ruffled green mane covers its neck, and its head stretches out towards Droidbait, birdlike, with piercing green eyes and a great golden beak. A lithe tail curls behind it, flicking lazily as the creature folds its wings.
"What are you?" he whispers. It towers above him, large enough to easily carry a grown man. He reaches out and ever so gently rests his palm against its smooth beak. He feels like he should be scared, or at least wary, but all he can feel is the warm reassurance of the Force.
He hears, as if from a long ways away, a quiet peal of feminine laughter. He jerks his hand away from the beak, flushing in sudden, inexplicable embarrassment.
Peace.
The word echoes in his mind, gentle and quiet but unmistakably powerful. Goosebumps prickle across his skin.
"Okay," he manages. He sinks down to sit at the creature's feet. He feels small next to it, almost insignificant—but then it bends its head and nudges him ever-so-gently, like reassurance. He takes a deep breath. Suddenly he feels safer than he has in a long time. His eyes slide shut involuntarily.
Droidbait wakes with tears in his eyes and a lightness in his heart that he can't quite explain. He lies motionless in his bunk for a while, lazily searching his memories of the dream for any kind of explanation. When several minutes pass and he still hasn't made any progress, he sighs, allows himself to appreciate the lingering serenity, and crawls out of his bunk.
Echo and Fives sit hunched over a datapad between them at the table in the center of their barracks. Echo offers a distracted wave. Fives doesn't even look up.
"Did you two even sleep?" Droidbait asks. When he'd gone to bed, they'd been in practically the same spots, diligently working on Fives' new training regimen to prepare the 501st for Umbara.
"We slept," Echo replies.
"Did you sleep for more than thirty minutes? Those bags under your eyes could hold a whole Armored Assault Tank," Cutup says, voice muffled from his bunk. "I don't know how you slept through it, 'Bait, they've been muttering for hours. I even threw my sad excuse for a pillow at them, but Echo just confiscated it."
Echo nods smugly down at Cutup's ratty pillow, cushioning his seat. "ARCs don't need sleep."
"Don't need sleep my—"
"Can you guys be quiet? We're busy," Fives snaps.
The sharp tone destroys what remains of the peace Droidbait felt earlier. He stares at Fives incredulously. So does Echo. Cutup lifts his head from a bunk to peer groggily over. For a moment, no one moves.
"Everything alright, Fives?" Droidbait finally asks, cautious.
"Fine," Fives grunts, seemingly oblivious to their confusion. "Just trying to get this done."
Echo meets Droidbait's gaze and shakes his head with a visible sigh.
Cutup rolls his eyes. "He's been touchy ever since we spoke with the General," he says to Droidbait in sloppy ARC sign. "Echo says to just leave him alone."
Fives and Echo go back to their planning, and Droidbait armors up to head over to the mess hall.
"On duty?" Cutup asks as Droidbait heads to the door.
"Not right now. Gonna get this," he gestures towards his blank chestplate, "taken care of. I heard there's a bunch of brothers painting in the hangar."
"Great," Cutup says drowsily, head dropping back against the mattress.
On his way out Droidbait looks up and snorts at the sight of Hevy's leg sticking out of his top bunk as the man snores on, dead to the world. He grabs food in the mess hall quickly, then hurries over to the main hangar.
Even through the blast doors, the scent of heavy-duty paint hangs in the air. It becomes even stronger when he steps through, and he wrinkles his nose against the sharp, familiar smell.
The 501st had gotten more than just a few buckets of touch-up paint. They've received an entire shipment. The crates all contain 501st blue, but to Droidbait's surprise, he spies several small buckets of other colors floating around as well. Across the hangar, the gunship pilots shout and scuffle fondly with one another. They pass around different sized paintbrushes as they work on nose art.
He crosses the hangar. A head snaps up to watch him. Droidbait catches sight of a familiar smirk just as the pilot calls out.
"Hey, 'Bait! Come here!"
Droidbait grins, making his way towards the gunship. "Making progress, Flak?"
The pilot holds a small paintbrush in hand, sans gloves. Splotches of color stain the aurebesh letters spelling 'free bird' across his knuckles. He steps back and gestures cheerfully to the gunship. "See for yourself!"
Droidbait can't hold back a laugh. Flak has painted, in a level of detail unusual for nose art, Senator Amidala, dressed in the same stunning blue gown she'd donned the day of Hevy's visit to the Senate. The fabric sweeps out behind her as she hefts a massive Z-6 rotary gun.
"Think she'd approve?" Flak asks, grinning proudly.
"Absolutely," Droidbait says, stifling his chuckles. "She'd love it. Did you show it to Hevy?"
"Nah, not yet. But he's the one who gave me the idea. He offered to teach her to use a Z-6 once. She seemed more intrigued about it than he realized."
"I'd pay good credits to see that. If Fives can teach a Gungan to shoot, Hevy can definitely teach a Senator."
Flak laughs heartily, then crouches to pick up a quart of brown paint from the floor. His knees click loudly as he does, but he barely seems bothered.
"Where'd you get colors other than blue, anyway?" Droidbait asks.
"Oh, these? Any time we get a rendezvous with another battalion, the pilots do a paint trade. The better your nose art, the less likely you get shot down, obviously, so we put lots of effort into it." He grins, a bit sardonic.
"Oh, sure, obviously."
