"Wow! Look at your hair!"

"How did you do that!"

"Can I touch it?"

"Will it come off? Will it grow out that color?"

"Do mine! Do mine!"

"Do mine!"

Ad'ra's face went from excited—she was pleased with the results of the hair color, too—to dismay.

"Oh. Oh, vode. I didn't think about that."

"About what?"

"About it being something you wouldn't be allowed to do. I'll change it back."

"No," Omega declared. Frowned at her, then gave his brothers a stern look and shook his head. "Don't change it back. We like it."

"Did you use the dye from our fatigues?"

She laughed. They'd just gotten upgraded. Instead of the red undershirts with pale blue tunics they'd be mustering in the dark red from now on.

"No. Silly. That cloth comes here already dyed. I had to mix some stuff up. Chemicals."

That seemed to impress them.

Roger tugged at her sleeve. "Why didn't you use blue?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't know. Maybe next time that's what I'll do…"

.

Blue was her favorite color. That same blue their tunics were. The blue of the BDUs for the officer corps of the cadre. Her father had designed them. Her beskar'gam was that same mid blue. Wavery lines of red and burgundy chevrons decorated her calves and upper arms. Like a shark, her father had assured her when she begged the design.

Swift and faithful, he'd told her, rubbing his hand over her dark hair. Mahogany, he called it. It was a rare natural building material… once, a long, long time ago. Now she was precious because of it. Like a jewel, he told her. The best daughter a man could have and a damned good partner.

.

She looked down at the little face still studying the red streaks in her hair.

"Next time blue," she promised. "When you've completed your training and get into Greys I'll do your hair."

"Greys?" Fallon asked.

She nodded. Put her finger to her lips.

"Tonight, when everything's quiet, we'll do some splicing. See what's in the works for the RCs."

Cin sucked in a deep breath, garnering her attention.

"We're not RCs," the boy said, big eyes worried.

She chucked him under the chin. "If they're getting katarn armor, just imagine what we'll get!"

.

.

They were four, her ga'vode. Almost brothers. And eight or nine. The stood taller than she had when she'd first gotten here. Good, healthy, sturdy boys. Smart as a whip and most of the time like little adults. Except when doubts or fears crept in.

She hated the hardening exercises. The research the grey freaks had produced seemed to disallow that humans—even cloned humans—would suffer from early indoctrination to the sights and sounds of battle. Ad'ra was pretty sure they began language arts programs and verbal instruction in the amniotic-tanks. She'd read to Boba when she'd found him. Told him how excited they were to have him. How much she was going to love having a vod'ika to take on missions and teach and play with.

Now, thirteen, she was tasked with turning his exact replicas into the baddest boys in the bastion.

It was going to kill her.

Ad'ra crouched behind a condensing unit, took off her helmet and groped for her canteen. Reached for one of the stim-bars she'd tucked into her pocket. She was always hungry. Had been known to eat lunch with the first batch of clones and again with the last batch, Lama So had been quick to tell Fett.

She's a growing girl, he'd told the cloner. She needs the calories.

Gil said she was doing all right. Rav and Vhonte, too, assured him it was normal for humans to take fits and starts. She had shot up inches in the last months. He'd no sooner gotten her refitted again and the fekking plates were too short. Growth Spurt, Gilamar had laughed when he complained.

She didn't want to give up the armor her father had gotten her, but it was time. He'd promised her to take it to the goran when he went back out. Get it stretched one more time.

To do that, though, the beskar-fitter had told him, meant either potentially weakening the plates or buying the beskar to reinforce them. They were 98%, an unheard of luxury for a child. Worth more than their weight in gold. That was the option Jango wanted to take. The Rottske's had money. The goran had even suggested that they could go as low as an 80/20 alloy without sacrificing integrity.

But the process would mean she lost the custom paint job her father had done for her.

She sat, aching everywhere and with her mind reeling, and stared at the wavery lines in every shade of red and scarlet and maroon and burgundy that ran down the sides of her legs.

They did look something like shark's gills against the steely blues.

Water chevrons.

She was tired of this Water-world. Missed the sun. Missed her da.

Her fingers fumbled and she tried changing sides of the packaging, attacking it from the opposite corner. Gave up when the supposedly easy-eat meal didn't yield and dropped it to the side in irritation and defeat.

A body slumped down beside her. Picked it up.

