//------------------------------//
// 5. Family Reunion 
// Story: Star Wars: Republic Commando: Brothers All 
// by TJAW 
//------------------------------//

“Think of yourselves as a hand. Each of you is a finger, and without the others you're useless. Alone, a finger can't grasp, or control, or form a fist. You are nothing on your own, and everything together.”
―Kal Skirata

***

The hologram projector in the bay of the LAAT/I lit up and displayed a crouching clone, an advisor. Delta Squad gathered around it and readied for their briefing.

“Delta Squad, we’ve located a Separatist presence on a planet just a few light years from Kashyyyk. Our intel indicates it’s light compared to their numbers there, but this information is about a month old and as such is dubious at best.”

“So why send us in alone without even a replacement?” RC-1138 “Boss” inquired. Since the loss of RC-1207 "Sev" less than a week ago, he’d been much less eager in the executions of Delta’s operations, as had RC-1140 “Fixer” and RC-1262 “Scorch”. Delta Squad had been one of the few squads not shattered by the war until then.

“We’re not. Tau Squad was operating on Kashyyyk as well, and like you they lost a brother, who was a replacement for RC-1888. They’re being sent in as well.”

Scorch sighed. “At least we’re working with a competent squad, and we know Tau is one of the best there is. After us, of course.”

“What else do we have, sir?” Fixer asked the holographic projection.

“Some very interesting data. A plethora of sentient races live on the planet, all oblivious to the galaxy at large. Thousands of years behind us technologically; they haven’t even landed on their own moon. You should be able to use long-range comms with impunity. Still, they seem civilized from what we know. The only Jedi to pass through the system passed through about ten years ago, and he noted a ‘monumental concentration of Force-sensitive beings, ignorant and yet attuned to it’. The Jedi Council deigned not to initiate first contact, and the Republic was quite afraid of the possibility of a planet of Force-users. For the protection of the locals and the galaxy at large, the planet and system were erased from most maps. It’s believed that only a small amount of them can actually harness that ability, but remain on guard.”

“Well, this’ll be interesting,” Boss mused.

“Tau had an interesting development prior to the mission. RC-1888, who was believed dead but never confirmed to be so, recently returned under circumstances I’m not fully aware of. But they’d know their pod-brother anywhere, and scuttlebutt says there was a lot of crying at that reunion.”

“Pfft. Figures. They were always a weird bunch, too,” Scorch muttered.

He was right. Tau was one of the only squads, if not the only squad, that had been trained by two separate instructors as a social experiment. And while the process that resulted in the choice of instructors was unknown, it certainly yielded an interesting pair. Kal Skirata and Walon Vau; two Mandolorian warriors with a long history of unpleasant relations. 

Having to share a squad as the result of the decision of a race they mutually despised didn’t create much camaraderie between them. They’d agreed to at least limit the rhetoric against each other in front of Tau to avoid creating a split squad. They’d succeeded at that, and at creating exemplary warriors.

“You will parachute into the area from the gunship. From there, you are to make contact with Tau and coordinate a search for a Trandoshan slaver camp known to be in the area. They’re already briefed and searching. They may have even found it already. From there you’ll have to make contact with the locals and try to identify any other possible Separatist bases in the area. A small Republic fleet will arrive in a month. The flora and fauna are confirmed to be edible, but watch what you eat anyway, because MEDEVAC is not going to happen.”

“How long before we get there?” Boss asked.

“About an hour. And one last thing. An intercepted slaver communique indicates that two clones, commandos, were captured alive on Kashyyyk less than a week ago and brought to the same slaver camp you and Tau will be searching for. I really don’t want to get your hopes up, but given that you and Tau were the only ones on Kashyyyk I know of, your pod brother might be alive down there.”

“S-Sev might be alive down there?” Scorch stuttered. All three commandos’ jaws dropped inside their helmets.

“And possibly Tau's replacement, RC-1000.”

Delta Squad hesitated to celebrate or show any overt emotions as the hologram cut out and the cabin went dark. Nonetheless, a fragile hope lit their faces brighter than any light or visor filter ever could.