Flak adds a few brown streaks to Senator Amidala's hair. "Ax's got the best collection of colors, though. He picked up a ton of paint during the 501st's last leave on Coruscant. There were five different battalions there at the same time. But he hoards those buckets like they're the last ration bars on a deserted moon. It's hardly fair. I was on Coruscant for weeks, but I didn't get anything!"
"Just a death certificate," Droidbait teases.
Flak snorts. "Cutup's rubbing off on you. Here—there's a blue paint bucket on the floor. I'm assuming you're here to stop looking like a shiny, right?"
"You got it."
"Good. You can spread out nearby if you want. I've got plenty of space."
"Thanks!" Droidbait shucks off his armor, shivering in the slight chill of the hangar with just his blacks. He lays the pieces out carefully, then accepts a handful of brushes Flak passes over. For a long moment he stares at the armor pieces, scraped and chipped in several places from the chaos on Kamino. It's been so long since he's had to paint his entire kit from scratch that he hardly even knows where to start.
At least there are some parts of his paint scheme he's positive he wants to keep. He starts easy, the twin targets on either side of his helmet, one almost in the same spot as his tattoo.
Then he pauses, mind blanking at the seemingly massive expanse of white in front of him.
Flak notices his hesitation, looking over from where he'd been writing 'The Senator sends her regards' underneath Senator Amidala's image. "Stuck?"
"Something like that," Droidbait says. The paintbrush hangs limp in his hands. "I don't know what to do."
"Try this, then," Flak calls, tossing him a small stick of tracing graphite. Droidbait nods gratefully, hunching down over his armor to think.
With the erasable tracing graphite, he tests out a few scribbled designs across his breastplate. He plays around with four long lines to represent Grievous' four lightsabers, but can't settle on an arrangement that looks unique enough for his taste. He tries just the shape of Grievous' skull next, intending to put a large tally mark next to it, but finds that the actual image makes him cringe. Then he tries a massive crosshair settling across his sternum. It looks tacky and repetitive.
Should he just start his tallies over from scratch? He doesn't hate the idea. The concept has become part of him, but he feels like he should at least change something, too. He's not the same person he was all those months ago. He's had visions, for crying out loud.
The thought makes him pause from furiously erasing the giant crosshair, an idea springing to mind. Many brothers base armor designs off of creatures. Zeer has a giant shriek-hawk outlined on his chest, and Fives has the very worm that once ate Cutup. Droidbait had never felt a strong enough connection with an animal to imitate its markings on his armor, but as he remembers his most recent dream, the thought of the brilliantly glowing creature comes to mind.
Something about the majestic animal feels so inherently good. Droidbait recalls every detail he can remember, from white feathers to taloned feet, and picks up the tracing graphite.
Just underneath the t-visor of his helmet, he starts a careful triangle that curves inward as it reaches a point just above his chin, mimicking the creature's curving beak. Above the t-visor he sketches the outlines of two fierce, bird-like eyes. Then he sits back and hums. It looks good, a bit intimidating, just like the actual creature.
"Hey, Flak," he calls. "Think this looks too weird?"
Flak barely spares a glance. "Nah. I once saw a brother who painted Sy Snootles on his helmet. Now that's kriffing weird. You're fine. Besides, it's what you think that matters."
"Uh… all good points."
On each shoulder, Droidbait painstakingly sketches out a tiny wing—not too much detail, but just enough to get the point across. He has to erase and try again several times before he's satisfied.
His breastplate remains blank. For a moment Droidbait considers drawing more of the creature, maybe outstretched talons, or a long tail. Then he sighs. He can't bear to abandon the tally marks completely. Not even after everything that's happened. They feel like a part of him now, just as essential as the actual armor.
It takes him a long time to decide how he wants them to work this time around. Once he comes to a conclusion, he draws eight little tally marks on the left side of his breastplate. They represent each of the men he managed to rescue from Grievous' blades back on Kamino. He'll start his new tally count from there, when his old armor went down with the Resolute.
Flak, finished with his own project, leans over to see. "Starting from scratch again?"
"Not exactly." Droidbait wishes he could add more than eight tally marks. He desperately wishes he could add at least a ninth, but not this time. "I'm counting something different. I used to use tallies as proof that I could handle myself, that I wouldn't just die without a fight. But that's not my motivation to keep going anymore."
Flak raises an eyebrow. "Then what is?"
"I don't need to keep track of how many clankers I've taken down. What's more important to me is that I keep my brothers alive."
"One for every brother you save, is that right?"
"Yeah."
Flak nods. "I like it. It might be a little harder to keep track of than clankers, though."
"Maybe. But it'll also mean that I have the goal of saving brothers at the forefront of my mind during a battle. And that's what I want. I'm droidbait, remember? I'll take the fire for them if it means I can keep my batchmates, or any of my brothers safe. I'll protect them until I have so many tally marks that they start to overlap. I'll keep saving them until my entire armor is 501st blue if I have to."
"You're one tough clone, DB."
Droidbait lets out a startled laugh. "You're the one who managed to keep us alive while crashing a gunship. And didn't you also recover from surgery to get your legs back, then fool the entire Republic into thinking you were dead?"
Flak smiles, a little wry. "I guess I did. But you're an inspiration. You, Hevy… all of your batchmates. They must have put something strange in your decanting tanks."
"Ha. Maybe." He goes back to his work, adding a second layer of paint. For a final touch, he adds the little blue shape of a Naboo candy, this time near the very top of his breastplate, closer to his neck than his shoulder.
