Hail and Farwell

I created this several years back entirely meaning to make it into a writing blog. Finally doing that. Will attempt to post several times a week. Sometimes I cry over cartoons.

[muteashes]

Obi-Wan was with a small scouting unit, working through their designated route when he spotted the small store. One of the signs, hanging by a cord, swung slowly in light wind, read; Wyope! Fine things and More! It made Obi-Wan take a second look at the place. The display, window broken but still somehow pristine, is what made Obi-Wan stop.

“What’s the situation?” The scout leader tapped in.

Obi-Wan tapped back the all clear signal. “There’s something I want to look into real quick.”

“Is this going to be a Camp Pointe all over again?” Boil asked. Almost, but not quite snide.

Part of Obi-Wan was proud of the troopers. A year ago they never would have said anything to him. Obi-Wan just wished it was less criticizing.

“I’m just going to take a look!” Obi-Wan assured, “It will just be a moment.”

“As you say, sir,” Boil said politely. Then, as if off to the side, “Alright Bravo, be ready for a Camp Pointe.” The radio clicked off.

Obi-Wan sighed as he slid off the bike. The troops would never forget that, to his embarrassment.

He took care to step over the broken window pane, reaching out to steady himself on the old table in the center of the little platform. One of the display lights still seemed to have power and blinked sadly at him.

On the table was a showing of various objects. Reaching for one, Obi-Wan caught sight of his hands again, smudged black with soot and dust.

He hesitated, then undid his cloth belt from his robe. The long fabric was soft and still surprisingly white in parts. He carefully wrapped the belt around his hands making a sort of makeshift glove. Satisfied he gently picked up one of the items on the far edge of the display. Almost hidden behind the other items, as if it was an afterthought.

Obi-Wan turned it over. There was a tiny transcript, a tiny golden flower with the translated words ‘first edition.’

The world seemed to slow down at the moment. Like fighting through a thick fog, heart suddenly loud and blaring as it pounded in his chest. The words on the text seemed to get blurry. Blinking, he realized his hands were shaking.

When Obi-Wan had been young, the later years of the creche, Nu had once found him in the archives. He had tried to climb onto the large cases in the back rooms to get a look of what was inside. She had shown him, hands gentle as she flipped it open. Letting him press down on it curiously. Something he had never seen one before, everything now on datapads, but this was a book. The paper light and fragile. The odd smooth-scratchy feeling of the whatever was used as parchment. The smell of it like a quite room with the sun filtering through; soft and brilliant.

No one made books anymore. The last he had heard being printed had been several hundred years ago. It was a collection of myths and legends of the monks of what was now Byss. The Fragile Path it said, underneath Obi-Wan’s careful touch.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathed reverently.

That was when he also started to notice a distant whistling sound. Slowly, the walls of the building seemed to start to shake with the noise of it. One of the strange ornaments on the table tipped over, a metallic ball bouncing off the edge.

The force screamed.

Obi-Wan clutched the book and dove.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, the air was heavy with dust and he was staring at a backside of plastoid armour.

He opened his mouth, to say what he hadn’t decided, and instead half coughed up his lung. Throat tight and dry. It was like he had swallowed a knife.

“Easy, sir,” someone murmured. A hand touched his shoulder. Waxer. It was Waxer he realized belatedly. Everything seemed to spin slowly. His head hanging down did not help.

“Next time we stay on mission, yeah?” The backside of the trooper moved. Boil, then. Was he being carried? Why was everything so loud? He could barely hear his own thoughts. Something waved in front of his face.

“He’s concussed,” Waxer said. Like he was speaking to someone else. The cool plastoid shifted beneath him.

There was something he needed to remember, Obi-Wan knew. He couldn’t quite grasp what it was, shifting through the foggy mess of his mind.

His skin shook.

“This is such a Camp Pointe,” Boil growled. The shaking happened again. His head along with it. It was a noise. The shaking recharge of a laser cannon.

“Rollies! Down, down, down!” Waxer yelled.

Obi-Wan found himself staring up at the dusty clouds above. Boil was crouched protectively over him, as he shot as something. Waxer was swearing somewhere ahead.

Obi-Wan blinked and the light of the sun filtered like haze onto them.

Beyond them the rolling spheres of droidekas. The sun reflecting off their hard shells like a beacon.

Obi-Wan half dragged an arm ahead of him. He had to- his mind felt like a hammer. The air thick as he stretched his hand out.

The air started a slow shimmer. Boil half yelled something before ducking over Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had to- the shaking of the cannon again, and Obi-Wan clutched the air in a desperate fist, the shrieking noise of crushing metal like a hammer in his head.

“Osik,” Waxer laughed. “That was something, sir.”

“Still a Camp Pointe,” Boil agreed lightly.

“Oh gods,” Obi-Wan groaned, everything was spinning. He was done. Let him be done.

*

“Waxer said you wouldn’t let go of this when they found you,” Cody nudged forward the oddly wrapped package to the edge of the desk.

Obi-Wan raised a hand to brace it without thinking. A moment later he realized what it was. Carefully unfolding the wrap, his fingers lightly pressed down into the cover in wonder. He had remembered the book when he had woken up in medical. He’d near jumped out of the bed, waking with a sudden start, and had to deal with half of medical dog piling on him to keep him down.

“I didn’t think it made it out,” Obi-Wan admitted. All at once a great wave of love for his clones rose in him. He looked up at Cody and smiled.

Cody reached across the table, brushing a hand against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Careful, sir, he murmured quietly. “Your feelings are showing.”

“Do you know what this is, my Dear?” Obi-Wan had to ask. He tapped the book lightly. Cody look down at it with a arched eyebrow.

“Other then a binding of flimsi?” Cody humored him.

“It’s not flimsi, Cody. It’s paper. They stopped using it long before even flimsi became a novelty.” Obi-Wan felt that encroaching giddiness again. At least his hands weren’t shaking this time. “This is cultural history, something that should be preserved. It’s cost is infinite.”

“It apparently cost enough that you got yourself blown up,” Cody drolly pointed out.

“Well,” Obi-Wan shrugged. Guilty, but also not terribly sorry. “Yes, you have a point.”

Cody dropped his head into a palm, laughing roughly. “What will I do with you, cyare?”

“Just bare with me, my Dear.” Obi-Wan reached back across to ruffle Cody’s hair lightly. He played the last few moments over in his head. Something was nagging him. Then, like lightning, it hit him. Obi-Wan swore and jumped back.

“What’s wrong?” Cody jerked up and was standing, ready to respond.

“I think we just stole this,” Obi-Wan admitted, back to gripping the book desperately.

[nereiix]

A young Wolffe meeting a loth-wolf…

Experimenting with colored sketches. :) The ambient colors are based on a screenshot from Star Wars Rebels.

[muteashes]

Bacara. I admit, I have no idea how to write a letter, but I find I am willing to try, just to have a few more words with you. I was told a letter should include the dailies and the how are yous. So, we have recently completed a recent campaign on some desert in the middle of no-where. Fighting in low-g is still just as fun as ever. We almost lost a shiney as he shot up toward atmo, but our Jedi-Commander pulled him back down.

There was this monument and it was old. Tall and strangely weathered in the low atmosphere - though maybe there was a atmosphere here before and it died as the planet had died. General Skywalker said the monument was meant to direct a soul higher. It had these carved little marks around the base of it. I don’t know what they were for, but it made me think of you somehow.