***

“Wubadubdub, motherbucker!” Vinyl yelled from downstairs, waking Coruscant. Checking his chronometer, he saw that it was early even by his standards. So he closed his eyes again, but only for a moment before a cacophony of disruptive, but oddly musical sound forced them open. Although he didn’t know it, the entire neighborhood awoke with him as the “music” began. But it had become their Wednesday morning wake-up call, so they bore with it.

Coruscant put the armor plating back onto his black bodysuit, attached his pack and weapons, and donned his helmet to drown out the noise. He began to do pushups, no easy feat with a fifty-kilo backpack on.

Can’t get complacent. Need to stay in shape. Sergeant Radek always warned about softening during a mission. Always something that could go wrong, and always something to do to prevent that. I could gradually become out of shape, or I could exercise. I choose the one that lets me live longer.

After an hour of exercise, which was made easier by the treadmill in one of the rooms, he removed his helmet, went downstairs, and rewarded himself with a beverage in a dark red cylinder. The music had stopped halfway through his regimen. He opened the aluminum can with his finger and downed a gulp. It was called “Dr Pony” according to the text, which was the High Galactic Alphabet; another strange similarity. The drink was sweet, but the carbonation added a sort of kick to it. The commando enjoyed it, and drank the rest. He wasn’t surprised by the belching that followed, nor did he try to hide it.

Let’s see if Metal Gear Stable 2 is as thought-provoking as the first.

It was, if less relevant to him than the original.

***

“Over the drop zone in two,” The gunship’s pilot shouted over the comms.

“Alright lads, check your chutes and get ready to drop,” Boss shouted.

“Feet first into Hell, Boss!” Scorch shouted back. He referred to the Corellian mythology’s afterlife, in which dark Jedi, Sith, and the spirits of the evil resided. Going into a planet full of Force-sensitive individuals without much backup seemed to be a comparable experience to that.

“We really need to keep you away from Corellians, they’re rubbing off on you,” Fixer joked uncharacteristically. The normally stoic soldier must’ve been quite happy about the news to do that. Boss and Scorch both took note of this, but said nothing.

The side of the gunship opened to reveal a verdant green beneath them. Forests below and plains in the distance. The parachutes on their backs, silver-white in color, flapped slightly in the wind despite their folded state. They were made of a relatively durable, lightweight fiber that added a quarter of a kilo to their weight, and fit smoothly over their backpacks. They added a mere five centimeters of bulk to their packs in their current state, and would unfurl to full-sized chutes on the wearers command.

“Cloud cities?” Fixer muttered, seeing what looked like buildings constructed of clouds in the distance. He chalked it off as a trick of the mind, each and every instance a pareidolia. 

“We’re over the drop zone in ten, nine,” The pilot chirped. He began to count down, and the three commandos stood at the edge of the bay. “Go, go, go!”

They leapt as one, and after a minute of falling they opened their parachutes.

***

This was it. Rainbow Dash was going to try a sonic rainboom in level flight. She’d done it before, but only thrice, and each time under different circumstances. The first time she’d earned her Cutie Mark. The second time had earned her a day with her idols after she saved them and her friend Rarity. The third time had been for a wedding, and she’d secretly cheated on that one by using JATO rockets, like in the now-debunked urban legend involving a speed-obsessed earth pony strapping them to a cart and flying into a canyon wall.

She had all she needed, and a bit more. She had her number one fan, Scootaloo, cheering her on.

Celestia bless that little filly. I guess the Element of Loyalty would be the one to get an adoring fan like that.

On top of that, she had her coltfriend smiling up at her, cheering her on in his own way. And that alien, Sev, was watching. It was Big Mac’s idea to get him out of that barn and get him used to the area, since he’d eventually have to interact with ponies. He doubted the whole phenomenon’s existence, which just made her even more determined.

“Let’s do this!”

She bolted forward, picking up speed at a rapid pace. Her cheeks caught air and flapped, despite her efforts to keep her mouth closed. Ears bent backwards, forehooves forward, and rear legs back to maximize her performance.
She felt the vapor cone beginning to form, and knew that a rainbow contrail was definitely forming behind her at this point. A contrail that would be magnified tenfold when she broke the sound barrier.

But as always, she needed something to focus on. She saw three clouds in the distance, and altered her trajectory to fly straight through them.