"There you go, Attie," he says quietly, as he paints with the utmost care. "Can't go anywhere without you, after all."
"Hey, Bait, I'm gonna head over to the mess hall soon," Flak calls as Droidbait re-dips the paintbrush into the bucket of blue. "You wanna join while your kit dries?"
"I already ate, but I'll come with you. Can you help me with something first?"
"What, more paint?"
"Sort of. Lend me a hand, won't you?"
Flak glances at his prosthetic and waggles his eyebrows.
Droidbait rolls his eyes and gives him the brush.
Flak accepts the tool, but looks confused until Droidbait actually holds out his prosthetic. "Hang on. Is that safe?"
"A little bit of paint won't hurt it," Droidbait says. "My armor goes over it well enough, but I want it clear that this arm is mine, not just a rental from the Republic. General Skywalker gave it to me. Any clone can get something like this if he needs it now."
The pilot spends the next few minutes adding careful traces of blue to Droidbait's silver prosthetic with steady, careful hands. Per Droidbait's request, he doesn't make any intricate designs, only outlining and filling in small sections so that the prosthetic looks personalized, not straight off the rack. When he's finished, he claps Droidbait on the shoulder and gives him firm orders not to move it too much until it's dry.
"I won't," Droidbait says, holding it away from his body. "How does it look?"
"Nice. Like it's too expensive for your body."
Droidbait grins. "Perfect."
Cutup slowly raises his blaster and points it at Commander Tano's head. "Um… sir. Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"I think it's a great idea!" Hardcase calls from the other side of the training room, blaster also trained on the Commander.
"Relax, Cutup, it'll be fine!" Commander Tano says cheerfully. "Besides, Jesse's here, and he helped with things last time!" She holds a lightsaber in each hand. The second seems smaller than the first—a little thinner, and more compact. Beta squad had cheered loud enough to be heard all the way on the other side of the barracks when she'd brought it to them, a shy but immensely pleased smile on the young Jedi's face.
"That's not exactly comforting," Cutup mutters. Jesse lets out a mock sound of indignation.
Cutup, Hevy, Del, Jesse, Tipper, and Hardcase stand in the center of the training room, surrounding the Commander in a nice little circle. They each hold standard DC-15S blaster carbines. Hevy had loudly advocated for the use of his Z-6, but the Commander had vetoed the idea for the time being.
Fives and Echo had turned down the invitation to join them, and Droidbait is still gone. He'd mentioned his desire to touch up his haircut before returning when Cutup had commed him earlier.
"I promise she'll be fine. I'll see to any injuries, and R2 will be monitoring her vitals the whole time," Kix says from the sidelines. The little astromech beeps cheerfully next to him. Zeer, sitting next to the droid, pats it affectionately. The visiting ARCs have finally been dismissed from their duties on Tipoca City—they'd briefly been recruited to help train up a new class of ARCs to make up for Kamino's terrible losses.
"I mean, I believe you, but should we really be doing this without the General around?"
"I'm not going to chop off my own arm, Cutup," Commander Tano says, laughing. "And Master Skywalker can't be around every time I practice."
"Just make sure those guns are set for stun, boys," Hevy reminds gruffly. "Lowest setting possible, too. We don't want her out for an hour."
Cutup double and triple checks. Just in case.
Commander Tano huffs, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She ignites both lightsabers. They hum to life, illuminating her orange skin with a green glow.
The assembled clones let out a unified "Ooooooohhh!" like little cadets watching their first ARC trooper march through Kamino's halls.
"Looking good, Commander!" Hevy cries.
"Yeah, that's gonna tear up some clankers for sure," Hardcase says, looking indescribably pleased.
"Very nice," Del says.
Tipper whoops. "You were dangerous enough with one, but you'll be unstoppable with two!"
Cutup grins beneath his helmet as he watches her handle the paired weapons. Though she's only wielded her second blade for a few days now, there's an impressive competence in the way she settles down into a low stance, lightsabers glowing around her like green lightning hanging in the air.
She spins in a slow circle to assess her opponents. Then she takes a deep breath. "Okay. I think I'm ready."
Cutup falters a little. He'd almost forgotten in his excitement. She wants them to shoot her. He knows it will be safe, that isn't the issue. It just feels wrong to him. How can he willingly fire on the person he designed his armor after, who's saved his life more times than he can count?
"Don't you dare hold back," the Commander cries suddenly. She stands coiled in the middle of their little circle like a viper, tensed and ready. "Come on!"
He clenches his jaw. If she feels this is the best way for her to improve…
Jesse fires. She whirls to deflect the stun bolt with her dominant hand. Del gets off two shots that she blocks, sabers clashed in a vicious x-shape. Cutup fires, too. She knocks his stun bolts aside with her new blade, then rolls underneath Tipper's shots in a flurry of limbs and light.
Cutup gasps, an exuberant sense of pride rising in his chest as he watches. She moves like water, fluid and deadly, untouchable amidst the glow of blue bolts. He almost forgets to fire again. When he does, she deflects that one too, a fierce scowl on her face.
She's really holding them all off. Hevy and Hardcase launch a coordinated attack, but she whirls in a circle to stop them. She's doing it, he can hardly believe it—
Then Del gets her in the side, and she collapses to the floor without a sound. Her lightsabers clatter loudly against the floor in the sudden silence.