I have been doing that a lot lately. At the oddest time, I will see something completely unrelated and I will be reminded of how you take your coffee, or of that little tattoo on your hip. These lasting impressions I have of you, and I wonder what you have of me. Have I left a mark yet? — Rex *

Bacara’s alert pinged while he over saw the withdrawal on a combat zone that was still hot. As the last of Nova shred across airspace, Bacara leaned against the LAAT’s seat rest and pulled up the delayed messages. And there were the words directed at him from across a galaxy. Something in his heart, he hadn’t even noticed was off, had settled. Bacara had reread the letter immediately after, then another dozen times that day.

A week had past before he had staked out the corner of the command office and tried to write back.

On the third week of our deployment-

Bacara stopped. His hand hovering over the datapad. This already sounded like a sit-rep. Bacara deleted the one line he had written.

This past week I have been given the opportunity-

Now it just sounded curt. Bacara slashed it off the screen. The datapad gave a happy little beep. Bacara dropped his head into his palm. This was harder then Rex had made it seem. How should he even start? He found himself grasping at words that failed to come out.

“How do you write a non-regulation letter?” Bacara asked the room when he had managed to sit back up. The room, in that case, was Jet as he lounged on the couch, feet on the arm rest while he flipped through reports. Jet had lowered the datapad from where it nearly covered his face, and had eyed him over it cautiously.

“Is this a trick question?” Jet dropped the report he had been reading. “Did Neyo set you up to this?”

“No.” He debated it for a moment, eying Jet who seemed to realize he had given something away. How could Neyo be involved in this? Bacara watched the other commander. Jet did a good job at hiding it, but something about him said panicky. Embarrassing then; for Jet, and Bacara by proxy. “I don’t want to know,” He decided out loud. Jet looked relieved.

Jet dropped his feet off the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“What sort of letter?”

Bacara thought again of the the Rex’s note, “Someone wanted to keep in touch with me.” He traced the bottom frame of the datapad, strangely not willing to look up. He felt exposed, like a part of him was laid bare.

Jet huffed, when Bacara dragged his head back up Jet was smiling warmly. He was always able to depend on Jet, Bacara was reminded then.

It took a little digging, but Jet had samples. A pile of datapads scattered around the officer’s desk. For the most part, Bacara suspected them to be romance novels. Maybe this was a hint, of some sort, that Jet knew. Or maybe this is what Jet read in his off time. Bacara poked at one with the stylus one of the third shift officers had left behind. Highly suspect, but serviceable.

I received your letter, Bacara started. Hopefully this will successfully reroute to you on our next databurst.

It felt awkward, as though he was talking to the screen. This is Rex, he reminded himself. Staring at the form, he could recall when Rex had smiled at him back at Coruscant on the rare turnover Nova had in the core.

He had been in a mash up of dress pants, but a civilian top that Bacara had snagged at curiously to feel the strange fabric. The lights of ads overhead made his skin glow a soft orange gold, and Rex leaned forward and had smiled that smile that was slowly driving Bacara mad weeks later. “I think I like you, Commander,” Rex had said into the space between them.

There has been an infinite number of times these past few weeks where I have found myself thinking of you as well.

Later Jet had dragged him to the mess, insisting eating time was not working time. He needed a break, force take him.

At the long table, across from him sat Neyo looking pleased with himself as Jet stared at him balefully. Bacara safely chose to ignore them.

Neyo was halfway through telling them about his assignment for the last tenday; what sounded like a quiet escort mission, but he set it up to play as a heavy action reconnaissance adventure. At some point a squirrel had somehow become a deep cover espionage agent.

One of the mess-hall main doors opened to excited shouts. Bacara turned around in time to watch as trooper Bugs slid into the hall on his back. He was excited, laughing as he tried to scramble up but fell down. His joy did not stop as his foot slid out from under him a second time. He was covered in a shiny slime that did not appear to be helping.

Later, as Bacara watched the troopers that had filled the corridor with grease to make it into a slippery slide do another lap in full kit, he felt for a moment that he could just turn his head and Rex would be there. As if Bacara could just look over and Rex would tilt his head and say a joke about grease and energy. Except he wasn’t there and like a punch to the sternum, Bacara was left reeling.

He understood what Rex said about how so many things reminded him of Bacara. He felt the same way everyday.

I miss you, Bacara wrote, and everyday I miss you more.

[muteashes]

his version of a kingdom

Wolffe is a space mermaid. Part of the monster AUs Also on AO3.

It’s in the hyperlanes the giant creature circles them. Hard to see, it’s just impressions of a long dark body.

“It’s alright!” General Skywalker yells. He jumps over the observational platform and gets closer to the viewpoint window. “I’d never thought I’d get to see one,” He laughs, a barking thing of surprise and joy. “Obi-Wan will be so jealous!”

“What is it?” Ashoka asks. She’s beside Rex, watching as something the looks like a glowing fin flashes out ahead of them.

“A space ghost!” Anakin grins, “No one knows what they are, we just get sightings every once in awhile from traders that frequent the hyperlanes.”

The room had quieted down, a few heads peeking in from the halls to see what was going on. The rippling muscle under a smooth black skin as it twists over the ship again.

“What’s it doing?” Rex leaned over the rail as it spun out of view.

“I don’t know,” Anakin shrugged.

“I don’t think it wants to hurt us,” Ashoka softly murmured. Her eyes have that glassy look as if she is listening to something very far.

“No,” Anakin agreed, still smiling out the window in delighted wonder, “It won’t hurt us.”

The great beast danced out of sight, everyone still quiet in the moments after. There is so much in the universe Rex has yet to see. That distant echo of possibility seems to sing to him. For a moment, he is reminded how vast the universe is.

This is why I wake up every morning, Rex thinks.

**

He falls asleep fast when he hits his night cycle. Instead of the comforting nothingness or the nonsensical remembrance of the past, he finds himself in the deep void of space, standing on a platform that looks almost like a belt of a galaxy. The cosmos stretch out behind and before him, the lights of a thousand stars singing and dying around him. It is beautiful, in that way something great and large and unknown can be beautiful from a distance.

It stills something in his heart, the void of distant space.

“Do you like it?” Someone asked. When Rex looked back up the path of stars, a clone he has never met stood a little ahead.

“What is this?” Rex walked up to meet him. With each step waves rippled out.

“Just a dream,” the clone said. Closer now Rex can make out the other’s face a bit better. His eyes are odd, one is nothing but black space, an odd oil sheen across it and the other seems almost like it’s mechanical. A scar stretches across the same eye as if someone had slashed it with a sharp blade.

“Well it’s an interesting dream,” Rex said. He grinned at this unknown brother. The other’s lips twitch as if the thought of a smile hadn’t quite made it yet. From his starboard side part of the sky seems to rotate. Closer, closer, till there is as spectacular view of clouds, dust and light.

Rex wondered what it was that created such a show.

“A star is being born,” the other told him. He looked to the side, watching Rex as Rex traced his eyes over the gaseous flames. “Do you like it?” He repeated into the quiet.

“Why would that matter?” Rex huffed a laugh. The other clone gaze was very intense.

“If you like it, it’s yours,” The clone held himself very collected. A straight line in the big empty space.

“And if I don’t?” Rex watched him now, half incredulous.

“I haven’t decided.”