***

Boss saw the multicolor contrail first and was the first to vocalize it as well. “What in Death’s name is that!?” He pointed at the contrail, which seemed to originate from a projectile headed in their general direction.

The other Deltas turned to look at it, and shared in their sergeant’s confusion.

“Uh, vode? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that thing is kinda on a collision course with us,” Scorch warned in his typical sardonic fashion. “Scratch that, it’s headed for our chutes. So much for my plan of slapping that missile aside.”

“Still half a kilometer from the ground, I think we can survive,” Fixer added. “Next time we requisition backup chutes.”

The projectile, or perhaps natural phenomenon, tore through their chutes with ease.

“Brace for impact Deltas!” Boss roared.

***

“Twitch-a-twitch! Twitch-a-twitch!” Pinkie warned, her tail shaking like mad. Then her whole body began shaking, and her tail blurred as it continued.

Everypony in Sugarcube Corner knew about Pinkie’s ESP, and they all knew it was accurate. They all understood both of these signs. And the combination was frightening to say the least.

So they all fled the building, with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Cake, who rushed to their foals. Pinkie just stood, or rather shook, where she was.

***

Looks like a building made out of dessert. With livestock running out of it. Hope it’s soft, Scorch thought to himself. All that came out however, was a scream. 

“Ahhhhhhhhhh-ha-haaaaahhhhhhhhh!!”

The landing was slowed by the roof of the structure. And the floor of the attic. And the second floor. And a table.

The commando’s shields took most of the damage, and his Katarn armor took most of the rest. Still, he had the wind knocked out of him for several moments. And there was an oddly irritating, yet simultaneously humorous gasp, presumably from an occupant of the structure.

“Omigosh, an alien! Hi Mr. Alien, my name’s Pinkie Pie, what’s yours? Oh wait, maybe you don’t speak Equestrian.” The female voice, which was in perfect Basic, began to speak apparent unintelligibly, followed by what sounded like “Aaaay, Macarena!”

Scorch caught his breath and got up slowly. Soon he stood on his feet and looked around him. He was in a shop of some sort, one filled with sweet odors. Like the sweet uj cake he’d envied Skirata’s boys for eating, and never had a chance to really try, but even better.

He looked at a table of confections, and after his helmet told him they were safe to eat, he did something he never would have normally. He took off his helmet in the middle of an unknown alien planet and began to enjoy the local cuisine.

“Oh, these cookies!”

The equine source of the voice, “Pinkie Pie”, popped in front of him, wearing an impossibly large smile. “Oh! Oh! I made those cookies, you like them?”

Scorch nodded and continued stuffing his face irresponsibly. Pretty much any instructor or member of his team would’ve scolded him harshly for his recklessness. Vau would’ve beat him half to death.

That thought snapped him out of his feeding frenzy. He swallowed his food as he remembered his mission, and more importantly his squad. His brothers were out there, and probably less lucky than him. He put on his helmet and tried to regain some semblance of professionalism.

“Oh, fierfek.” He looked at Pinkie, who’d been friendlier to him after he damaged this building than most aliens he’d met under better circumstances. “I have to go,” he sighed. “I need to find my vode. Chances are they didn’t have a landing as mild as mine, and they might be in deep osik.”

Should I ask her to help? Why not? She seems friendly, and I can take her out no problem if it comes to that.

“You can come if you want.”

“Okie-dokie-lokie, Kaiden!”

“Um, my name’s actually not-”

“I’m just teasing you, Carth. I know your name’s ‘Scorch’!”

The commando exited the shop somewhat disturbed, Pinkie Pie bouncing behind him and gibbering about something or other.

***

Boss regained consciousness a few minutes after impact, judging by his helmet chrono.

“Girls? Judging by our flanks I don’t think we’re Cutie Mark Crusaders Crash Site investigators,” A young female voice stated in Basic. “Wait, it’s moving!”

The clone crawled to his hands and knees, then got to his feet. His equipment was all with him, so he looked around. Three small equinoids of varying colors gazed up at him. Around him was a plantation of fruit-bearing trees.

“Ah think he’s like that other alien mah brother was showin’ round. ‘Cept this ‘un’s a different color.”

Are they talking about Sev?