"Holy kriff," Jesse says. "How long was that, Kix?"
"Thirty-two seconds. Not too bad, actually. She's a little clumsy right now while she gets used to her new lightsaber." The medic meanders over, not concerned in the slightest that the Commander is sprawled inelegantly on the floor. R2-D2 follows him.
"Thirty seconds is good?" Cutup says, incredulous.
"Right now, yep. At first we could knock her out in five. She could get up to a minute sometimes with one lightsaber, but it'll take her a while to get up to that again while she gets accustomed to two."
"She's slower with her new blade. It leaves lots of openings," Tipper says.
Jesse nods. "Good eye. We'll have to let her know when she wakes up."
Hevy collects her lightsabers from the floor and latches them onto his belt. Cutup watches as Kix and the astromech check her over. Eventually the droid beeps.
Kix takes his hand away from her neck with a nod of agreement. "Her vitals are fine. R2 says she'll probably be up in fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes?" Hardcase says. "Force. Now I get why she got us out of duty for several hours today. This is going to take a while."
"That's nothing. Sometimes General Skywalker has us do this with the stun settings on full power. She's out for more like an hour when we do that."
"Are we just gonna leave her there?" Cutup asks, worried.
"She's alright, Cutup," Kix says, tone a mix between exasperated and fond. His gaze settles on Cutup's paint job. "But if it makes you feel better, you can move her."
Cutup hesitates again. "I'll just… I'll just move her out of the way." As careful as he can, he hefts the Commander up into his arms. She's not as small as she used to be. She's grown a lot, both in skill and size. Still, she doesn't weigh very much. He places her reverently near the far wall. Then Beta squad assembles around her to wait.
They spend a few minutes playing fast-paced sabacc rounds on the floor. Cutup wins two rounds in a row, and promptly loses everything to Hevy, who wins by sheer luck. Then they both get destroyed by Jesse, who makes smug 'pew-pew' noises as he shoots a finger gun at them.
Across the room, the door slides open to admit several clones. Cutup perks up to see Droidbait in the lead, fresh paint on his armor and bucket tucked beneath his arm. Denal and Vaughn follow.
Cutup drops his cards. Tipper not-so-subtly takes a peek at his hand.
"Look at that!" Cutup calls. The assembled Beta members all turn to regard the newcomers. Droidbait grins sheepishly at the hoots and hollers. His haircut is fresh, highlighting the tattoo near his temple. Even his prosthetic is newly embellished with 501st blue.
Cutup makes sure to greet him with a hearty slap on the back and a brisk hug. "Looking good, brother," he says quietly, and Droidbait's face splits into a pleased grin.
"You gonna explain it to us?" Kix asks.
Droidbait nods, but then gestures over his shoulder to Denal and Vaughn. "In a minute. There's news first."
Denal approaches Del. Vaughn stays an arm's length behind him, hands clasped together.
"There's a situation that Captain Rex has asked me to sort out with you before we make anything official," Denal says. "The Captain is re-sorting the battalion to fill the squads. Beta was slated to receive a shiny, but considering the… unique… nature of your squadmates, we thought it might be better for you to take one of Iota's squad members instead. That frees Iota to take a pair of batchmates, which would be more beneficial to our overall teamwork anyway."
Cutup glances at Vaughn. He hasn't spoken much with the younger clone, but Fives speaks of him fondly. From what he can tell, Vaughn is earnest, and eager to improve.
"I think this one will be a benefit to your squad. He's young, but he's got enough ambition to keep up with the rest of you."
Del gives the young clone a once-over. "What does he have to say for himself?"
Vaughn jumps. "Sir. Um. Sir. I know that I'm inexperienced right now. But I'm going to be an ARC trooper someday." He steals a quick glance at Tipper and Zeer, who offer a wide grin and a quirked eyebrow respectively. "More than that, I will be a captain. Someday maybe even a commander. I'll protect my squadmates. I'll do whatever it takes to improve."
Del arches an eyebrow. He seems oddly amused. "Is what Denal says true? Can you keep up?"
His young face pinches in determination. "Yessir."
"He's kind of endearing," Tipper whispers in Cutup's ear. "I like him. Not every clone is so forward with their desire to reach a higher rank. It's refreshing."
Del nods slowly. "I believe you, trooper. I think Nax would be honored for someone like you to take his place."
The mood sombers. Cutup bows his head in respect.
"However, there's something else you need to keep in mind. Beta squad is responsible for the Commander's wellbeing. We'll be at the forefront of the fighting more often than not. I need men who are steadfast, who won't get intimidated by a lightsaber hovering a few inches away from their head."
Vaughn glances down and jumps, seeming to notice the unconscious Commander on the floor for the first time. For a moment he looks nervous. Then he steels himself. "In that case, I'll protect her, too."
Good. Cutup feels a surge of warm approval. Vaughn is dedicated, resolute, and surprisingly bold despite his nerves. He'll fit into Beta squad well. He exchanges looks with Droidbait and Hevy, who both offer him subtle nods.
"We'll need to run the final decision by Fives and Echo, as well as both the Jedi," Del says to Denal, "but as far as I'm concerned, we're more than happy to have him."
Vaughn straightens all the way. His expression lights up as he gives Del a crisp salute. "Thank you, sir! You won't regret this!"
"You're right, I don't think I will," Del says, smiling.
Beta squad converges on their almost-newest member immediately. Cutup slings an arm around Vaughn's shoulder. "Not gonna miss Iota, little brother?"