**

“It’s back,” Rex said to no one several weeks later. He’s in the port side rec room that no one uses. One entire side of it is just a viewport. He can watch the space ghost better here, the ropes of long body that twist in and out as it dances around. Hyperspace is white streaks of light that frame the racing creature.

Just as before, it’s hard for Rex’s heart to truly grasp it. He feels small, in this great infinitesimal reaching glory.

He sits for hours, watching in the quiet of space.

**

“Have I met you before?” Rex asks the clone from his strange lucid dreams.

The clone blinked at him blandly. “I am Wolffe,” he said. His black, oily eye seemed to shine at him.

“Well, Wollfe, you’re an odd one.” Rex nudged him gently with his arm. Wolffe side-eyed him, it felt judging. “That’s not a bad thing,” Rex told him. Suddenly worried the vode would take it wrong.

From the corner of his eye he can see the space ghost, or parts of it, slip down below them. By the time Rex processes it and looks down, it is already gone.

“I love to watch the ghost,” Rex thought aloud. “It’s like something so full of wonder, I can barely comprehend it all.” Beside him Wolffe stayed silent, watched him with some sort of hidden amusement.

**

“Oh,” General Kenobi breathed. He is standing next to the comm station when the space ghost shows up mid jump. This time is different. The air seems to vibrate as if its a song that has been forgotten, just out of ear shot and something you know you’ve heard before. “I didn’t expect this.”

“I told you,” Anakin smirked. Beside him Ashoka seemed to fade in on herself as she listened.

“Is that safe?” Cody asked when part of the creature dipped in front of the fast traveling ship.

“It hasn’t hurt us yet,” Rex shook his head.

Kenobi looked up, as if he could see through the metal overhead. The strange song changed octave. The long-distance comms started a odd sort of static noise, as if picking up a mess of broken signal.

“I think it’s lonely,” Obi-Wan said. He closed his eyes, humming a weak flat imitation of the song reverberating in the air. “Plo would love this.”

“Master! Do you think we can record the singing?” Ashoka startled up at the thought.

“I’m not sure how we would,” Obi-Wan smiled. “I don’t believe that’s an actual sound.”

“It’s beautiful,” Rex said.

Obi-Wan looked at him fondly, “It is.”

**

“Are you lonely?” Rex asked later. He somehow knew he would dream this cycle. The idea had bothered him. The idea you could be that alone. In the dream Wolffe had sat on the star path, dragging his hand over it and watching the waves as the stars settled.

“Why would you ask that?” Wollfe leaned back, waving at the spot beside him. Rex took the offer, letting his legs hang over and into the dark space.

“I don’t know. General Kenobi seems to think the sea ghost is lonely. It got me thinking about what it’s like to be so far away from everyone you care for,” Wolffe leaned closer. The warmth of his shoulder a solid welcoming presence. The black eye had some specks in it, Rex realized. Small, little white lights, like the sky around them. “Are you lonely?” Rex repeated.

“Would you stay, if I asked you to?” Wolffe asked instead.

“I-” Rex cut himself off. Unsure. Is Wolffe just a dream? Is he a odd look at a memory Rex can’t remember? Everything about this feels so bright. Too bright for reality, maybe.

“Then why would it matter.” Wolffe’s tone is bitter. He looked tired. After a moment he began to hum a slow tune that felt almost familiar. It was odd, almost like there were several layers of it all doing a different part.

There is a tiny planet that orbits a few feet out. As he watched, the atmosphere seems to wave in dazzling displays of color as the magnetic field interacted with solar winds.

“There is so much I want to know,” Rex confided. “I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to find out.”

Something touched the back of his hand, when Rex looked down it’s to watch as Wolffe’s finger wind around his.

“Did you know,” Wolffe started, his voice light and misleading, “Stars are born as binary pairs? They circle each for millennia, till one gets far enough out it just shoots away.”

From the corner of his eye, Rex can see the dark shape of the space ghost as it rolled underneath.

[muteashes]

I had plans for this? And then I forgot them lol so here is a part of a greater part that does not exists. Sometimes you just need dramatic love confessions

“I think I’ve always loved you,” Bacara said. He didn’t whisper it or say it softly. He said it like it was common knowledge though Rex was tripping over the sudden lack of air. Like a nerf had kicked him solid in the chest and he was still gasping for the breath that was forced out of him. “I think I loved you before I ever even met you. I would hear stories about you.

“I had this image in my head, of someone so much more everything then I was and I was afraid- I think. Of meeting you, at first.”

“That make no sense,” Rex found himself arguing. Bacara smiled slightly and Rex inanely wanted to- to do something. All at once he wanted equally whatever this was to just get over with all ready, and to stretch on and on.

“And then I met you,” Bacara dropped from his normal, emotionless after-action report. It fell low, as if in wonder. Rex resisted the sudden urge to lean in, he could hear it fine. Suddenly more aware of all his limbs and the space around him, how close Bacara stood. Still across the table, but Rex could feel the distance. Such a small place between them, but Bacara did not look away, “You were more then I could even imagine.”

Bacara reached out to him and Rex found himself frozen. All he could hear were the quiets puffs of breath between them. His heart in his ears, beating loud and present. Rex’s breath caught in his throat at the feel of Bacara’s fingers slid along his cheek and up over his temple. As if he was fragile. As if he was precious.

“I would do anything for you, Captain Rex,” Bacara promised and his smile grew. Force, his smile. Rex thoughts continued to grasp hopelessly at anything that made sense.  “All you have to do is ask.”

[muteashes]

“So, I’ve got an update,” It’s Rex that hisses it over the comms. Cody taps the link twice in acknowledgment.

“Due to- unforeseen circumstances,” There was a loud whistling screech over the comm, then a crashing noise. “We’re going to be a little delayed,” Another loud bang. Cody tapped the comm twice again. Then again when Rex didn’t immediately respond.

“Uh… I’ll get back to you?” Was that a question. It was definitely a question. Cody smashed the comm furiously only for it to turn off with a click when the other line dropped. Cody felt deep in his soul, as he had numerous times since Rex had rammed into his life, that Rex was a danger to anyone within five meters of him. Ten on bad days. He stared at the tiny bolt in the metal sheet above him; he had absolutely no problem blaming Rex for all of this.

Stuck in a very small vent and having to remain silent, odds were Rex was taking advantage of that. The tight ductwork he was in creaked and shuddered unexpectedly, Cody braced against one wall and peeked down through the grates at the assassin droids that were positioned in the hall below him. No sign they’d heard.

General Kenobi slid his arm out where he had adjusted it, grimacing in apology.

“News?” Obi-Wan breathed out.

“Delayed,” Cody mouthed. Obi-Wan grimaced again. The whole length of him a warm line that almost burned through Cody’s armour, trapped together and unable to move. It was both comforting and terribly nerve racking.

Below one of the droids shuffled to the deck window.

“Why is it always raining?” The droid complained. The tried and true complaint of any soldier, even droids, was always on the weather. “I’m going to be rusting by morning.”

Obi-Wan grinned at that, as if the droid was the most amusing thing in the world at that moment.

It would be easy, Cody thought, to reach up and kiss that smile.

Obi-Wan’s eyes slid to meet his, his eyes warm and filled with everything Cody wanted in the galaxy.

Psssss shhhhhhhhh

A loud click noise like a valve released. The droids below them shuffled around.

“What was that?” A droid yelled.

“Incoming!” Rex yelled in their comms.