It seemed they were, because in the distance a familiar red, gray and white biped grew steadily larger. It was the first time Boss ever cried.

***

“Just relax, Twilight! What are you so worried about anyway?”

“Spike, you of all ponies- I mean dragons, should know! According to my calculations, Rainbow Dash should’ve crashed into my library by now. I’ve double and triple-checked my formulae, and in order to maintain her average crash-schedule, which she sticks to unerringly, there should be a crash by now!”

Spike shrugged. Twilight had a tendency to overthink some things. Which meant she overthought everything. “Didn’t you say something about factoring in other crashes for insurance or something?”

“Oh yeah…” Twilight visibly eased. She’d counted in a few birds impacting the window, although it was the same Abert’s Towhee every single time. “Dumb Towhee.” And then there was the time Tom almost killed Rarity by quite literally “dropping in” on a sleepover with her friends; it had taken all six of them to get that stupid boulder out.

Her fears were eased as a crash came. This one came from above, like the incident with Tom. Except it was a plantigrade biped colored white, green and black. And it wasn’t Tom.

***

“Deltas, report in,” Boss ordered over the comms.

“Delta Four-Oh reporting in.”

“Delta Six-Two, I’m here.”

“Delta Oh-Seven here, I missed you ner vode,” A familiar gravelly voice echoed.

“Even me?” Scorch joked, hiding his glee. His brother was alive, and his icon appeared on Scorch’s HUD.

“Yeah, even you, Scorch.”

“Kandosii. When’s the party?”

“What kinda party!?” Pinkie demanded happily, her head hanging upside-down from some unknown force or object. Once again, Scorch was a bit disturbed; he was no stranger to Jedi, but this was still weird to him.

If this keeps up, soon I’m not even gonna care.

“Hold on a sec, vode. I got a local who thinks she’s coming with.”

“Same here,” Fixer added. His comm switched off. Scorch did likewise. 

“It’s a family reunion, and you’re not invited.”

Pinkie stopped hopping and her grin faltered somewhat. “Can I still throw it for you?”

“No.”

Her pupils grew to fill her already huge eyes. Her mane deflated, her mouth came to a frown and her eyes watered. She gazed at Scorch pleadingly, her lip quivering.

***

“You crash into my house and you can’t even tell me your name?” The purple equine female demanded.

“That’s correct, ma’am,” Fixer answered.

“You’re not even from this planet, are you?”

“No ma’am. But I have to be somewhere, and you’re slowing me down.”

Fixer noticed the local inhabitants staring at him as he jogged towards the hastily-made rendezvous point. This was definitely not the way he’d pictured reuniting with Sev.

I expected to rescue him from interrogation, not botch a first contact situation and jog two klicks to a new RV point.

He made a mental note to have the field manual revised to include first contact situations, preferably with multiple courses of action varying by the technological tier of the inhabitants.

***

“Yeah, this is where I’ve been cooped up since I escaped.” Sev led Fixer and Boss into the attic of the barn he’d been staying in. The stairs creaked under the combined weight of three fully-equipped commandos, and by the time they reached the top they had decided that they’d go one at a time from then on to avoid any potential breakages from straining the wood.

He opened the door to the attic only to be hit by multi-colored paper shrapnel.

“Surprise!” A female voice shouted from inside. The confetti cleared to reveal a few tables laden with drinks and food, with Scorch and a pink pony inside.

“Don’t ask how I got here first, ‘cause I don’t know.” Scorch shrugged and looked at the pony. “Pinkie, you mind if we have a little privacy?”

“Sure!” She skipped out of the room.

“Sev, we’ve got some catching up to do.” Fixer looked at the food and drink arrayed throughout the attic. His visor told him it was edible. “Food’s safe, I guess. I guess we can talk over lunch.”

***

Applejack wandered into the Everfree forest, a bushel of apples on her back. This was a new routine for her, but after she’d been taken by “Trandoshan slavers” a few nights prior, the night before Big Macintosh’s return in fact, and then rescued before she could be taken far, she owed a debt of gratitude to her rescuers. 

All the anonymous four requested in return was a steady supply of food to supplement what they had. Each time she came, the creatures knew she was coming, and each time they thanked her and sent an escort back.