"I mean… I'll miss Tup and Dogma and Sterling. And Denal. And Ridge and Redeye. Even Kano, even though he pretends not to care… but this is where I need to be if I want to improve. That's why I said yes when Denal asked me." He looks anxious suddenly. "Besides, we'll see them often, right? We train with Beta all the time, so I thought…"
Hevy laughs. "Don't worry. We'll see them plenty. And in the meantime, you're in good hands."
Cutup, Droidbait, and Hevy back off to let the others congratulate the kid. Jesse, Kix, Tipper, and Hardcase surround him, while Zeer offers the young clone a vigorous slap on the back that practically echoes around the room. Vaughn's gaze lingers on the ARCs' hefty armor in admiration and no small amount of desire.
"Speaking of Fives and Echo needing to approve this," Hevy says, "where are they? Did you see them earlier, DB?"
"They're still in the barracks working on the training regimen, last I heard."
"Still? It's been days!"
"They ran me through a couple flashcard programs earlier," Cutup says. "Neither of them seemed satisfied yet."
Hevy makes a confused sound. "Flashcards on what?"
"Vehicles, mostly. But also weapons, and ships. Umbaran ones." He grimaces, remembering one particular image of a worm-like vehicle with a bulbous blue eye at the front and ten turrets mounted along its back. Cutup wasn't looking forward to facing that thing down. "Some of them look downright awful."
A groan cuts through their conversation. Cutup glances down in surprise as Commander Tano sits up, clutching her head.
"You alright, sir?" Hevy asks.
"Ughhh. Who hit me?"
"Del did. Tipper says you're slower with your new blade. It's leaving openings in your defense."
She stares up at the ceiling for a long moment. Then she rises, stretching and shaking out her limbs. "Okay. How long has it been?"
"Only fifteen minutes, sir," Cutup says.
She grins. "Great. Ready to go again?"
"So soon?"
"Yes. While there's still time, and while I'm still thinking about how to improve." She glances around the room. "There's more of you now? Great. I was just hoping for a better challenge."
"Denal came to suggest that we take Vaughn from Iota squad into Beta," Droidbait explains.
Commander Tano nods. "Sounds good to me." Then she freezes. "Droidbait… your armor…"
Droidbait frowns. "I just repainted it, sir. Is something wrong?"
"No, just… something about it seems familiar. What is it?"
Droidbait's eyes widen. "It's… I'm not actually sure what it's called, sir. I dreamed about it. I based the design off of an animal, one with a bird's head and wings, but a raxshir's body."
Cutup frowns. "What's a raxshir?"
"A big cat-like predator."
Commander Tano continues to stare. A puzzled look creeps onto her face, as if she's trying to remember something that remains just out of reach. Eventually she shrugs. "I thought I recognized it, but I'm not sure. It looks good, though!"
"Thank you, sir."
Cutup looks between the two of them, confused. Before he can say anything, the Commander uses the Force to pull her lightsabers from Hevy's belt.
"Round two?" she calls. Several men yell back affirmatives, scrambling to set up. Hardcase is in the middle of gleefully explaining the entire training process to Vaughn, who looks like he can't decide whether to be horrified or not.
"What was that?" he asks Droidbait.
His batchmate shrugs. "I'm not entirely sure. I'll explain everything after we knock her out again, though. My new armor, and also the dream I had."
The Jedi get called away on a diplomatic visit to a nearby planet recently allied with the Republic, taking several squads, including Tipper and Zeer, down with them. The Defender gets stationed in orbit while they wait for endless ceremonial proceedings. Beta squad gets left out of the action this time around. Fives doesn't mind the wait. After a week of dedicated planning, organizing, and re-creating models, he's finally satisfied with his Umbara preparation material.
Beta squad and Iota squad are the perfect test subjects for the new curriculum. Fives starts them with the flashcard program on his datapad first, drilling over and over again until they can quote everything Fives remembers about Umbaran tactics and tech. During their time occupying the Umbaran airbase and near the end of the campaign in his first life, he'd gotten a good chance to study some of the captured information. His memory isn't perfect, but it's good enough to be helpful.
The shinies of Iota—along with Vaughn, of course— get the most competitive about it.
"Dogma was first," Echo says, which initiates a furious chorus of complaints from the waiting clones.
Dogma shouts over the din. "It's an Impeding Assault Tank. Ray-shielded cockpit. Use RPS-6 rocket launchers to penetrate its shielding or cripple its legs. Thermal detonators or mines can also damage the weaker underbelly."
"Good," Echo says, flipping to the next image on the datapad. "Next?"
Hands shoot up.
"Dogma again."
"The kriff it was—!" Vaughn cries.
"No way, I was clearly faster!" Tup complains.
"Umbaran Mobile Heavy Cannon. Six legs, heavy armor that can resist anti-armor infantry rockets. Electromagnetic plasma cannon mounted on top. Regular clone battalion infantries don't carry enough firepower to get through their armor, so we'd need an airstrike or a lightsaber to take care of them." Dogma's entire face practically glows with pride as he answers.
"Very good. Next… okay, Vaughn."
"That's a hover tank." Fives hadn't been able to remember its full designation. "It only has one pilot, with an electromagnetic plasma cannon. You can come at it from the sides. It's deadly directly from the front, but it doesn't have a great turn radius."
