RMP-0019 sat next to his pilot and tapped three gloved fingers on the central control hub that separated his seat from MPP-3232’s. He was fully aware that his squad had already established that his finger tapping denoted one of two things, anxiety or anger, and given their circumstances a wise clone would bet on the former. His modified LAAT lurched once more, plummeting then leveling as Kiffu’s lightning raged all around, and RMP-0019, known simply as Cap to his men when not on duty, surreptitiously tightened the straps securing him to his seat. It wouldn’t be seemly for a police captain to be tossed around inside this can like a dried heta bean.
Behind Cap, nine of his ten man squad sat bouncing with every shuddering lurch of the gunship, each man silently praying that their pilot would deliver them from the turbulence sooner rather than later, their visible thoughts distorted by the angled plexi-plast of their helmets. They sat in rows of four and five facing each other across the deck, sandwiched between the cockpit and the holding cells. Above them, slotted into the roof, were their DC-15s, net guns and foamers. The Republic Military Police were ready to take down anyone or anything, efficiently and without prejudice, and deliver them back to Coruscant. As ‘32 finally dropped the ship below the cloudbank, Cap heard a static pop in his earpiece and a familiar voice, his own voice, cut through the interference.
“Captain. 3278 reporting.”
“Go ahead, ’78.”
“Sir, contact confirmed, repeat, contact confirmed.”
Cap smiled and ceased his finger tapping. “Excellent work, ’78. Transmit coordinates.”
As a row of figures ticker-taped across the bottom of his visor, Cap relayed them to every man in his squad. “How old is this intel, ’78?”
“It’s fresh, Captain. The target is holding position right now – point oh five east of Miner’s Rest.”
“And you can confirm it’s Calz and the other renegades?”
“We’re the only other clones on this whole dreffin’ planet, Captain.”
“Good. Maintain position,” Cap glanced at 3232 who was holding up four fingers.
“ETA four minutes.”
“Four minutes, confirmed, Captain.”
Cap patched his mike into the squad network and spoke quietly.
“Gear up. We have confirmed contact and they are all in one place. ’42 and ’67, I want you manning the grapplers, we may have to execute an airborne arrest.”
“Yes, sir!” All nine, identical voices rang in his earpiece, and Cap thumbed the safety on his DC-15. On, off. On, off. If Calz wouldn’t come quietly, and he suspected he wouldn’t, then he would be removed from the wanted list, permanently.
Janst’orr watched from the back of her perch as the rear doors opened and Pel and Peko gunned the swoop out, dropping several meters before the repulsors kicked in and sent them screaming towards town. The doors closed immediately, and she turned to watch the activity ensuing on the flight deck. Scarp, Digger, Rece and Soolad were standing around Sergeant Calz, who had removed his wrist projector and settled it on a storage barrel having magnified the holographic image of Miner’s Rest, and the group watched as a new, golden circle rapidly approached the red outlines of the building.
“OK, they’re almost at the gates.” Calz had removed his helmet, and Janst’orr could see fresh lines etched into the skin around his eyes. This man had known a lifetime of stress in as many years as she had been alive. She looked past the huddled group to the front of the ship where Lig sat next to Rev, her eyes closed, her tiny hands on his face. Rev seemed to be sleeping. Virus watched them both as he monitored Rev’s vital signs.
“Captain. 3278 reporting.”
“Go ahead, ’78.”
“Sir, contact confirmed, repeat, contact confirmed.”
Cap smiled and ceased his finger tapping. “Excellent work, ’78. Transmit coordinates.”
As a row of figures ticker-taped across the bottom of his visor, Cap relayed them to every man in his squad. “How old is this intel, ’78?”
“It’s fresh, Captain. The target is holding position right now – point oh five east of Miner’s Rest.”
“And you can confirm it’s Calz and the other renegades?”
“We’re the only other clones on this whole dreffin’ planet, Captain.”
“Good. Maintain position,” Cap glanced at 3232 who was holding up four fingers.
“ETA four minutes.”