[muteashes]

the distant stars

A Ship Who Sang/Brainships AU. Yes. I said what I said

“You’ve got a rather stiff one,” the requisition officer had advised on the way up. Obi-Wan shared a look with Anakin. Neither were sure what they would be facing. As the memo had said, they were to receive ships. It seemed, as they walked down the long empty halls, that that may have meant more then the obvious.

They hadn’t encountered anyone since they left the hanger, there was maybe a handful on board when it could house thousands. All they could hear was the faint hum of minimum life support and the faint hiss of a emergency lights. It was all eerily quiet without other lifeforms around.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” Anakin asked.

The officer shrugged, “They keep all crew and personal at a bare minimum on the new designs until they get command set up. We have several units ready to move in once their given the all clear.”

“Wouldn’t any officer have worked? I can’t imagine moving the ship here from Kamino on minimum staff was easy,” Obi-Wan questioned.

The officer hesitated, “It’s per protocol, sir.” He was suddenly uncomfortable, that was easy to tell, but he wasn’t trying to deceive. Obi-Wan and Anakin shared another look.

They had reached the end of the main hall. The officer waved the door open, leading them into the darkened control center.

“This is your jedi,” he had announced before promptly turning around, ushering Anakin out of the door.

“Hey!” Anakin yelled as he was shoved out. The doors hissed shut, leaving Obi-Wan alone a large room.

Obi-Wan took a slow look around, his breath puffing out clouds in the refrigerated air. The entire room around him was a massive network. He could see the bio-luminescent fuel lines that fed into the main engine and the computer in front of him. On the holo screen a little light was fixed on him, glowing a steady yellow. With nothing else to do, Obi-Wan moved closer to the mainframe.

With the soft whir of the comm systems, the room slowly started to turn on. The command consoles flashing to life. One by one, the lights lining the aisle eased on, leading a straight path to head of the room. At the end of the command deck, by the navigational systems a holoprojector flickered up.

The projection was of a young man, much like the requisitions officer, looking exactly like one of the millions he had seen at Kamino, and then Genosis. Obi-Wan looked at the projector which stared back calmly, something very different was going on here. Very different and very strange. Obi-Wan shivered, the force whispered, as if so many things had been leading to this moment. It felt like a gentle brush down his back.

“Commander Cody, ready for duty, sir,” The holo-image saluted. Quite filled the room after, as if waiting.

Obi-Wan looked around the still empty room, unsure.

“Hello, Commander.” Obi-Wan folded his arms back into his robe. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Though I am a bit confused why the grand setup to meet you over holo.” The image flickered briefly. The young man frowned, serious as he dropped his salute.

“I am a advanced class hybrid ship command,” The holo paused, “Your ship board command structure.” Maybe Obi-Wan had looked confused. Or maybe he could guess. The commander’s voice softened as he admitted, “I don’t know what else to say, sir.”

“It’s ok,” Obi-Wan smiled encouragingly, “I think I’m just missing something.” Cody smiled back. The air felt light as though it shivered. Whatever it was, Obi-Wan assumed he had done something right so far. “Are you stationed on Coruscant?”

“I’m stationed here, General,” Cody said, quietly. The Commander looked at him for a moment before seeming to decide on something, “Sir, have you been briefed on the advanced hybrid ships?”

“I’m afraid we weren’t really told anything before they sent us out here,” Obi-Wan confided.

“Right,” Cody said. “Right,” He repeated softly. The oddest thing, Obi-Wan could have sworn he actually felt him through the force, as if for one moment Commander Cody had been standing in front of him instead of just his holo, and he was nervous. “To be blunt, sir, I am the ship.” Obi-Wan stared at the young man. Did he mean what Obi-Wan thought he meant? Cody continued, looking somewhere not quite at the jedi, “My brothers call us brain-ships. Which is fitting, I believe.”

Obi-Wan stared at the young man, mind whirling. He could tell Anakin had noticed his nerves when he brushed against his mind inquisitively. Obi-Wan brushed him off in assurance, he was fine. Tentatively he reached out with the force to see what was there, and he could sense Anakin and the officer still out in the hall. Farther down several clones clattered around in the hull and farther still was the shuttle pilot who had brought them here as they returned back to the orbital station.

It was quiet, so quiet he had ignored it before, there was that steady hum at his feet and in the walls. Like all he needed to do was acknowledge it and suddenly he could feel everything. It was one large encompassing being, surrounding him. The hum of the engines, the heartbeat of the living ship. Slowly, slowly, every part becoming aware of him in return. The force sang with it, as if to say Welcome! Welcome! leaving him grasping at the lightening feeling.

“Hello, there,” Obi-Wan whispered in awe. He could feel as the whole ship, as Cody started something that felt entirely like a restart. Every console and control turning full systems on. The warmth of him surrounding the everything.

“Hello,” Cody said from the holo projector. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, General.”

[muteashes]

There used to be stories some of the CTs told to each other. Mostly things that the trainers had told them, old campfire tales that were meant to make you jump at every shadow. Like the krayt dragons and the rancors. The old warlords and the legends of sith.

There was also the stories of the command class.

They were stranded in the middle of a swamp planet when Rex is reminded of this.

“I used to hear stories about how you would scare some of the CT classes.” Rex brought up where he’s propped against a very convenient tree. Half his body is a bruise and the other half is fine in the way of not-pain which means tomorrow it will probably be his whole body that hurts.

“Are you scared?” Wolffe asked lightly, where he kneeled next to Rex as he stripped a mangled comm unit. Rex considered it. He never realized how accurate some of those stories had been. In the shaded light of dusk, Wolffe’s eye shined in a way that wasn’t entirely human. When he had grinned earlier as they had dug through the downed ancient fighter unit from some battle ages ago, his teeth had seemed awfully sharp.

“I don’t think you would ever hurt me,” Rex said instead. Fear was unconscious and of the unknown. He knew Wolffe though. Or the part of Wolffe he was willing to show others. Some of his batchmates also used to tell Rex he had more bravery then sense when it came to his own safety.

Wolffe chuckled, reaching out he rubbed the fuzz on Rex’s head, Rex smacked his arm away. “I won’t let anything hurt you either, puppy.”

[muteashes]

Note: If you have seen this on AO3 I made some edits to cut up paragraph length for mobile viewers

**

“Cody? What in the world?” Obi-Wan stands over the balcony ledge, eyes wide in surprise as he takes in his Commander hanging from the rail.

Cody closed his eyes, wondering how he keeps getting into these situations. “Sir,” He said, as if he hadn’t just been caught climbing into his general’s quarters.

Somewhere either his line of communication or the clones on watch had failed. The other man should have been at a dinner party celebrating some jedi’s recent knighthood. The potential failure would have to be addressed later, in case there is an underlying problem that could show itself while in the field. Obi-Wan moved further in as Cody dragged himself over the ledge.

When he had righted himself, Obi-Wan had folded his arms back into his sleeves and was pulling off ‘disappointed jedi master’ surprisingly well for all that he was in a bathrobe.

“Nice clothes, sir,” Cody remarked. Obi-Wan looked down blankly before readjusting the belt. There was nothing under the bathrobe, Cody realized before his mind blanked for a moment. Your mind is a mirror, he reminded himself fiercely.

Cody brought himself to attention, staring straight ahead. In his peripheral he could just make out the slow shadow that crept into the adjoining antechamber.