"Excellent," Echo says. He taps his datapad a couple times. "Should we switch over to fauna next, or formations?"
Their enthusiasm is endearing, but Fives can't quite get himself to share it. For them, it's a new challenge and a chance to learn. For him, it's the one shot he has to prepare these men for the planet that would kill them within ten minutes of landing if it could. He pushes them hard to keep memorizing.
It spreads quickly through the battalion, too, under the excuse that the Republic is discussing eventual retaliation against Umbara after what happened on Kamino. Fives spots men quizzing each other in the mess hall, reading through his notes on the terrain, or looking over his analysis of Krell's decisions during the campaign.
Once the majority of the men he's talked to have a good grasp on the concepts of Umbara, he and Echo start up the actual simulations.
The holographic training room flickers with flashes of blue light. Fives sprints through shadowy approximations of knee-high shrubbery. Footsteps pound behind him as Vaughn, Jesse, Droidbait, and Cutup run hot on his heels.
"Bogies, nine o'clock!" Droidbait shouts.
Fives swivels as he runs, clocking the incoming threat. The holograms are designed to imitate Umbaran warriors. They move in clunky jerks, limited by their programming, but the intention is there. He fires in tandem with his squadmates. Jesse hisses in satisfaction as the holograms dissolve into pixels and disappear in an instant.
"Keep moving!" Fives urges. "Pick up your feet!"
Thick blue holographic lines cover the floor in random intersecting patterns. Stepping on one means an immediate disqualification from the simulation. It isn't perfect, but it does its job well enough, imitating the dangerous vixus plants that had tormented the 501st during Fives' last Umbaran campaign.
They've run variants of this simulation several times now, and Fives' squadmates know what they're doing. Vaughn does an exaggerated leap over the closest cluster as they charge forwards, and Fives can imagine his scowl of distaste—the younger clone had stepped on one during their earlier runs, and remains bitter about it even now.
Further into the training room, the holographic foliage morphs into bulbous holographic trees. Fives directs his men into the forest. Then he glances up, checking on the clock sitting high on the far wall. They're making good time. His squadmates have gotten much better at navigating this approximation of Umbara's terrain.
If he peers through the blue haze of holographic plants and Umbarans, he can just make out the solid armor of his brothers in the distance. His own team had been assigned the left flank for this run. The rest of Beta squad—Hardcase, Del, Kix, Echo, and Hevy—take the right side. They've stalled in their progress, crouching behind the illusion of a squat bush to take cover. Several holographic Umbarans slowly converge on the spot, keeping them pinned with fake blasterfire. As Fives watches, Hardcase hurls himself from cover, Z-6 whining and spitting lasers as he clears a path for his team to move forwards.
It's a smart move. Or it would be, if Hardcase hadn't planted his feet on either side of a vixus vine to get a good angle.
"Hardcase!" Fives roars. His voice carries. The sounds produced by the simulator aren't nearly as loud as an actual battle. "Get your kriffing feet away from those vines!"
"But I didn't touch 'em!"
"Move it, trooper!" Fives doesn't have time to regret the harsh bite to the command. Cutup shouts to alert them to a new wave of enemies from the left.
He focuses the majority of his attention on the fight, but frustration boils underneath his skin. How many kriffing times has he told them to stay away from the vines? He and Echo had specifically designed this particular simulation to teach about vixus-covered terrain, and yet this isn't the first time he's had to correct Hardcase for getting too close.
By the time they arrive at the rendezvous point at the back wall of the training room, his frustration has peaked into anger. He grinds his teeth as they wait for the rest of Beta squad to arrive.
"Heard you yelling. What did Hardcase do?" Cutup asks as he checks over his DC-15A.
"Planted his feet on either side of a vine cluster and just stood there for at least five seconds. He keeps getting far too close. This is the fourth time now." His voice comes out calmer than he feels. "Stuff like that's gonna get him…" Eaten, he doesn't say, because it's Cutup. "Killed."
"Doing okay, Vaughn?" Droidbait asks, glancing over to where Vaughn and Jesse stand.
"I'm good. I didn't hit any vines this time, and we're all getting faster at anticipating where the Umbarans will show up." Vaughn sounds pleased. "I feel a lot more comfortable."
"This is only a rough approximation of what it's like down there," Fives warns bluntly. "It's to get you ready, but it won't be the same. Stay alert. We don't want you to be comfortable. We want you to be competent."
Vaughn deflates a little, but nods. Cutup's helmet tilts, staring Fives down. Fives ignores him.
It only takes a minute for the other half of Beta to arrive at the end of the simulation. Hardcase storms towards Fives, tugging his helmet off with a sharp jerk. His expression is twisted into a fierce scowl as he marches up and gets right in Fives' face.
Fives plants his feet and steels himself. "You have a problem, trooper?"
Hardcase glares. "I don't know, do I? Or are you the one with a problem? You've spent half of this training session shouting at me!"
"Don't be stupid during combat, then, and I won't yell at you."
Fury flashes across Hardcase's face. "Stupid? Vaughn face-planted across a vine cluster two sessions ago! Droidbait lost his blaster once, and Hevy got lost and ended up back where we'd started, but somehow I'm the only one you've been criticizing since we started!"
"Those were accidents. You clearly saw the vixus vine and chose to ignore it. I've spent the past three days trying to teach you to avoid those things!" His voice begins to rise. He fights to reel it back in and fails. "This isn't a game, Hardcase!"