“Four minutes, confirmed, Captain.”
Cap patched his mike into the squad network and spoke quietly.
“Gear up. We have confirmed contact and they are all in one place. ’42 and ’67, I want you manning the grapplers, we may have to execute an airborne arrest.”
“Yes, sir!” All nine, identical voices rang in his earpiece, and Cap thumbed the safety on his DC-15. On, off. On, off. If Calz wouldn’t come quietly, and he suspected he wouldn’t, then he would be removed from the wanted list, permanently.
Janst’orr watched from the back of her perch as the rear doors opened and Pel and Peko gunned the swoop out, dropping several meters before the repulsors kicked in and sent them screaming towards town. The doors closed immediately, and she turned to watch the activity ensuing on the flight deck. Scarp, Digger, Rece and Soolad were standing around Sergeant Calz, who had removed his wrist projector and settled it on a storage barrel having magnified the holographic image of Miner’s Rest, and the group watched as a new, golden circle rapidly approached the red outlines of the building.
“OK, they’re almost at the gates.” Calz had removed his helmet, and Janst’orr could see fresh lines etched into the skin around his eyes. This man had known a lifetime of stress in as many years as she had been alive. She looked past the huddled group to the front of the ship where Lig sat next to Rev, her eyes closed, her tiny hands on his face. Rev seemed to be sleeping. Virus watched them both as he monitored Rev’s vital signs.
Janst’orr could feel waves of jealousy washing over her, and she clenched her teeth, attempting speed meditation to calm the ripples. She knew her feelings of resentment towards Lig were wrong, and yet she didn’t understand why she had them in the first place. Master Scarp had repeatedly told her how everyone had their own strengths; Soolad’s force-push was unparalleled and Lig’s healing powers would make her the stuff of legend, but Janst’orr knew only one thing, how to wield a saber, and she prayed to the Mon Cal Gods that it wouldn’t be a red blade.
Calz dipped his finger into the projection and highlighted a cavernous space in the center. The buildings around it receded to nothing and enhanced details appeared on the three dimensional schematic.
“The docking bay has two exits,” he pointed at a bright square in one corner, “Peko and the Jedi will enter here, infiltrate the cruiser and open the loading hatch.”
“What if she puts up a fight?”
Calz looked at Digger and grinned, sheepishly. “If she thinks Peko is me, then she’ll welcome him with open arms.”
Virus interrupted from the front of the ship. “Should’ve put some gray in Peko’s hair if you wanted to pull that off.”
Digger and Rece chuckled as Calz pointed at Lig. “Careful, we’ve got her now. You’re expendable.”
Virus laughed and turned back to his data pad.
Scarp tugged his hair out of the overhead webbing and bent lower to stare at the schematic.
“Who’s she?”
Calz looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
“The owner of the cruiser we’re stealing.”
Cap loosened his restraining straps and strode to the rear starboard section of the gunship where he patched his wrist-projector into a sprawling comm bank. The panels displayed a multitude of colored lights and waveforms, revealing the equipment’s extraordinary Intel capabilities. Normally, RMP-2388 would be manning this station, but he was sitting alert with his brothers, checking his kit, his face identically impassive as the rest of the team as they waited for Cap’s next command. ’42 and ’67 were standing with their backs to each other at huge, floor mounted tripods. Their hands gripped slender stocks and their thumbs hovered over the firing switches. The bodies of the grapplers were deceptively compact, but the menacing, multi-barbed hooks that emerged from the front of each device left nothing to the imagination.
Calz dipped his finger into the projection and highlighted a cavernous space in the center. The buildings around it receded to nothing and enhanced details appeared on the three dimensional schematic.
“The docking bay has two exits,” he pointed at a bright square in one corner, “Peko and the Jedi will enter here, infiltrate the cruiser and open the loading hatch.”
“What if she puts up a fight?”
Calz looked at Digger and grinned, sheepishly. “If she thinks Peko is me, then she’ll welcome him with open arms.”