“What were you even doing, Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, when he seemed to have decided his approach. Stern and commanding; clearly knowing something is up and if you confess now you maybe able to save yourself. Cody is familiar enough with the act, he has to do it at least once a tenday.

“Good question, sir,” Cody started, ready to drag this out as long as he could. Obi-Wan didn’t seem particularly mad. Cody had been worried. Nat-borns had a peculiar sense of privacy, and he had known he would be treading in it. He had just hoped to be gone before he was caught.

“Recent policy overwrites to GAR protocol calls for the encouragement of outside activities to lead to more stable mental and emotional response,” Obi-Wan expression didn’t change. “Recreational climbing, sir,” he offered at last.

“You only get that technical when your trying to bore your way out of a problem,” Obi-Wan critiqued, not impressed. Cody tipped his head up.

“It works,” Cody acknowledged. He could get General Skywalker’s eyes to go blank in one sentence. Obi-Wan smiled for a short second, before his face smoothed out.

“Be that as it may,” Obi-Wan hid his smile behind his hand, as if stroking his beard in thought. “You haven’t told me why I found you outside my window. Should I be concerned?”

“It’s nothing bad, General,” Cody admitted.

From behind Obi-Wan he could just make out the shape of Rex as he passed through the main hall connecting the kitchen, bedroom and the antechamber. Cody didn’t say anything. Rex, like the brat Cody denies ever having a hand in raising, turned around and finger gunned him as he slid out the door.

Cody must have made a face, or maybe somehow the brattiness seeped through the force, because Obi-Wan glances over and seeing the empty hall glances back. Obi-Wan stared at him curiously, Cody stared back. Let him ask, Cody feels daring in just thinking it.

The general had told him once that jedi can’t read minds. It’s not thoughts, but very strong feelings that give most away. Things that bleed across the force: like quilt and joy and anger.

Which was good because Cody was very good at faking confidence. He had been practicing since he was youngling, and found that faking often led to reality. So he just thought it. Pictured it, a sort of aggressive feeling of presence.

He kept thinking how solid he felt and how nothing could move him, he had no reason to be ashamed to be here in this room. With Obi-Wan. Who is half naked, the back of Cody’s mind helpfully added. Part of his brain found that very interesting.

He liked his general. Had always liked his general. Obi-Wan was one of the first people that hadn’t treated him as just another clone. Cody liked how he listened when Cody had something to say. He also liked the way Obi-Wan looked at him now, sort of like he was a puzzle and sort of like he was fascinated.

“What are you thinking?” Obi-Wan wondered quietly.

“Nothing bad, sir,” Cody said again. Equally quiet. He watched idly as Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned pink. The jedi’s eyes widened, hand pressed against his brow as he half turned away.

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan coughed. He looked over, briefly meeting Cody’s stare again before flushing again. “It’s late, I think we can come back to this later.”

“As you say, General,” Cody said; then, softly, “Good night, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan, face still pink, smiled fondly. The world seemed so small between them, “Good night, Cody,”

When the door behind him slid closed, Cody glanced back at the empty door way. Not the way he had thought it would go, but that was easier done then he thought. Sliding out of apartment to where Rex was waiting for him, before he managed to think too hard about it.

*

“The Coruscant Temple Practical Approach, forms one to five,” Rex read aloud from the liberated holopad, “I guess it makes sense that Kenobi would have a copy, but I can’t believe Skywalker did too.”

“Are you more surprised he reads?” Cody grinned.

“You’re lucky your driving, vode.” Rex smacked his shoulder with the pilfered pads. Cody shrugged. They had a bet to win.

Commander Thire of the guard had taken up a whole booth at 79s. He gave them a friendly smile when they stomped through the door.

“Vode. I hadn’t expected you to show up so soon.”

“Did we win?” Rex tapped the table with a fist. Cody dropped the holopads in front of them. Thire leaned across the table and scooped them up. Making a show as he examined them.

“Nope,” Thire shook his head in faux sadness, but his lips kept twitching as he fought a smile. Cody scowled when Thire caught his eye. “Wolffe and Ponds beat you by a good hour.”

“How did they beat us?” Rex demanded.

“Apparently they asked the jedi for their holopads.” Thire chuckled. He waved his hand from where it rested on the back of the booth, encouraging them to sit down.

Cody glanced at Rex, who was silently mouth ‘asked?’ to himself.

Cody felt the same. Asking General Koon would have been an easy one, though he was surprised Wolffe would take that route, but picturing them asking Windu for his holopad to win a bet raised his level of respect for his brothers. They had gumption. Maybe he could get a vid recording of it.

“Hey, you beat the others at least,” Thire consoled them cheerfully. “I can buy you drinks for that, and because you won me several bets on General Skywalker having a copy too.”

Rex scowled when Cody nudged him. No one actually thought the General couldn’t read, he just had never been seen with a holopad before so their were theories. Like general dislike of all texts. Or allergies.

“So,” Rex started. Then stopped, staring at the holopads.

“So,” Cody agreed. “Now we got to figure out how to return them.”

“You could mail them?” Thire suggested.

“Then they’ll notice it was taken in the first place.” Cody waved it off.

“Will General Skywalker, though?” Rex argued. “He’s going to think he lost it and someone helpfully returned it.”

[muteashes]

Adverse Events

Also posted on AO3! A Dune AU

It’s when they are hauling in the last of the spice pirates that everything goes down stream.

“You’re not going to like the consequences of your actions,” the pirate captain hissed as he was drug toward the brig.

“I think that went pretty well,” Kix hauled the door closed.

Like a rolling wave the whole ship rocked.

Jesse dropped his kit and swore when the klaxons went off. “Why’d you have to say that?”

*

“The nav systems are completely fried,” Jesse confirmed. “We can’t run around with the nav droids. As far as I can tell, unless the rest of GAR manages to track us, if they even know they need to track us down, I think we’re screwed,” He smacked the systems terminal. The angry little red light kept flashing at them. “Sir,” he added belatedly.

At least the hyperdrives are still working, Rex reminded himself. Though without a nav computer, any jump would kill them.

Some di’kut pirate had set off a experimental EMP taking out the entire pirate fleet and the GAR cruiser. Half the AIs had shut down and the others were so glitched they couldn’t safely be run.

“No word yet on comms either,” Jesse added. Rex already knew that, but the it seemed to force a point. Five days and no change, Rex was starting to think they would never get out of there. Well, there was one way that Rex could think of. He didn’t like the idea of it, but he didn’t like the idea of being permanently stranded either. Every day without signal from the fleet and it was less chance of being found.

“No,” Kix ground out. He must have been able to read Rex. Yesterday one of the newer clone troopers had brought up alternative uses of spice. At everything they could find, the the shiney maybe right. The obscure history of spice was that it originally came from a desert planet in the far outer rim. A now extinct race that used it to travel the hyper lanes before they had navigational systems.

“It’s our chance to get out of here,” Rex waved at the view. The far outer rim was wide and beautiful, but also empty for light years.

“There hasn’t been any successful studies that went into it,” Kix argued. “It’s speculated you have to take ten times the amount normally used recreationally and near consistently to get that sort of effect. You’re more likely to overdose.”

“That’s exactly why I have to be the one that does it.”

“Jesse!” Kix hissed, tagging the other in.

“This is bantha poodoo, sir,” Jesse supplied.

“Noted,” Rex huffed a laugh.