She wasn't in the mood for Walon Vau today.

Her fingers, sore to the bone, twitched slightly on her lap.

She could have cried when Mird crawled up onto her lap and rubbed his face under her chin.

His body was so warm and it felt so good to sink her hands into all those folds of skin. Let his purring comfort her.

Vau just left her sitting there in her misery for a moment. His fingers easily opened the wrapper. He lifted it. Read the label. Sniffed.

"He stays mine," Vau warned the little girl who whispered to his pet and partner.

The fekking creature loved her. She'd studied up and taught herself—and the strill—the traditional hunting commands translated into Bothan. So now he had a kriffing multi-lingual strill.

"We're friends."

"You and me or you and him?"

"Me and him. Are we friends, Sergeant Vau?"

She glanced up at him.

He lifted his shoulder.

"Probably not yet. You plan to boss me around and then expect me to follow your orders?"

That got her back up.

"It's my job," she told him, straightening. Her eyes went cold. "If I issue you an order you'll take it and follow it or I'll end you."

"Then we'll get along just fine, Adenn," he assured her as he rose. His fist on his thigh cuisse called Mird to follow, then he bent to press the energy bar into her palm. Clapped his hand to the top of her spaulder bell.

"Is that the same as being friends?"

"Nope," he told her without turning. "But it's got potential. Go ahead and eat. Good power there."

Glanced around and then jogged off. Disappeared.

She had no idea what that meant. Shook her head in exasperation and prepared to go about her day. She fought tears. Quickly shoved the whole thing in her mouth and replaced her helmet before she had to blink them back.

Chewed and chewed and chewed.

Got up and went back to the hardening exercise.

Nobody said she had to do them. Nobody told her what to do now. She was given assignments—both administrative as Jango's second and in regards to her duties as Cuy'val Dar. Her unit was given periodic assessments and compared to… who? They were the only batch of clone commandos at that particular stage. They had no peer group, either. Only the ARCs, four years ahead of them, and the RCs, two standard years older. Fett said there'd be replacement commandos decanted again eventually, but right now the cloners' premier job was the creation of the infantry—the faceless masses of regular CTs who would make up the bulk of the GAR. Grunts. Every army needed them.

Not Mandalorians, she'd argued. There were no mere grunts, mere pawns, in a Mandalorian army. She knew. She was expected to be his field marshal if ever the Mando'ad went to war. So she studied and she practiced and she learned.

.

.

"Move. Don't let them see you as weak," Vau snapped at her later. "Use your shoulder to push through, don't step to the side for them. And for damned sure don't let them gesture you through."

"They were in formation."

"You're the Adenn. They form up behind you, even the aruetii. If you're to be the wrath of the Mand'Alor they need to see you and make way."

"They outweigh me by a hundred pounds or more, Sergeant Vau."

"Weak," he reminded her. Started to walk away. "This is why women don't belong in the army."

"I'm sorry… what?"

Her rage consumed her and she flung a throwing knife at him. Perfectly.

The hilt of it hit the back of his head and bounced off.

The sound of it clattering to the floor was loud.

He turned. Stopped where he was and took off his bucket.

Gestured for her to do the same.

"There will always be a need, at some point, for us to take off our buckets. Whether for leisure or to repair battle damage. You'll see my face. I'll see yours."

"Then close your eyes or look away."

"Your tendency to react instead of being proactive just proves my point… Were a man to have pulled that stunt his neck would be under my boot right now. Even an adenn. But because of who you are, here we are, talking about it instead of doing what comes next. No man would strike me from behind, then obediently take off his helmet when I requested. You have a lot of leeway here and you trust too much in your position under Fett, and without realizing it, you've become a pet—our girl warrior adenn. It's to your disadvantage, and the potential downfall of your men. Women weaken the army. It's not your fault. It's nature. So fix it."

"Mandalorian women are not weak."

"No. I didn't say you were. I said you'll weaken the rest of us. When we're a faceless mask, fine. But they get one look at your face and they remember your armor. Remember there's a female form under there. It's instinctive and no amount of skill on your part can drill it out of us. If something's going ass-up I'm always going to reach for you first. Reach for Rav over H.G., even though he's of more strategic value to me. In that moment of osik'la, I'm not going to be thinking that's the Adenn, my Mand'Alor needs her. I'm going to think, Shab! Ad'ra! and cover you, even if it means leaving myself vulnerable. And gods forbid an enemy end up with one of you in their hands. Even Mando'ad are not so toughened and hard-hearted that we could bear to watch one of our women tortured and raped and not give up anything in our power to stop it. Even giving more lives than one of you is worth to keep you from being taken from a field of battle. You aren't weak. You make my actions become reactions. Simply by existing as women in our midst. Do you understand? You think you're adenn, what you are is atin. Which is fine, but be beroyase."