Virus interrupted from the front of the ship. “Should’ve put some gray in Peko’s hair if you wanted to pull that off.”
Digger and Rece chuckled as Calz pointed at Lig. “Careful, we’ve got her now. You’re expendable.”
Virus laughed and turned back to his data pad.
Scarp tugged his hair out of the overhead webbing and bent lower to stare at the schematic.
“Who’s she?”
Calz looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
“The owner of the cruiser we’re stealing.”
Cap loosened his restraining straps and strode to the rear starboard section of the gunship where he patched his wrist-projector into a sprawling comm bank. The panels displayed a multitude of colored lights and waveforms, revealing the equipment’s extraordinary Intel capabilities. Normally, RMP-2388 would be manning this station, but he was sitting alert with his brothers, checking his kit, his face identically impassive as the rest of the team as they waited for Cap’s next command. ’42 and ’67 were standing with their backs to each other at huge, floor mounted tripods. Their hands gripped slender stocks and their thumbs hovered over the firing switches. The bodies of the grapplers were deceptively compact, but the menacing, multi-barbed hooks that emerged from the front of each device left nothing to the imagination.
Cap keyed in his pass code and the face of another Jango Fett clone shimmered into view. Cap saluted as the face spoke.
“RMP-0019, report.”
“Positive identification, Commander. We will be intercepting target in ninety seconds.”
A sudden flickering on the face was caused by electro-static interference from Kiffu, not through any emotional response from the clone commander.
“Message received, Captain. I will contact Lord Vader immediately. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cap switched off the holo-link and turned to his men. Their blue armor gleamed, highlighted by violet slashes flitting through the door slits; their black shoulder pads denoted their status in the newly formed Republic Military Police and their new helmets, with the vertically extended visors, framed their hardened features. Cap couldn’t be prouder. He faced the front of the ship and gripped his rifle.
“’32, open the doors.”
The black gunship, commandeered and repainted by the Ashes over a week ago, hung motionless in the sky half a click outside the town walls, testament to Carud’s piloting skills as he countered the electro shock waves of Kiffu’s ceaseless storms. Calz stood at his shoulder and tapped him lightly on the helmet.
“The wind direction is perfect, ner’vod. How about conjuring up a little cover for our departure?”
“I hear you, Sarge,” nodded Carud, and he tapped a short command into his armament panel, loading a low yield seismic charge into one of the ship’s belly tubes.
“Smokescreen away.” He fired the tube, blasting the tiny device into the arid desert below them. The charge commenced to burrow for five meters through dry, orange clay and rock before exploding in a shower of pebbles and dust. The cloud of debris caught the breeze, and drifted towards Miner’s Rest.
“Perfect,” grinned Calz, “perfect, son. I haven’t seen this much dust since Geonosis…”
Suddenly his com-link burst into life and Peko’s urgent voice yelled in his ear.
“Sarge! Watch your sixes, we’ve encountered a Blue Boy, and where there’s one…”
“There’s a squad.” Calz finished. “Status?”
“He’s out cold, Sarge, but unconfirmed if he called in the troops.”
“Get that cruiser’s hatch open, Peko, we’re coming in.”
“Roger that, Sarge.”
Scarp made his way over to Calz.
“Blue Boys?”
“Police,” replied Calz, silently gesturing to the rest of his men, who immediately assumed defensive positions on either side of the ship, “The RMP has been on our tails for a week now. I think they’re looking to prove their worth.”
He strode to the middle of the gunship and ushered the younglings into a depression between two crates.
“Stay here, things could get messy.”
“But we…” Soolad began.
“Do as he says!” Scarp bellowed, and he swung his broadsaber from his back; no easy feat in the cramped quarters.
“RMP-0019, report.”
“Positive identification, Commander. We will be intercepting target in ninety seconds.”
A sudden flickering on the face was caused by electro-static interference from Kiffu, not through any emotional response from the clone commander.