She’d grown to trust these things somewhat, whatever they were. When Big Macintosh introduced her to Sev earlier, she realized they must’ve been the same species. And the arrival of three more who seemed to be his friends meant she gave them whatever berth they desired. The last thing she wanted was to interrupt what seemed to be a family reunion.

“Heck if I’m gonna start somethin’ with those fellas,” She mused aloud as she walked around a patch of poison joke.

“And who might ‘those fellas’ be?” One of the aforementioned beings inquired. It stood in the same patch of poison joke she’d been avoiding. Not affected by it either, save for what might’ve been the glow of a ward, or enchanted armor.

“Uh, nopony! Nopony at all!” She put on her best pokerface. The same one that had lost her hundreds of bits.

“Please don’t lie to me, you’re awfully easy to read.” It looked at her and heard her belly rumble. “Hey, if you want to eat with us it’s fine. We won’t bite. And I’ll take you back to your farm afterwards. Sound good?”

“Uh, okay…” Applejack gulped and followed the figure as it avoided a patch of poison joke. “I thought y’all were immune to poison joke, why’re we walkin’ ‘round it?”

The entity continued on, not turning its head. “Because you aren’t. I saw how you avoided those things like a plague, and I can deduce from that.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, although the creature’s head nodded as though it were talking to somepony. Finally, they came to a small clearing. There were a few small tents, some boxes, and a small, extinguished campfire in the middle.

“I knew you were bringing a guest, Tal, but I was hoping for something scalier. Lizards are fun houseguests,” Another figure joked. It had the same outline as her escort, but different colors. A coat of jet black covered most of its body, with some white spots around what seemed to be its joints and eye, and identically-colored scratches all over. The customization and coloring among this group and the ones Big Mac had revealed to her led Applejack to believe it was armor, which would explain their identical faces. Perhaps their armor was white or a light gray underneath the colors. This one seemed to be cleaning something with a rag.

“‘Tal’? That’s yer name?” 

She looked up at her escort. In the light she could see it clearly. It was a dark gray, with a matte yellow right shoulder pad, and a matching stripe running down the outside of its right arm. A few more stripes of the same dull golden hue marked it; one on the head, running from back of the helmet to just above the eye, one on its left breast, and one on each knee. The plate on its right hand was gol

“Yeah. Mr. Clean here in the black armor is named ‘Ca’. The guy in gray and green,” Tal gestured to another with the same gray armor and a similar - but distinct - set of decorative stripes in a forest green. “His name’s Sh’ehn. He was missing for a few months, we all thought he was dead. Apparently he got better.”

That elicited some mild laughter from Applejack. The others must’ve heard that one before, because they each gave a brief "heh"; they still though it was funny, but it wasn’t fresh anymore.

“And the vod in the gray and blue is Orar.” Tal pointed to a third being with its thumb. This one was the same steel gray as  and had a pattern on his armor like Tal's, but with blue in place of the gold, and some more blue stripes on its head and chest. The largest was a vertical stripe that ran down its head and two diagonal stripes that marked each cheek.

So they’re stallions. Or their version, anyway. Males, that’s the word.

Tal took the bushel of apples from her back and placed it in the middle of the campsite, near the fire. He grabbed his head with both hands and a hiss came from his neck, making AJ flinch. The man removed what was definitely helmet and set it down next to him, straight up. 

His comrades did likewise, revealing identical faces. To a mare used to diversity in so many forms among her own kind, it was more than a bit unsettling.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Ca smiled. “Something like ‘If these dashing young men all look the same, how could I possibly choose one?’ Sadly, I don’t have an answer.”

“Osik,” Tal responded. “We’re as good-looking as any other clones, and I think that’s not much better than average.” He bit into an apple, as did his comrades. 

Applejack joined their meal, anxiety written all over her. She took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. “I seen four other fellas who look like y’all, ‘cept they don’t got the same colors. Red , green, orange an’ yellow.”

“Red?” Orar repeated, curious.

“I guess Delta made it down and found their missing man after all,” Sh’ehn mused.

Tal looked guilty, and muttered something in a language Applejack didn’t understand.

“Tion gar’baati par Coruscanta?” Sh’ehn asked him.

“‘Lek. Ni kar’talyi kaysh su’cuyi.” Tal nodded.