Mercenary, he begged her. Not just merciless, not stubborn.

He seemed to search from something from her, leaning toward her and speaking harshly in his quiet tones.

"I need you to be so dralshy'a that it never occurs to me to worry over you when I see your armor ahead of me, when I see an enemy attack. If I am surrounded by men who are bleeding and dying, I need to know you're up to it, just like we are. I need to be so used to seeing you covered in the blood of your enemies that it never registers that it might be yours, that you're too soft to be on the field. So… When you walk down a hallway filled with men, I need you to be the tougher one. Don't let them part for you, don't step to the side for them. You go through with your spine straight and your shoulder first."

She stood there. Blinked as she absorbed his words. Nodded.

Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed.

"I thought you were the one who recommended Rav and Vhonte and-"

"I did. They're aces at their jobs. And it's so important—so important—that our guys not see women and think they're special. Fragile. Genteel. They need us to see them treating them just like they're the rest of us. Battling it out, issuing challenges, and them taking those challenges and meeting them. You'd do better making sure your guys know that you can kick their shebs from one end of this skanah dar'yaim to the other rather than slipping them sweets."

"I understand," she told him. Tightened her lips.

"Do you?" It was important.

She nodded. "Hard men breed hard warriors."

"Exactly."

He watched her nod again. Watched something slot into place.

"I'm still going to bring them treats at night. And, when we get a couple more years under us, I'm going to stomp you, Sergeant. I'm going to crush every record your men set. The ARCs and NULLs? They'll spend the next years looking over their shoulders. You'll never hear us coming. And our silence will be the loudest sound to be feared in all of the GAR."

"I believe you," he told her. "A pleasure to be of your service, Adenn."

The obeisance. He was the only one who offered it regularly.

She had no idea how much he wanted a leader to follow.

.

.o0o.

.

"Why don't we get see-through visors?" one of Ad'ra's ASSRC cadets asked as they lay, silent and still, observing the regular infantry's training from their hidden vantage points.

"I don't know," Ad'ra admitted. "I imagine it's because they have almost no one-on-one instruction, so it's easier to gauge if there's something bothering them or something they don't understand. I'm close enough to sense if something's off. Your vode picks up on every blink and swallow. We know each other by a better means than looking. I guess. I'll find out and get back to you."

"Roger that, ma'am," Rog replied.

"Can we pop a couple?" Lathlo asked. He was keen and she loved him.

"I'd get in trouble. They're not commandos."

"What about the Cloners? Can we just land a shot in front of one of them?"

"No," Ad'ra laughed. "I'd get in even more trouble."

"Clear," Olan said. "Ready for rendezvous."

"Outstanding, Ranger. Success?"

"And then some."

"Oya! Good hunting. 4th Rangers, bang out. Rendezvous as—umph!"

A heavy boot came down on her back.

Glancing over she saw the bright white legs and arched up against the pressure. Rolled when she was allowed up.

"Did you send my vode to steal extra rations from my Kal'buir?" one of the Nulls standing over her asked.

She grinned. Popped her buy'ce.

"I did."

"Why?" the voice was exasperated. The second clone clearly aghast. Her attacker looked amused.

"Because they're hungry and they've never had sweet sticks. We only stole one box of them."

"He stole those, crisps, some experimental flash-bangs, and my kama."

Ad'ra laughed. Cupped her knees and let her head fall back and laughed. The disturbance gained the attention of the cloners watching over flash training below. The infantry cadets' helmets kept them from hearing her.

"Poor ARCie. All kama and no fun. Whatever will you do now?"

"Start taking out rebellious cadre," Mereel suggested.

"I want my kama back. Keep the candy."

"I just wanted enough for them to taste it. If I knew how to get stuff smuggled here I would. But I have to wait for Jango to let me off-world. And I'm not good at rationing it when I do manage to get my hands on it. Your buir has more self-control there."