“It could kill you,” Kix tried again later as helped one of the natborn doctors set up the exam table. The spice had been transformed into a gas, one of the techs managed to shove it into several portable inhalers.

“I agree with Kix,” the Doctor Bridges said, “spice is addictive. Even this one episode, especially with the dosage, and you may start symptoms of withdrawal within hours.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

“You better not be leaving me in charge of this mess,” Jesse warned from where he had followed them into the med center.

“It’s going to be fine, Kix,” Rex grabbed the medic’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Sometimes a brother just needed assurance. Even if it was a lie.

Kix shuddered, swearing under his breath, he shoved the inhaler at Rex.

“Start breathing slow, Captain. And- We’ll see, I guess.”

With the first inhale, everything seemed to sharpen. With the second, he could see it. Almost. On the corners of his vision, just barely trailing out of sight. Long streams of gold paths that flowed across space. He could touch it, he thought hazily. And figure out where it goes.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” Rex startled and looked over at Kix. He had forgotten he was there.

“Fine,” Rex tried, not really sure, “Just fine, I think.”

“At least your not going into cardiac arrest,” Doctor Bridges commented.

Kix held the scanner up as if to double check. A sharp pain in Rex’s arm when Kix stabbed him with a random syringe, Rex blinked slowly. “And you are high enough to orbit a moon right now,” Kix added. “But you’re stable.”

On the other side of the room Jesse had propped himself against a table, arms crossed and scowling.

“This is karking insane,” Jango Fett snarled. Rex blinked and it was Jesse again.

“This is karking insane,” Jesse snarled.

“Frak,” Rex breathed. Kix stopped and stared at him, alarmed. “I’m fine,” Rex repeated. More unsure, but nothing could be done about it now. He waved a heavy arm at him, shoving Kix off when he tried to intervene as he slid off the bed. Taking unsteady steps toward the bridge, knowing his vode would follow. He could hear them arguing quietly behind him. Somewhere else he could hear hundreds of his brothers whispering. Rex shook his head. Focus, focus, focus. The lines he thought, focus on the paths that led… somewhere. Maybe.

As the seconds passed, the trails that peeked from his peripheral had become brighter.

“I can do this,” Rex said. And he knew he could, every part of him seemed to scream. The golden paths danced ahead as he entered the bridge. They had left the command chair empty and he gratefully dropped into it. Yanked up the ships yoke into place.

“I can do this,” Rex repeated, louder. The fog starting to shift again, as though what he could see was suddenly decipherable. The shining trails so obvious

“Karking- kark. Frak this, sir,” Jesse bit out. “This is going to go so bad.”

“Relax, LT,” Rex was grinning now. Giddy excitement starting to rush through his veins. There it is, he breathed out slowly. Focus, focus. He was definitely high right now.

The hyperdrive engines softly purred as Rex shifted them on.

“Just follow it home,” the ghost of Fives sang softly.

“Everyone should probably grab a seat,” He announced when it occurred to him. Jesse swore again, dropping into a observational chair. Ahead of them the gold seem to call to him. The brothers beyond marched endlessly. He could feel it all. “This will be fun.” Rex could’t stop himself from laughing.

*

“Never again,” Jesse twisted out of the restraints. One of deck officers had fallen into the data pits, Kix leaned over to drag him back up.

“Where are we?” Kix looked at the flashing nav computer that still flashed a frag screen.

“Where we should be,” Rex told them. He had thought home and he had come here. The gold strands were starting to become distant again, no longer needed. Rex peered up to see where they hand landed.

“Look behind the moon,” one of deck officers brought up the visual. Just barely through the belt debris Rex could make out a venator class frigate breaching the moon’s horizon. “I think it’s Nova Corp.”

“Home,” a distant brother sighed.

[muteashes]

“You should think about it,” General Halot said to Cody, as the separatist delegates left the conference room. He had stopped by the Commander and leaned in close as if in personal confidence. He spoke gently, almost consoling as he continued, “It will be the best for your boys.” He reached out and patted Cody’s shoulder.

Cody stood very, very still.

“That was enlightening,” Obi-Wan conceded when the Republic representatives had also trailed out.

“It was,” Cody admitted, relaxing a touch when Obi-Wan pressed their shoulders against each other. Cody leaned back and breathed. In for four. Hold it, he could imagine Obi-Wan saying softly. And exhale. He could still feel the anger go from blinding to a banked simmer. Slowly, slowly, let it burn slow.

*

As the Halot Corporate space port imploded from a well placed chain of explosions, Boil imagined it as a customer complaint letter.

To whom it may concern, Boil believed it would start, It has come to my attention that your fool-hearted braggarty and general disgrace of morality needed a sound ass kicking.

Separatist General Halot, having been escorted by Commander Cody, stood at the starboard port window of the GAR shuttle as it exited orbit to a safe distance, watching as his family’s galactic hub fell apart.

“You were right, General Halot,” Cody smirked. “We couldn’t stop you with the whole of our forces.” In the pilot seat Boil could see their jedi look over his shoulder, not quite hiding a grin. “I just needed five men.”

Etcetera, etcetera. Further communication will be responded to with violent prejudice. Boil watched as Halot snarled. Regards, the ass-kicking 212th.

[muteashes]

“-but the Commander-” Hawk tries to argue. The pits of Lieutenant Krestor’s eyes does this thing sometimes, when Hotel Bravo is dragged in front of him, where they seem to suck out all the oxygen in the room. He turns them on Hawk, who pales and immediately snaps his mouth shut.

“How does the Commander have anything to do with monkey-lizard races?” Hotel Bravo, collectively as a unit, knew that now was a time to fortify their defenses and keep their yappers shut. Commander Bacara had absolutely everything to do with monkey-lizard races, and no one was ever going to find out; the commander included. Tremor can see when Lenti stabs Hawk in the back with the edge of his bracer for good measure.

Krestor lets the silence settle. Eying each one of them, considering. A good stewing, Tremor thinks. So all courage has time to evaporate. The lieutenant has something that is almost, but not quiet a smile. Tremor feels his insides shrivel a little.

Behind Krestor, officer Daan is messing with a holodeck, every once in awhile he snorts in amusement. Tremor is almost positive he can hear the hysterical laughter of monkey-lizards. It may just be the memories of the shrieks that haunt him, though.

After a few minutes of mental anguish, Bugs is the one that tries again.

“I believe, LT, that we have all learned a valuable lesson today.” Krestor slowly pivots to face him.

“And what would that be, Bugs?”

“Despite all levels of encouragement and a very clear goal, it’s near impossible to race a monkey-lizard, sir.”

“Very valuable lesson,” Krestor acknowledges dryly. “And you still managed to lose.”

“They cheated,” Tremor protests. Krestor turns the cavernous gaze toward Tremor. Tremor swallows slightly, refusing to move.

“Isn’t this why there’s a rule?” Daan cuts in, having turned off the holodeck, he leans against the edge and watches them with amusement.

“Yes,” Krestor says, “Did any of you think of the first rule? Lenti?”

“Sir. No, sir,” Lenti barks. Kestor seems to have given up on the stare down and rubs the back of his necks with a sigh.

“What is the first rule of Hotel Bravo, Lenti?”

“Bugs is not allowed to have fun, sir.”

“Did you have fun, Bugs?” Krestor asks.

“Tremendously, sir. Thank you for asking,” Bugs salutes, and Krestor for a second looks actually fond.

“Yes. Well. I’m glad.” He grins, “Suicide runs first hour.”