“Udesii, ner’vod. Gar dar’juri kaysh, Tal.”

“Gar serim. Vor’e.” Tal nodded again and gave a weak smile.

They ate in silence for a while before Tal put back his helmet took Applejack back through the forest.

“Never caught your name, miss,” He stated.

“Mah name’s Applejack. Friends call me ‘AJ’. Y’all’s kind seem to try an’ keep in fours. Is that a sorta family thing?”

“Yeah. We were raised together and trained as soldiers together. And we’re not here to invade if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re all clones, and there’re millions like us, identical down to their DNA. You know what DNA is, right?”

“Yeah, I have a major in entomology an’ a minor in genealogy, but when mah parents died I came back to the farm to help run it.” She winced as she mentioned her parents. It wasn’t purely of sorrow for her loss, as there seemed to be a sort of negativity intrinsic to thinking of her parents. Perhaps she had realized that the clones had no parents as far as she knew.

Tal chuckled, outwardly ignoring her flinch. “You didn’t strike me as the educated type.”

AJ chuckled too. “It’s the accent an’ the occupation, I know. But there’re millions of ya, an’ ya all stay in fours?”

“No. A few thousand clones stay in fours, a few hundred work alone, and the vast majority work in infantry formations. We’re all clones of a single human male, so we all look more-or-less the same. But we’re all different personality-wise.”

That was quite different from her experiences. Sure, ponies were diverse, but they often had somewhat bland personalities until you got to know them. She was thankful that her and her friends all acted differently in addition to looking different. These men were the opposite, defined by themselves more than their appearance.

“That’s actually pretty specific. Seems like the kinda thing that’d be secret.” Applejack looked worried that she was about to be sworn to secrecy, and she wasn’t much good at concealing things as Tal had already indicated.

“It’s publicly available information. I wouldn’t tell you anything I shouldn’t. But other clones have different armor, which helps to set us apart visually. Regular clones mostly use Phase-II armor now, and the ARCs, the loners I mentioned earlier, have an extremely advanced version of the Phase-I, with some Phase-II versions in service. The armor I wear is issued to commandos and bears more resemblance to the Phase-I. Commandos and ARCs have plenty of leeway in customizing our armor’s appearance and adding accessories, but regulars are painting their armor more and more often.” Tal stopped. “And we’re here.”

“See ya, Tal!”

“See ya.” Tal turned around and disappeared back into the Everfree.

***

“Yeah, it was pretty good. I don’t see why ponies were complaining about it. You said they were right?” Coruscant was talking to Vinyl Scratch, his helmet off and next to him. He insisted on wearing his armor at all times when he was awake, although he could put the plates back onto his bodysuit in less than thirty seconds. He likewise insisted on keeping his weapons ready.

“Yeah. I didn’t really care. While the first two focused on ideas more unique to modern ponykind, the second two of the main series focus on more timeless themes,” She answered. Despite her “party-hard” image, she was actually quite intelligent within her own sphere of experiences. Octavia was cultured, and Vinyl was pop-cultured.

“Damn, I’ve got some work cut out for me. I’ll get started on 3 tomorrow.”

“Cool. Hey, wanna check out my club tonight? Wicked sick beats goin’ down there! The Royal Guard dudes let up looking for you after some dude who sounded kinda like you saved their flanks. Now they’re cool with your kind hangin’ out. And I heard rumors of some other guys like you falling from the sky and headed to Sweet Apple Acres. Who knows, maybe one of them’ll show up!”

Coruscant tensed visibly at the mention of more like him. “Like me, huh?” He put on his helmet and went upstairs. “I have to check something.”

“If it’s Appleparty, don’t do it!” Vinyl shouted as he ascended the stairs.

“It’s not,” He replied.

I really don’t want to know what that is.

Upon reaching his room, he picked up his datapad and linked it to his helmet. Next, he scanned for any IFFs in a twelve kilometer radius. He got eight; two whole squads of commandos. He didn’t recognize the ID of the first four, but knew their squad ID was Delta.

Vau’s star squad. One of the best.