“Message received, Captain. I will contact Lord Vader immediately. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cap switched off the holo-link and turned to his men. Their blue armor gleamed, highlighted by violet slashes flitting through the door slits; their black shoulder pads denoted their status in the newly formed Republic Military Police and their new helmets, with the vertically extended visors, framed their hardened features. Cap couldn’t be prouder. He faced the front of the ship and gripped his rifle.
“’32, open the doors.”
The black gunship, commandeered and repainted by the Ashes over a week ago, hung motionless in the sky half a click outside the town walls, testament to Carud’s piloting skills as he countered the electro shock waves of Kiffu’s ceaseless storms. Calz stood at his shoulder and tapped him lightly on the helmet.
“The wind direction is perfect, ner’vod. How about conjuring up a little cover for our departure?”
“I hear you, Sarge,” nodded Carud, and he tapped a short command into his armament panel, loading a low yield seismic charge into one of the ship’s belly tubes.
“Smokescreen away.” He fired the tube, blasting the tiny device into the arid desert below them. The charge commenced to burrow for five meters through dry, orange clay and rock before exploding in a shower of pebbles and dust. The cloud of debris caught the breeze, and drifted towards Miner’s Rest.
“Perfect,” grinned Calz, “perfect, son. I haven’t seen this much dust since Geonosis…”
Suddenly his com-link burst into life and Peko’s urgent voice yelled in his ear.
“Sarge! Watch your sixes, we’ve encountered a Blue Boy, and where there’s one…”
“There’s a squad.” Calz finished. “Status?”
“He’s out cold, Sarge, but unconfirmed if he called in the troops.”
“Get that cruiser’s hatch open, Peko, we’re coming in.”
“Roger that, Sarge.”
Scarp made his way over to Calz.
“Blue Boys?”
“Police,” replied Calz, silently gesturing to the rest of his men, who immediately assumed defensive positions on either side of the ship, “The RMP has been on our tails for a week now. I think they’re looking to prove their worth.”
He strode to the middle of the gunship and ushered the younglings into a depression between two crates.
“Stay here, things could get messy.”
“But we…” Soolad began.
“Do as he says!” Scarp bellowed, and he swung his broadsaber from his back; no easy feat in the cramped quarters.
Carud swore from the front of the ship and craned his head back. “Sarge, this dust cloud has fouled up my sensors, it’s as good as an EMP!”
“Use your eyes then, Carud.”
“Viz is down to ten meters, Sarge. We could be… wait! There’s something to port!”
Calz rushed to the side of the ship and peered through one of the slats, then leapt back, pulling Digger and Rece with him. “Down!” he yelled, just as the ship rocked sideways as a grappling hook burst through the door like it was flimsi-film. The soldiers leapt to their feet, their yells muffled by the sound of the squealing crunch of tearing metal, and the entire door flew off and into the cloud. Orange dust filled the cabin and those without helmets had to cover their mouths.
Calz stood defiantly in the now exposed flank and shouted into the air.
“We won’t fight you, ner’vod!”
A dark shadow slowly solidified as the Police LAAT hovered into view, and Scarp could see six, blue-clad troopers with their guns raised and one at a grappler which was at that moment disengaging the cable that held the gunship door.
Scarp watched as one of the policemen stepped to the edge of their own craft, and he could see though the large visor that he was identical to every other clone he had known. The man yelled back.
“That makes things easier, Calz! You’re under arrest.”
“What’s your name, soldier?”
I’m not a soldier any more,” replied Cap, and my name is RMP-0019. Now, power down.”
“You know I can’t do that, ner’vod.”
“I am not your brother, Calz. You and the other traitors have no family.”
Scarp saw Rece bristle at this remark, as had Calz who placed a hand on Rece’s chest.
“Leave it, son,” he said quietly, “they are the traitors.”
Cap yelled once more across the swirling divide. “Final warning, power down!”
Calz looked at Scarp. “I can’t kill my brothers.”
Scarp returned his gaze with compassion. “There are alternatives, Sergeant. Soolad!”
The little Bith poked his bulbous head out from between the crates. “Master?”