“First hour?!” Hawks protests.

“For the next tenday,” Krestor finishes, clearly satisfied when Hotel Bravo groan.

[muteashes]

“I’m just saying,” Warthog said, “maybe you could write a note. Or something.” He was lying down on a exam table, the white light over head was not kind on the eyes, he thought. One of them flickered obnoxiously.  Besides the weird light, the 501st had pretty nice med bays. Each section giving a fake modicum of privacy. The purple plants in the wall welded pots added a strange level of cheer.

“Or something,” Kix said, dry and rough like a tooka tounge. Warthog dropped his head to the side to watch as Kix grabbed the scanner and dropped it back in it’s charging port. “Don’t you have your own company medics?” Kix asked.

“Do you honestly believe I would voluntarily give Doc even a smidgen of leverage over me?”

“Why would I ever dare to think that?” Kix dragged the visitor’s chair across the room, propping it against the exam’s table foot rest, he straddled it. The flickering light caused weird shadows across his face, Warthog watched feeling oddly relaxed.

The day before Warthog had overheard one of the 501st ARCs say the name ‘Kix’ and hadn’t been able to resist. He’d had slunk down the halls of the Dominator in the quiet between shift changeover. Feeling almost as if he was trespassing, though nothing explicitly said he couldn’t be there.

Kix looked tired, but good. Really good, Warthog was relieved to see. He hadn’t let himself think about it before, worry is useless when you can’t do anything about it. Still, sometimes it hit him how much he missed his old pod brothers.

“I don’t know,” Warthog considered, “You’re the medic. Maybe you should do something about his crazy.”

“Or your debilitating trust issues.”

“Is that an actual problem though, or is it just being careful.” Doc was a pretty good brother. Great in a firefight, if a little intense when placed as gunner. The only problem Warthog had with Doc had more to do with his sudden intense allergy to his company’s med hall. Vaccines expire eventually and he hated needles.

“I can’t write a note to excuse you from meeting the local natborns,” Kix narrowed his eyes. Still a stick in the mud, apparently.

“I just think it would be the best for everyone if air support could stay as only air support.” Warthog argued. Kix continued the stare down. “They were throwing green things at me and yelling ‘schni schni,’” Warthog tried desperately, “I don’t know what ‘schni ,schni’ even means!”

Kix snorted, a poor attempt at covering a laugh.

“You don’t want to,” he remarked lightly.

[muteashes]

Warthog had just started inspection when he rounded the corner of his jet and almost fell over a short being who had appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

“What the fr-” Warthog cut himself off. On the other side of the neighboring parked ship Tracer’s head peaked over curiously.

“You stole our secret spot,” the small child accused him with a scowl. He was young, a human like race that Warthog was not able to immediately identify. The kid threw his shoulders back as if making himself seem a little bigger on his already tiny body would somehow make him intimidating.

“I didn’t steal anything,” Warthog automatically denied. Then, “A secret spot?” The kid kept scowling and gestured at the whole of the hangar that the GAR has recently acquired for use. Feeling somehow more awkward as he grasped for protocol, “Shouldn’t you be with a parent figure?” He recalled something about guardians and parents at one point during cultural flash training. He’s lucky they never actually graded for that stuff, he had spent the entire lesson watching holovids of aerial combat maneuvers instead. He wasn’t meant to deal with civvies, he was the air support, never grounded if he could help it.

The kid hesitated, looking over his shoulder momentarily, before mustering himself, “I ask the questions!” Warthog looked behind the kid. There was a squeak, a shadowy blob hidden behind a wheel shuffled backwards. Off on his wing Tracer dropped in. He looked too charmed by the unwanted quests. Warthog knew he would be no help.

“What’s the questions?” Warthog gave in and asked.

“We want our spot back,” the kid demanded.

“That is not a question,” Warthog advised. The kid narrowed his eyes. Familiar with this tactic apparently.

“Can we have our spot back?” the kid tried again.

“No,” Warthog only felt a little bad saying. With a huff the kid marched forward, kicked Warthog in the shin and took off running. Several children scattering after him.

“Little monster,” Warthog hissed, hopping on one foot.

“Looks like you made a friend,” Tracer laughed.

*

*

At mess Warthog found another one. Sitting with Sinker and Boost at one of the booths in the officer’s corner was a small girl. Warthog stopped as he passed.

“Are we being invaded?” Warthog asked. “Sir,” He offered belatedly when Boost smirked. He didn’t realize what Sinker was doing till it was too late, and watched in horror as he snagged the cake on Warthog’s tray and slid it in front of the kid. That was his weekly desert ration. He had been hoarding it for when he knew one of the outside vendors would be on rotation for mess. It wasn’t GAR issued tasteless grub, one of the few times Warthog had managed to get anything half way decent in months and Sinker had taken it.

“Thank you,” She said politely with a lisp. Pulling in closer so her little arms could reach. She stabbed the whole thing with a fork and tried to pick it up that way. The cake broke in half. Warthog found himself staring at the crumbs that dropped onto the table.

“Are we?” Sinker asked the girl. She nodded up at him energetically. Swinging her legs so they kicked the chair across from her. Her feet didn’t even hit the floor. She smiled, open mouthed delighted with seemingly everything. She was missing a fang.

“Sanya says if we want our secret spot back we need to fight for it,” she beamed, “She said we can only tell you our name and dedication.” It sounded like someone had been watching too many of those holonet dramas Warthog had stumbled upon back when he was still in training.

“It’s designation,” Boost corrected her.

“Oh,” She said, face scrunched up for a second before deciding, “I’m in preschool.”

Sinker laughed.

*

P53185 was a small planet that never even got a name beyond its interstellar designation code. The local farming community just called it P-5 when they were asked, and said it was as good as a name as any. The towns had name. Planets were planets. Warthog had stared straight ahead and let Commander Wolffe handle that one.

This was also apparently the quietest front in the war. They had been there a tenday, not a single active encounter. Or even hint of an encounter. As far as he could tell, there was no reason to be here. Worst off, Warthog was starting to believe the accumulative lack of action would lead to him falling behind on his required flight hours. Which was all the excuse any of them needed to run simulations against each other in a dirty, cheating tournament.

Once, flying against several others on a race course, Commander Wolffe had missed the signal turn. So he flipped his sim around and rammed the lead as they looped around for another lap. He took out half the others before his ship was declared dead. Warthog, who greatly admired his commander, took notes. No other company had such efficient command staff. Eat that, 212th.

When Warthog was proving, yet again, that Tracer was a ridiculous nerf-herder who could barely make his way through a combat scenario when a voice cracking howl dropped on them.

They all looked up at the top of the freight trailers hauled in to surround the staged arena and there, legs braced and clearly ready for battle, stood the small child from earlier. Arms swinging about overhead, they held a stick with a coat tied to it. On the coat, rippling in the wind as the kid waved it viciously, was what looked like some sort of round four footed animal and illegible aurebesh. To Warthog’s nine o’clock another kid came running around the corner, holding the GAR battalion flag, and took off out the hangar doors. The kid on top of the trailer shoved his flag down so it staid upright and ran after his gang.

One of the scouts lunged after him and somehow missed when the kid swung around the pole of LAAT fuel line. Warthog leveled his sim and shot Tracer’s engine while Tracer stared in the direction the kids had streamed. The big screen displaying the scenario flashed several times in a flashy explosion before announcing Warthog as the winner.