The other ones he recognized in full. He saw Tau was here. His adopted brothers were all present, and another clone he didn’t remember at first. Initially, he thought this fourth was a second replacement. But when he recalled the unique nickname of his new family, “Trip Squad”, he recognized it. It was the clone he’d replaced, RC-1888, “Sh’ehn”.

He knew Tau well enough to know that they wouldn’t tolerate a clone claiming to be their brother, and he knew they’d be able to tell him from any other clone as well, even from the most skilled shapeshifter. That meant that Tau was whole again.

And if they were complete, he was alone.

No fate. No purpose. No family.

Coruscant felt tears well up in his eyes, only to shut them in. His instructor’s words came to mind.

“They say that as soldiers, we have no fate. That as clones, you have no fate. I disagree. We have no fate but what we make. While outside forces may manipulate us and make important choices for us, we are the sole arbiters of our own fates. Remember that while you might be nothing more than a wet droid to the galaxy at large, you are still men, and you still make your own choices. They might not always be the easy ones, but the right ones usually aren’t, and those are the choices I expect you to make.”

He was master of his own destiny. Deserting and defecting weren’t going to happen, but he wasn’t going to beg for a new squad either. He knew one would come to him when one was ready. He could stand on his own two feet, have dignity and make his own choices until then, and afterwards.

I’m my own person. When the Republic calls on me, I’ll answer. Until then, I’m free.

***

“I have to say, Sev. You handled things pretty well,” Boss stated, openly stating the surprise the whole squad had at their brother’s unexpected diplomacy.

“Yeah, I think so too. I can hardly believe I didn’t shabla things myself,” Sev agreed. He took a second slice of cake from one of the tables that had been set up and had a few bites before looking back up. “Scorch, how’d you get all this food up here anyway?”

The commando shrugged in response. “I have no idea. One second Pinkie and I are walking through the streets, talking, and when I finally relent and let her throw us a small party we instantly end up here. She pulls out a shabla ancient-style cannon out, fires it, and all this stuff comes out. Like I said, don’t ask, because I don’t know. But I can guess from what I have heard that Pinkie Pie is just, well, weird. Like, she defies logic in a way that nobody else can. But she seems pretty nice if you ignore how random she is.”

“You like her,” Sev teased.

“We just met, ner vod!”

“You just going to let this continue?” Fixer whispered, leaning towards Boss, who was preoccupied with a datapad.

“Both of you, can it!” The sergeant barked. Sev and Scorch obeyed. He looked up from his device at his squad. “I just got a comm from Tau’s sergeant. They’re on the ground just a few klicks from here, inside the nearby forest, so if you see anyone in Republic-issued armor don’t shoot, gedet’ye.”

***

Hours later, RC-1611 “Ca” headed to the nearest settlement under the cover of  the newly descended darkness, his orders being to recce the area, and establish informal relations with the locals if he had to make contact with any. His DC-17/m had a less-lethal Pulsed Energy Projectile, or “PEP”, attachment equipped and his DC-15/s sidearm was likewise set to stun. He didn’t want to cause any problems. 

One common psychological feature many clones seemed to have was a very mild claustrophobia, or at least a preference for open spaces, believed by some to be a result of the gestation chambers they were grown in. Some clones were also shocked to find that not all environments were as clean as Kamino. 

For his part, Ca used to be achluophobic; afraid of the dark. He never showed it, but the dark had once scared him in a way that nothing else could. Sometimes as a boy he would sneak a datapad into his room to use as a night-light. Eventually this fear came to light, fortunately during one of their sessions with Kal Skirata instead of one with the less compassionate Walon Vau.

Kal’buir, as they’d called him, told him about his own struggle with the same fear as a child, compounded in difficulty by his parents’ deaths. He’d managed to overcome it in order to survive in the ruins of the city he’d been raised in, with just his father’s three-sided knife for company.

It soothed him to know he hadn’t been alone. After that, he embraced the darkness in a somewhat literal sense, as opposed to the “dark side” osik the Jedi frequently dithered about. He painted his armor black for the most part, with a few spots unpainted; just around his visor and his biceps. That was when he got the name “Ca”, which in Mando’a meant “night”.

As Ca approached the town, he noted that the streets were illuminated by light emanating from inside residencies lining either side of every road. No more than a dozen of the natives were outside at this time of night, and most of them seemed to be in a routine familiar to each. That meant they walked in straight lines and right angles, making their paths easy to predict and avoid.