"Supposedly girls eat candy a lot on a lot of worlds," Prudii told her, extending his hand to jerk her up.

"I'm going to go somewhere made out of candy someday. I can just imagine their faces if I pull out boxes and boxes and boxes of it and let them eat their fill."

They had to soften their attitude at that. She wasn't greedy. She wanted to treat their little brothers. Vod'ika. The younger clones burned a lot of energy with her ops. And, in reconnaissance, there was a lot of downtime to think about whatever hurt or bothered you. A lot of time to wish for your next real meal while you chewed a nurticube.

"Don't let them get sick on candy," Ordo warned.

She smiled at him.

"How did you find me?"

"You're not that difficult to locate," the lead-Null smirked.

"Maybe not," she agreed. "But you're awesome bait. I'll have those other kamas, please. We'll get them back to you."

Prudii laughed when probably a dozen pint-sized clone warriors surrounded them. They weren't carrying red-triggered weapons, either.

"Strip it, ARCie," Rog ordered. "My vod are waiting."

"You should order them to drop their weapons first," Cin decided.

"No," Lathlo shook his head. "They're not touching them now, don't give them a chance. Tell 'em put their hands up."

Ad'ra nodded. "Hands on helmets is what I'd do."

Mereel nodded and complied. "You'll have more warning if a mark is going to try to pull a fast one if you have 'em put their hands on their heads. Then you keep a blaster on 'em and somebody else slips in and takes away their ordnance."

"Seriously?" Ordo asked.

Prudii had laced his fingers together and rested them on his bucket, too.

Ordo sighed and shook his head.

"An ARC is going to be able to disarm you, vode," he warned.

Prudii nodded. "Don't trust them just because they look like they're complying."

Cin agreed. "Ad'ra said in real life if we're looking to subdue to make sure we stun, not any chatter. But we're not to stun you unless somebody moves. She doesn't want us to get in trouble."

"Wise Marshal," Mereel noted.

Prudii grinned at her.

"Want me to recite the new Resol'nare we came up with this afternoon while you disarm us?" he offered. "It's not at all polite and seems just right up your alley—buncha tough punks like you."

"Kandosii!" Erin cheered. "I want to learn all the cadences. Like Delta and Panther. They have the coolest ones."

Ad'ra's mouth dropped at the way the clever tongue twisted the ancient lines. She laughed aloud again and shook her finger.

"All mouth and kamas, no respect," she scolded. "Do not let anyone else hear that. They won't think it's funny."

"So serious, our training corps," Mereel complained.

"I can't get his off," Tu grunted, tugging at something still attached at Prudii's hip.

Ad'ra shifted to help.

"This is the opportune moment we were warning you about," Prudii told the ram'ser's-in-training gathered round. "She's too close to me, you're distracted by what she's showing you, and I could get the jump on her."

"When you're old enough to jump me you know where to find me," she teased the clone, looking into his amused eyes. He was older than her guys and they were closer in height. For now. He'd far outpace her before long. "Figure out what you're doing first, then look me up."

"I'm a quick learner, ma'am," he told her. "We could find a holobook, I'm sure."

"We have a lot of them," Gehat told Prudii innocently. "You can borrow them. If you come to our quarters tonight we'll be done playing with your kamas and you can see what we've got."

Ordo groaned when Prudii and Mereel made the promise.

Ad'ra just smiled at him.

"Four out," a voice called over her comm.

That seemed to energize the boys.

"Later, ARCies!" Roger called. "Glad I didn't have to ice you!"

Cin bounced and waved. "Nice to see you again!"

"It was nice to steal from you again," Lathlo shot over his shoulder.

Ordo looked down at the smiling training sergeant. "You're going to get one of them killed or reindoctrinated."

"Nah. If they're operating under my orders it'll fall on me. I checked."

"Dinii."

"Tell them to stop calling us ARCs."

She lifted her finger to her forehead in salute.

"My name's Prudii, when the time comes!"

"I'll remember, Shadow," she promised.

"You're an idiot," his brother muttered as they stood there and watched them.

"Hey, Prudii!" she called as she moved to follow her pint-sized pirates making off with their booty. "Can you see if you can find out why the regular infantry trainees wear transparent visors?"

She could see the interest spark in their faces. Two of them nodded after taking a peek over the scaffolding again.

"We'll see what we can dig up."

.