Scarp gestured for him to join him. “I may need your help.”
Cap watched as his quarry appeared to huddle in a conference. He squinted as he tried to make out the two other figures standing by the clones. One was a giant humanoid, and the other one appeared to be a child. He spoke loud enough so that his men could hear him.
“Prepare yourselves. Sergeant Calz will not come quietly.”
Suddenly he heard one of his men mutter, “What is that?”
Cap turned, just in time to see a spinning blur of red and blue light disappear under his ship’s belly. There was a blinding flash and the LAAT lurched sideways. Cap found himself on top of a pile of his own men, staring at the open sky through the doorway.
“Pec stabilizers are gone, Captain! We’re going down!”
It was his pilot’s voice, and now the sky was starting to rotate above him. The sight was almost mesmerizing, but his current predicament took precedence.
“Level out!”
“I can’t, Captain! Five seconds to impact!”
Cap braced himself, and the final seconds seemed to stretch out forever. After a while he realized that they really had stretched out, and ten seconds later he opened his eyes and saw his men slowly untangling themselves and standing up, all of them walking towards the open door which displayed the electrified landscape of Kiffu. They had landed. But how?
“Captain, I can’t explain this, but…”
“Quiet, ’32! Find a working comm and contact the Commander. They need to know a Jedi is down here!”
Calz looked in astonishment at the huge Jedi Knight and the tiny Bith as they slumped together, sweating, in the middle of the cabin. He had watched the man’s saber fly out and take off the police ship’s stabilizers, and saw them spin down to certain doom, and then watched as Scarp and the youngling had reached out with their hands, grasping at invisible threads, and lowered the ailing ship gently to the ground. He had seen it all, yet he still didn’t believe it.
“Use your eyes then, Carud.”
“Viz is down to ten meters, Sarge. We could be… wait! There’s something to port!”
Calz rushed to the side of the ship and peered through one of the slats, then leapt back, pulling Digger and Rece with him. “Down!” he yelled, just as the ship rocked sideways as a grappling hook burst through the door like it was flimsi-film. The soldiers leapt to their feet, their yells muffled by the sound of the squealing crunch of tearing metal, and the entire door flew off and into the cloud. Orange dust filled the cabin and those without helmets had to cover their mouths.
Calz stood defiantly in the now exposed flank and shouted into the air.
“We won’t fight you, ner’vod!”
A dark shadow slowly solidified as the Police LAAT hovered into view, and Scarp could see six, blue-clad troopers with their guns raised and one at a grappler which was at that moment disengaging the cable that held the gunship door.
Scarp watched as one of the policemen stepped to the edge of their own craft, and he could see though the large visor that he was identical to every other clone he had known. The man yelled back.
“That makes things easier, Calz! You’re under arrest.”
“What’s your name, soldier?”
I’m not a soldier any more,” replied Cap, and my name is RMP-0019. Now, power down.”
“You know I can’t do that, ner’vod.”
“I am not your brother, Calz. You and the other traitors have no family.”
Scarp saw Rece bristle at this remark, as had Calz who placed a hand on Rece’s chest.
“Leave it, son,” he said quietly, “they are the traitors.”
Cap yelled once more across the swirling divide. “Final warning, power down!”
Calz looked at Scarp. “I can’t kill my brothers.”
Scarp returned his gaze with compassion. “There are alternatives, Sergeant. Soolad!”
The little Bith poked his bulbous head out from between the crates. “Master?”
Scarp gestured for him to join him. “I may need your help.”
Cap watched as his quarry appeared to huddle in a conference. He squinted as he tried to make out the two other figures standing by the clones. One was a giant humanoid, and the other one appeared to be a child. He spoke loud enough so that his men could hear him.
“Prepare yourselves. Sergeant Calz will not come quietly.”
Suddenly he heard one of his men mutter, “What is that?”
Cap turned, just in time to see a spinning blur of red and blue light disappear under his ship’s belly. There was a blinding flash and the LAAT lurched sideways. Cap found himself on top of a pile of his own men, staring at the open sky through the doorway.