The commando repeatedly hid in alleyways and pressed against walls to evade detection. Each time, he set down a thumbnail-sized sensor, which would help create a piece of a map of the settlement; every time he set one down, a blank square on the map filled. This process repeated, until he came to an establishment that seemed to be about halfway through what sounded like the only song he ever heard being played by clubs throughout the galaxy. He set down a final sensor and snuck back to his squad in the forest.

***

Shortly after nightfall, Coruscant entered the nightclub Vinyl had mentioned earlier that day.

“Cory, you made it!” She yelled in a celebratory tone, her voice almost drowned out by the music. She stood behind a large electronic device of some sort, featuring bowl-like indentations under a wire mesh. Sound pulsed from the machine, seemingly originating from the sonic arrays.

“Cory?” Coruscant removed his helmet to reveal a quizzical look. As he did so, ponies turned from their dancing and drinking to look at him, but only briefly. He attached it to a magnetic strip on the side of his backpack to keep it with him.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname I came up with just now. Lemme buy you a drink!”

Coruscant hesitated briefly, wondering what the legal age for drinking was in the Republic. Then he remembered that wasn’t in Republic space, and that clones weren’t even Republic citizens. He shrugged and nodded at her, following the mare to the bar.

She levitated a short stool out with her magic, a pale blue glow enveloping her horn as she did so. Coruscant sat down, the stool seemingly strong enough to hold him, but the right height that he was a comfortable height compared to the counter.

“Yo Berry! Get me some of that stuff Pinkie gave us!”

A magenta mare with a violet-red mane nodded and produced two bottles of a clear blue liquid.

“This is… It’s blue?” Coruscant inquired. He pulled out his datapad and gave it a quick scan to make sure it was safe, which it barely was. It was 60% alcohol by volume and smelled like ozone.

“And guaranteed to knock you on your flank!” The bartender added as she filled a pair of glasses.

“It's called 'romlan ale', or something” Vinyl said with a wicked grin. “Pinkie Pie got it somewhere, somehow. I have no clue really, except that it’s booze. But if Pinkie got it, it must be good shit!”

A glass slid to each of them, and they both grabbed their respective glasses.

“Bottoms up!” Vinyl toasted. The two of them raised their glasses and started on their drinks. “That is good!” She rasped.

Coruscant spent an hour there, hardly touching his glass. Instead, he answered questions from ponies who recognized him as the “Gray Ghost” and generally tried to socialize. The locals seemed pretty friendly to him, which was entirely unexpected.

He opted not to enter the crowded dance floor, which ponies stood on, shaking their tails and heads, rotating their bodies. Glow sticks were everywhere, shaking along with the ponies. Strobe-lights flickered and lasers pulsed, creating a sensory overload.

After that hour ended, he left the club and headed back to his hosts’ place, his helmet back in place, although it was more for psychological comfort than protection.

Why would anyone even want to drink that stuff? It just tastes bad and impairs you. But I guess it’s a little bit fun as far as being impaired goes. Thank the Force I only drank a bit of the glass.

Opening the front door, Coruscant walked into the now-familiar hall and strode upstairs. As he ascended, he heard a piano being played upstairs, with five notes played and then repeated at a higher pitch, and although he didn’t know what it was, it drew him to Octavia’s room. He removed his helmet and closed his eyes, trying to picture a scene that could fit it.

A cold mountain filled his mind, populated by two opposing forces. With drums playing, and violins working with the piano to provide a highlight, they went at each other. With each moment the battle seemed more desperate for either side as streaks of one color struck down one group and a different hue struck another. The population of each side fell one by one, until half of one group remained and the other had fallen. The whole battle played out over about three minutes, with the victors advancing wearily during the last half minute as a bridge of light formed, leading them into a temple of some kind.

He opened his eyes to find that Octavia had been playing the music from a disk. She was smiling peacefully, her eyes shut as she lay on her bed. Coruscant smiled and shut the door, heading to his own room. 

There, he removed his armor plates and arranged them neatly on his floor. All that remained was his black bodysuit.

I’ll have to ask about a wash in the morning…