“Anyone have an idea what just happened in my hangar,” Wolffe sounded more curious then anything as the silence settled in.

*

“You have a betrayer,” The kid who started this all said when Warthog almost walked over him again.

“Fraking nerf-tail,” Warthog bit out. It somehow didn’t feel as satisfying as actually cursing did. “Where are you popping up from? Is it the shinies, are they letting you in?”

“What’s a shiney?” The kid asked.

“You are, little nugget,” Tracer said with a delighted smile.

“My name is Mylo,” the little nugget said sullenly.

“I’m Warthog,” Warthog exchanged. The kid made a face, unimpressed.

“You said someone betrayed us?” Tracer prompted.

“He gave us stunners,” The kid said instead. Warthog felt his insides shrivel. That did not sound like something that was a good idea. He imagined a herd of cadet-shinies with stun guns. Utter disaster. It also kind of reminded him of the scenario Sinker liked to run with the shinies with paint guns and open orders to take down everything that moved. Warthog reviewed that thought for a moment. That stinking traitorous Sargent.

“Was it Sinker?” Warthog demanded. The kid scrunched his face and thought about it.

“He was old,” the kid shrugged finally. Tracer snorted.

“Don’t tell him that,” he suggested. “Thanks for telling us, Mylo.”

“It was only fair I switched sides too,” The kid told him. His little face very serious. Warthog hadn’t realized they were recruiting. Then, equally serious, “Can I have a grenade?”

[muteashes]

At some point between Thorn having walked through the front office and his long life-searching stop at the caf machine, the rodian at the visitor’s desk had gotten louder. Thorn could see a hand get waved in front of Rys’ face as he ambled over to his desk.

Hound had stolen his chair again and stacked it with actual paper books. From the titles he could see, they were on some arcane land stewardship laws. Thorn took the opportunity to steal Thire’s new plush desk chair, swinging it over. Adjusted it several inches higher before he even sat down. How did Thire afford this thing.

“Any news on the 2092?” Thorn asked. The SB10-2092 had become his unit’s pet project after a very regrettable night at 79s. ‘To identify and appropriately process all incoming requests of the Guard,’ is what Thorn told everyone that he needed to listen. Thorn had written it when half full of spite after a wayward mother had come in to complain about her son’s shady friends being shady. She couldn’t tell them what type of shady, but trust her, it was shady.

“Not yet,” Hound scowled from behind his large pile of holopads. Besides him Grizzer the massiff gnawed on a fallen holopad. It noticed Thorn looking in it’s direction and changed the angle of it’s chewing as if to show off its holopad chew toy; muffled under the desk he could hear the thack-thack of tail thumps. “I think Senator Trydel is catching on that it’s not actually file-able.” It wasn’t. That was the point of getting it approved. The complaints couldn’t reach them if they couldn’t file it.

“It’s a perfectly functional form of bureaucracy,” Thorn insisted, already mulling over how he would bribe Fox to be the one that said that to the sub-committee. Except more convincingly.

Movement from the visitor’s desk had caught his eye. The rodian had turned purple and even more shout-y. Over the now flailing arms, Rys glared at Thorn. It was very much a ‘respectively, sir, why am I the one dealing with this and not you,’ look. Rys had somehow perfected it in the tenday he was forced to man the desk.

“He wants to talk to whose in charge,” Hound added helpfully, “Something about he doesn’t like the look of this sign yada yada I stopped listening after that.”

Thorn nodded, took a sip of his perfect, perfect caf, and sat back at his own desk. It squeaked a little, causing Hound to side-eye him. Thorn rocked back, letting it squeak again. He wondered if he could drag it out any longer, but Rys looked like he was going to march over and make him handle the problem.

“Alright, send him over,” Thorn waved indulgently. Barely, he could make out Hound sigh. Overdramatic sheb, Thorn thought fondly.

[muteashes]

“It’s not going to work,” Echo decided out loud. The monkey-lizard looked at the treat they had thrown at the end of the marked off track and looked back at them unimpressed.

“Cueball just needs a little bit of encouragement,” Hardcase protested.

“Stop naming the monkey-lizards,” Jesse snapped, “We’re not keeping it.”

They all went silent and stared at the little creature. It’s mouth opened surprisingly wide as it yawned at them, showing off rows of sharp teeth.

“We just need to brainstorm!” Fives tried, “so- how do you race a monkey-lizard.”

Shortly after Rishi, Echo and Fives and privately decided that the Captain was omniscient. Echo could already feel Captain Rex’s disappointment in them. He didn’t want to be associated with this, staring at Cueball as it looked around the hanger. This was exactly the level of stupid he had been making an effort to distance himself from. The Captain was probably going to pull out the face. On some instinctual level, Echo hated that face. He wanted to hide every single time it came out.

Hardcase walked around the race lane to grab a holopad. Cueball watched as he rounded the far corner. Finally deciding it was interested, the monkey lizard ambled over the to treat, then quickly shoving it in it’s face; like maybe, last second, someone was going to steal it.

Echo also knew, there was no fraking way they were going to let the Nova shebs win. Echo steeled himself.  They just had to make sure Captain Rex never found out why exactly they were racing monkey-lizards.

“Guys,” Echo cut in, “I’ve got an idea.”

*

“Alright,” Jesse clapped his hands together. Fives shrieks seem to get higher to match the delighted tones of the monkey-lizard. “New plan. How can we cheat?”

[muteashes]

AN: Jet is the only cannon clone that I know of in Nova 21. So Lenti and Bugs are my OC since I needed some Nova 21 clones. I originally thought Daan could be one? But now I think they are the OC of @thefoundationproject Sometimes you’re like ‘was that canon or fanfic’ lol

*

“I’ve got,” Lenti attempted casualness, “Two droid poppers. And one shiv, made of some bone. Or something. I don’t know.” Jet didn’t believe he did a very good job at it. The desperation was practically stifling, and that was his second favorite shiv. He had spent days sawing hooks into the side.

Daan grabs the shiv and spins it. “What else?”

Lenti frowns dramatically for a moment before nodding. Jet hands the package over appropriately on cue. Someone in the crowd, probably Bugs, stifles a giggle into a very real coughing fit.

Rummaging through the bag Lenti pulls out a long wire with long range adapter hook up and module only slightly bent.

The shiv stops spinning, Daan squints at the haul on the table.

“It works,” Lenti mutters. Daan poked the module so it slid in the mud on the makeshift table stump. It was a great trade, Jet knew. A working long range module was gold and Lenti had to fight two brothers for it. Daan would be getting a lot for practically nothing.

“No,” Daan decides. Jumping back as, like a switch flipped from contained to ready to throw himself into a brawl, Lenti leaps on the table.

“Why the frak not, you mangy little swamp rat?” Lenti hisses.

“Lenti!” Jet yelps.

“Getting worked up for a little fruit flavoring, aren’t you?” Daan bares his teeth in a challenge, as if he actually wanted to antagonize Lenti. Jet wondered if he set this up just to mock the sergeant. Daan had done something similar before, back on that moon with the purple waterfall. It had ended with half of the unit needing moon-calf vaccinations.

“It’s just a ration bar!” Jet tries to salvage it. Bugs has appeared on the other side of the table, hovering.

“He’s got the last Meiloorun,” Lenti snarls, eyes locked on the smirking medic who still hadn’t back down, “and it’s mine.”