"I ignored it in favor of protecting my squadmates! Don't criticize me for something you would do in a heartbeat!"
Fives feels a pang of guilt. It's quickly overwhelmed by the vivid memory of Hardcase's face as he glanced over his shoulder, slinging a heavy missile pod towards the Umbaran supply ship's main reactor. "Umbara will be a nightmare. I'm trying to push everyone to improve. Not just you."
"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it," Hardcase bites out. "This is because I kriffing died last time, isn't it? I'm not an idiot. Newsflash, Fives, it doesn't matter how hard we train now—if the same situation happens, I'd probably do the same thing as last time, because I know I wouldn't have sacrificed myself if it didn't mean my brothers were counting on me to save them, and I'll do it again if I need to—!"
"Stand down, Hardcase!" Del orders, stepping between them. It's a good thing he does, before Fives' swelling anger and grief can make him do something he'll regret. "Fives, cool it! We've got training to complete. We can sort this out later."
Hardcase glowers for a moment longer, then steps back and turns away. He jams his helmet on with more force than necessary. "Fine."
Fives watches him, determined not to react any further, until he catches the disapproving tilt of Echo's helmet. Shame hits him like a physical slap. His cheeks burn. He fights it, searching desperately for the righteous indignation he'd felt earlier.
"I'm not going to let him die again. Him, or anyone else," he hisses out, just loud enough for his fellow ARC to hear.
"But you still need to let them make their own choices," Echo says. He turns his attention back to the simulation room, which reboots in a flickering haze of light. Del barks a command, and Beta squad charges out into the fray.
Fives remains, fear rooting him to the spot, pounding against his heart, hanging over him like a death sentence. Because after everything Fives can do—all the training and preparation and planning possible—Echo is still right.
Thick tension hangs in the air around Beta squad for the next few days. Hardcase barely speaks to Fives, and even Fives' batchmates seem a bit uncomfortable. Del attempts to mediate several times, but that only seems to spark more arguing—Fives is unwilling to apologize, and Hardcase unwilling to let it drop.
Poor Vaughn had been utterly baffled by the entire argument until Echo had finally found the time to sit down with him and explain Domino squad's time-travel dilemma. Vaughn had laughed, refusing to believe him for a few days, until Captain Rex himself passed by on a visit and confirmed the story. To his credit, Vaughn has taken the revelation fairly well, but he still shoots Domino squad odd looks out of the corner of his eye every so often, like he expects them to start levitating at any moment.
"Inheriting Jango's stubbornness isn't always a good thing," Droidbait mutters one day in the barracks.
Cutup shoves him. "You're one to talk. Nobody can get through to you when you're mad, either."
Droidbait shoves him back, with his prosthetic. Cutup topples out of his bunk with a grunt. He nearly smacks into Hevy, busy doing pushups on the ground.
"I don't want to hear it," Fives says harshly. He's busy armoring up for the day, and not in the mood for accusations yet.
Echo stares at him from across the room, arms crossed over his chest. He has yet to reprimand Fives beyond his comment during training, but Fives can sense it coming.
It's been quiet today aside from a few snide comments so far, thank the Force. Hardcase seems to be fuming silently today. He and Jesse sit cleaning their weapons on the other side of the room. Kix is already armored, getting ready for a shift at the medbay, and Vaughn fiddles with his datapad on his bunk.
Del is still asleep. He seems to need it, and they won't be on duty for another hour.
The door slides open. Commander Tano bursts through, eyes wide.
"Commander! You're back?" Echo says.
She takes a deep breath. "We just arrived. Master Skywalker told me to comm you, but I was already nearby so I just came to get you instead—we're getting a priority transmission from the Jedi Council!"
Beta squad lets out a collective exclamation of surprise.
Fives fumbles the buckle of his left boot. "What? Is it Krell?"
"I don't know yet! Master Skywalker is answering it now!"
Beta squad rallies, leaping from their bunks and scrambling to suit up. Commander Tano turns and dashes through the Defender's narrow hallways. The clones follow. Fives' heartbeat pounds loud enough that he can hear it. Force. They're not ready yet. Most of the 501st have access to the flashcards by now, but only small sections of the battalion have been able to run his simulations.
They hurry behind Commander Tano as she advances to B deck. A few comms clones sit at their stations outside the holoprojector room.
"Is Master Skywalker already in there?" Commander Tano asks, not breaking stride. The clones startle.
"Yessir," one of the clones says. "But—wait—!"
Commander Tano steps up and the blast doors slide open to admit them.
Fives doesn't get a good look at the holoprojector room. Before he can even step through the threshold, Commander Tano gasps, then whirls faster than an angry varactyl and shoves her hand outwards. A wall of invisible force slams into Fives' chest. He careens backwards away from the room, crashing against Kix. They stumble to the floor in a clatter of armor. His lungs wheeze, struggling to take in air at the sudden push.
He picks his head up, his training demanding that he roll to his feet as quickly as possible, and freezes at the glimpse of the room beyond. General Skywalker and Captain Rex stand at the center of the holoprojector. Commander Tano strides towards them, not even sparing a glance back towards the men she had Force-pushed outside. The glowing blue forms of the Council hang around the projector, as do those of Chancellor Palpatine and Mas Amedda. The blast doors slide shut a moment later.
Beta squad pick themselves up from the floor slowly. Fives' entire body trembles. That had been too close.