They were so excited, flushed with triumph, when they came together in the big, open space of the newly redecorated barracks.

"Can we leave the ladders in place?" Hana asked her, gushing with pride in his accomplishments. "I could get so much more next time, now that we know how to fit it-"

"That wouldn't be fair to our vode," she told him. "What if we were too greedy and one of them had to go without?"

That made them stop and consider. There were a few looks exchanged and some of them nodded at each other.

"Just a little at a time, then," Mya told her. "And only when you approve it because we've been scoring well."

"I can help you study!" Cin offered. Bounced up to her like he'd never be able to settle into sleep. "If we're remanded to quarters today, you could get your books and-"

"Break them evenly," she heard one of her guys fuss.

"I'm trying," One told him. Sharpish. Still the personality conflict to watch.

She snapped her fingers. "Hush. There's plenty for everybody. Don't fret him."

"He's going to give the bigger pieces to-"

She stared down the boy. Young man.

Jesu.

"Well…" Fallon huffed. Crossed his arms.

She just lifted her brows.

"One," she asked. "Are you purposefully making some of the pieces bigger?"

"No, Ad'ra Adenn, ma'am. I swear it. I've got them measured out and all but they roll and sometimes they slide and they're just a little different. I'll eat one of the small ones. Or split mine between the ones that are smallest to make up for it…"

Ad'ra put her hands to her hips and regarded Fallon for a long moment.

"You're one of the most talented young men in this barracks, One. Always first, always best. That puts you in a difficult position."

"What position is that, Sergeant?" he asked. Guilelessly he asked it.

"Others want that position. Fallon, do you want it?"

"I'm almost always equal to his times. And I'm better at-"

"Ori'buyce, kih'kovid," she told him. Translated it for the other boys. "All helmet, no head."

That set them off, laughing.

"It means you have to guard against having an over-large sense of self and swollen ego."

She snapped her fingers again when his vode started in on him, taking up the teasing.

"Do you have flawless characters?"

That stopped them in their tracks.

She gestured. "You're perfect. Cloned from the ideal Mandokarla. Formed from his cells and then refined and replicated. But are you faultless? Do you have failings—times of doubt or struggle—when you'd like a vode to be patient with you, to love you anyway?"

"Do you still love me anyway?" One asked. "Even though I failed to get every single one of them absolutely exactly even?"

She smiled. "Very, very much."

"Me, too, Vod," Fallon told the boy. "Forgive me for judging you?"

She nodded when they shook hands.

"It'll happen again," she told them. "You're too alike sometimes."

"We're not anything alike," Lathlo told Ad'ra, throwing his arm around Cin. "That's why we're best friends. We can help each other."

"We can, indeed," she agreed. "Come on, get a piece of sugar stick and let's find a book to read."

"Will you let Boba come play with us?" Ghett asked. "He should get a sugar stick, too."

"I wish there was enough to give a little bite to all our vode," One said, glancing down at the plate again.

"Me, too," Ad'ra told him. "So, here's what we do. Today there's just this—this one box and enough for you all to suck on for a minute. And we're going to enjoy them because they're yummy. And every second we have a blessing we're grateful for it. A pretty day? Grateful. Shereshoy. Our vode win a race or a sharpshooter contest or a wrestling match? Shereshoy. We see another company awarded with honors?"

They made a face at her. She made one back.

"Shereshoy." It took a second for them to agree to it.

She laughed. "A little grateful. Mostly we decide we're going to kick their shebs next time. Okay?"

"I can do that," Fallon promised. "I'll be grateful One got first, then work harder to beat him next time."

"When you do, I'll shake your hand, okay?"

"Perfect," Ad'ra told them. "See? I told you… you're perfect, vod'ikas. Shereshoy. It means more than just grateful—lusting for the life we live. Hunting, playing, family, clan—enjoying where we are at this moment and at one in the manda and planning to stay alive to be with our people tomorrow. But be clear, it means we're content to answer the call to battle, to give our service to Mandalore."

"Shereshoy," Om whispered. "We did good. Hunted well, had a good time, now we're tired and there's work to do still, but we rest and eat and then we get back to it. Oya."

"Oya," her little brown-eyed bevy echoed around the candy melting in their mouths.

"Oya," Ad'ra agreed, accepting the piece One offered her. She broke it in half, thinking she might take the other piece down to Boba after all.