“Pec stabilizers are gone, Captain! We’re going down!”
It was his pilot’s voice, and now the sky was starting to rotate above him. The sight was almost mesmerizing, but his current predicament took precedence.
“Level out!”
“I can’t, Captain! Five seconds to impact!”
Cap braced himself, and the final seconds seemed to stretch out forever. After a while he realized that they really had stretched out, and ten seconds later he opened his eyes and saw his men slowly untangling themselves and standing up, all of them walking towards the open door which displayed the electrified landscape of Kiffu. They had landed. But how?
“Captain, I can’t explain this, but…”
“Quiet, ’32! Find a working comm and contact the Commander. They need to know a Jedi is down here!”
Calz looked in astonishment at the huge Jedi Knight and the tiny Bith as they slumped together, sweating, in the middle of the cabin. He had watched the man’s saber fly out and take off the police ship’s stabilizers, and saw them spin down to certain doom, and then watched as Scarp and the youngling had reached out with their hands, grasping at invisible threads, and lowered the ailing ship gently to the ground. He had seen it all, yet he still didn’t believe it.
The air whipped through the exposed cabin, clearing out some of the dust as Carud flew the ship over the town walls and directly to the open-topped docking bay. Digger looked over the edge, and grinned when he saw Pel standing on the roof of a cruiser, its dorsal load bay open wide and ready to receive its package of AWOL clones.
As Carud skillfully piloted the craft downwards through the hatch, Pel leaped on and glanced at his brother and Soolad.
“So, what have you been up to?” he winked, “We thought you weren’t coming.”
As the ship’s debris-clogged thrusters finally powered down, Calz turned to his men.
“We’re not out of this yet, boys. Grab your lids and ‘15’s. Carud, get our new crate into the air.”
Calz’s men shouted their affirmation in unison, and went about their heavily practiced routines.
Calz turned to Scarp and Pel. “They know we’ve got Jedi with us. That’s going to bring down more heat than you could ever expect.”
Scarp pushed a few sodden strands of hair from his eyes and fixed the Sergeant with a smile.
“You have five Jedi with you, Sarge. That’s more heat than they’ll ever expect.”
As Carud skillfully piloted the craft downwards through the hatch, Pel leaped on and glanced at his brother and Soolad.
“So, what have you been up to?” he winked, “We thought you weren’t coming.”
As the ship’s debris-clogged thrusters finally powered down, Calz turned to his men.
“We’re not out of this yet, boys. Grab your lids and ‘15’s. Carud, get our new crate into the air.”
Calz’s men shouted their affirmation in unison, and went about their heavily practiced routines.
Calz turned to Scarp and Pel. “They know we’ve got Jedi with us. That’s going to bring down more heat than you could ever expect.”
Scarp pushed a few sodden strands of hair from his eyes and fixed the Sergeant with a smile.
“You have five Jedi with you, Sarge. That’s more heat than they’ll ever expect.”
Lig and Janst’orr emerged from their hiding place and joined the others as they disembarked one ship for another. Janst’orr watched as clones and force-users helped each other down from the deck. “Now where are we going?”
When no answer was forthcoming, she hoisted up her robes, and ran to join her tiny clan as they followed the clones into the depths of the ship.
When no answer was forthcoming, she hoisted up her robes, and ran to join her tiny clan as they followed the clones into the depths of the ship.
3 comments:
Good stuff. I like that the police clones are numbers, while the 'good' clones still have their nicknames. It's a nice symbol of their different outlook on orders and their role in the galaxy.
Thanks, rj.
I have nothing against cops, but the military police have always been vilified, and I wanted to bring an element into the tale reinforcing the clones' nature as 'product' rather than people.
Excellent turn of events, nobby. No haven for our heroes.
Ah, but who are the heroes????
I have my opinion. (that would be the Jedi and "rogue" clones!)
Although I have no idea how far you are taking this story, you can be assured that I'll be back for more!
What a ride!
:-)
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