"Sithspit," Droidbait whispers. "Did any of us get close enough for the holoprojector to pick us up?"
"I don't think so, thanks to the Commander," Del says, untangling himself from Echo. "That was foolish of us. We can't assume that just because it's the Jedi Council there wouldn't be repercussions from someone finding out Domino is still alive."
"Some members of the Jedi Council do know," Hevy says. "But you're right. That would have been… um. Bad."
Fives almost laughs, half hysterical at the understatement. His own blood rushes in his ears. Force. The Chancellor could have seen them. He can't stop shaking.
He stumbles once, then grunts in surprise when someone grabs him. Hardcase braces to support Fives' weight. The look he gives Fives isn't exactly friendly, but it isn't hostile, either. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Fives rasps. "I'll be fine. Thanks."
"Over here," another comms trooper says quietly. He waves them over to his station. They cluster around it like curious tookas as he fiddles with a few controls, then turns a dial.
General Kenobi's voice plays softly. Fives has to concentrate to listen.
"...tracker does trace his ship back to Umbara. We believe he received a warm welcome there."
"Is this live audio?" he whispers to the comms trooper.
The man shrugs. "Probably a few seconds behind."
"That can't be legal," Fives says, and can't help a weak grin when the comms deck brother merely winks at him.
"How did he even escape in the first place?" General Skywalker asks.
General Kenobi sighs. "With the help of an old acquaintance, Cad Bane."
Commander Tano groans. "Didn't he just escape from that prison?"
"Indeed. He enlisted the help of a few ex-prison guards who were angry that their jobs were supposedly replaced by clones. Most of them were taken into custody, but Bane and Krell escaped."
"Of course they did." General Skywalker's exasperation is palpable.
The Chancellor speaks. "It is a sad reality that the Republic cannot let Umbara continue to fester unchecked. In addition to their withdrawal from the Republic and their willingness to harbor a wanted prisoner, our informants have also discovered that they are amassing their own armies, and meeting with Separatist leaders to discuss a new alliance. If we allow them this betrayal without an appropriate reaction, it will send a message to the galaxy that the Republic does not punish disloyalty."
"Because of this, the Chancellor and the Council have come to the agreement that Umbara needs to be dealt with as soon as possible. You and your apprentice are best prepared to handle the situation right now," General Windu says in a deep voice. "You are the closest to the system."
"Closest? Surely there must be someone else in the Expansion Region," General Skywalker says.
General Windu shakes his head. "There are Jedi positioned there, but the droid armies have rallied on several planets within that region, and anyone closer to Umbara is unable to pull out of their current campaigns."
Fives rages silently. It's the Chancellor's doing, it has to be. They're being funneled towards Umbara and the Republic barely notices.
General Kenobi hums. "I will be joining you, as will Master Windu. We'll need enough manpower to launch a full scale planetary invasion."
"Great. It's been a while since we did one of those. And I thought things were going to get boring for a while," says General Skywalker. Fives can imagine the Council's expressions of disapproval with ease.
"We'll contact you to discuss specifics of the invasion in a few hours, Skywalker," General Windu says. "Get a full inventory done. We'll try and get supplies prepared as quickly as possible. The longer we wait, the more time Umbara has to fortify themselves."
"Actually, Master, our inventory is already done. We're ready to move out whenever we need to."
Fives grins. That had been their doing, when they'd asked the General to remain prepared after their strange dream.
General Windu makes a pleased sound. "Very well, then. We'll reconvene as soon as we're all ready."
"Until then, Master Windu. Obi-Wan. Council members. Chancellor."
There's a long silence. Fives glances nervously towards the blast doors, but the General doesn't emerge.
"Is it over?" Vaughn whispers quietly. The younger clone seems very out of his depth, practically shaking where he stands. Echo reaches over to comfort him.
"Someone's still on the line," the comms trooper says.
"My dear boy," the Chancellor says in a sickeningly sweet tone, and Fives bristles. Of course. He's not sure why he didn't immediately know. "You must be very careful. Krell is extremely dangerous."
"Don't worry, Chancellor. I'll make sure he sees justice. He's hurt too many of my friends."
The Chancellor pauses for just a second too long. "I see. I did not realize you were so close with Masters Windu and Unduli. Fortunately they have both recovered from their injuries from their skirmish with Krell, have they not?"
"What? Oh—of course, but I meant my men, sir. He's hurt many of their brothers."
"Ah, yes," the Chancellor says smoothly. "The clones deserve due justice as well."
General Skywalker doesn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, he says, "We'll do our best, Chancellor. Don't worry about us." His tone is final, even a little… dismissive.
Fives feels a flicker of fierce hope.
The comms trooper turns the volume down to drown out their parting pleasantries. "Act natural!" he hisses. Beta squad scrambles to look preoccupied.
General Skywalker, Commander Tano, and Captain Rex burst out of the holoprojector room. Rex looks grim.
Commander Tano hunches her shoulders. "I'm so sorry for throwing you back like that! By the time I realized you were following me, I was too excited to think of why that was a bad idea. Once the door opened and I realized the Chancellor was there, I had to do something before he noticed…"
"No harm done, sir," Hevy says gruffly. "You kept us out of there so the holoprojector couldn't pick us up. We're grateful. That could have been a disaster."
General Skywalker meets Fives' gaze. "You were right. We're heading to Umbara."
Fives can't even feign surprise. He just nods.