So this point might have been made but I would once again like to link the Death of the Clones and to the Fall of the Republic
We all knew that the downfall of the Republic went hand-in-hand with Order 66. In Clone Wars, Filoni, as we all knew, emphasized the clones’ death in the series finale as much as the Jedi’s in the movies. He places real emphasis on the effect it had on the clones, who we had grown to see as individuals, as people, while the Emperor saw them as a means to an end.
However, not only does Filoni acutely break our hearts by showing us the other side of the coin, he makes an interesting association throughout the show. The end of the Jedi means the end of the Republic, it’s true, but, in most media types, Luke Skywalker rebuilds the Jedi Order in a new way and helps preserve their legacy. The Empire is done away with and the Republic restored.
Or is it?
On one side, the New Republic and the Jedi show the resurrection of an old idea in new ways, a transformation in order to adapt to new ideals.
But the Old Republic is dead. The time of the Jedi intermeshed with the Republic is gone and buried, another story to be passed down as more of a cautionary tale than the height of an ancient order.
You know who else is dead? That never gets revived or reformed? The clones.
Our brave boys in every color under the sun die, and they never return, not in any way that prolongs them.
You see, they age on the double. During wartime, this was so they could get more troops on the field faster. Afterwards? It’s pretty convenient that they die twice as fast as the rest of the population. And even though surviving clones such as Rex and Wolffe and Gregor, the main ones we truly know about surviving later on at this point in the Star Wars Canon, made huge contributions to the Republic, it ultimately will not benefit them from a genetic or cultural standpoint.
Culturally, they were dead the moment the Emperor gave the order.
And, here’s the kicker, so was the Republic.
The Republic spent its last years mired in politics and war rooms and, as Filoni likes to remind us, clones.
I’m still going through my rewatch of the clone wars, but there are a few prominent scenes that come to mind that make Filoni’s point, intentioned or not, extremely clear.
The first is this gif of Commander Thorn’s death.
As Thorn falls back after his admittedly badass last stand, he lands in the center of what I would describe as a symbol of the Republic. The gear’s right there, formed by the droids.
This, of course, is just one of several moments where the Republic symbol is made, but it is a popular scene and a good example for the point I’m trying to make.
Thorn in this picture, takes the place of the Republic. And just as the clone dies, so, too, does the Republic.
Don’t believe me?
Fives very literally held the secret to the clones’s survival. And, as we all know, had the clones had full control, it is likely the Republic would not have fallen, or at least not as dramatically and without the multiple genocides on its way out.
Fives, in the gif above, is surrounded by the Republic symbol once again, only this time by other clones. It’s poetic, in a way, that two clones struggling to save their people die in a Republic symbol. Almost as if the fate of the Republic hinges on the fate of the clones.
And if that doesn’t cover it enough for you, if you truly don’t see the connection between the clones and the Republic, I’d like you to meet a dear clone whom we all love:
Jesse.
The only clone I’ve seen with a big ass tattoo of the Republic symbol stamped right there on his damn face.
Jesse, who truly believed in the Republic and had served long enough to be the only clone other than Rex to keep his helmet creatively apart after Ahsoka’s return.
Jesse, whose death marks the start of the Empire. His destruction and death under Order 66 marks the turning point in Clone Wars. Before they got the call on that ship, the Republic was alive and basically done with the war. But as soon as that ship crashed, as soon as we see that Jesse is well and truly dead, buried and respects and everything, the next scene, the very next scene, features Darth Vader and the Empire.
The clones were the canaries of the Republic. When they died, the Republic followed.
Decommissioning is different on Coruscant to the rest of the GAR.
Well, for one, it was stopped pretty quickly by the Jedi for the GAR and officially there is no decommissioning or reconditioning done on Kamino. That injured soldiers that go there ‘die’ of survivable wounds is always explained away. But officially the GAR has no decommissionings or reconditionings or reason to fear it, not that the Corries know.
But for the Guard, well, Palpatine and the Senators decided ships to Kamino were far too expensive, and too obvious.
It has its upsides and it’s downsides.
The upside is that for most requests for a Decom or a Recon, the Senators believe Fox is obedient enough that he’ll do it, that a clone couldn’t possibly be smart enough to think around their orders or disobey, and that gives Fox the opportunity to swap things around which means the majority of requests are never actually fulfilled and all that’s needed is the number and shift swap. Those Recons and Decoms are easy to avoid and he protects his little siblings as best he can, he’d rather the extra work than losing someone he loved.
The downside is that Palpatine makes sure his requests are fulfilled as well any requests that go to him directly. Those ones can’t be avoided.
And like he didn’t want to pay for the ships or be obvious, Palpatine had to find a simple way to deal with all the bodies without wasting money on the Corries. The budget cuts also mean any bodies that come from the Guard on patrols or in attacks or for any other reason need to be dealt with and while there are a lot of places on Coruscant bodies won’t be found, he needed someone specific and big enough. That there were two twin long since large air ventilation pipes going from one of the secret passageways in the Senate building and Corrie base that led down to a large and defunct sealed hall below, well, Palpatine was nothing if not pragmatic.
And a lot of things are easy to hide if there’s nobody looking.
The Corries called it the Pit, or the POR, Place of Rest. They hate how easily it became a part of their lives…
Almost worse are the recons. They’re not like the ones on Kamino, all clean labs and serums and shocks and pain. No, they’re ordered to a private room, locked in with Palpatine and the Red Guard, and they come out different. And it is different, notably so, in its results.
Clones reconditioned by the Kaminoans retain their skills but lose their personalities, lose every memory of before, they come back black and ready for orders. The Corries come back shaky, aware enough of who they were that they’re clawing for memories they can’t reach. They never lose everything, in fact they typically barely lose anything, only what Palpatine wants to take, what he didn’t want them to see or an aspect of their personality jus to see if he could or because it was that the Senator in question had taken issue with. He’d typically also add a little obedience in the process and anything else he wanted while their minds were cracked open and vulnerable, waiting to be sewn closed again. Other times he does strip away everything, but that never lasts more than a few weeks before their memories and personalities are back. A few horrible times he’s left their minds open, shields and mental barriers ripped to shreds, and watched them slowly pick up the pieces from afar.
The headaches take weeks to fade, the feeling that someone was clawing through your mind even longer. It makes them follow the Orders they’re given quickly and efficiently, but it’s more often than not the fear of losing yourself again and not knowing whether you’ll be able to fit the pieces back together next time that drives their speed and obedience, rather than because the Recon worked.
Those Recons only happen when the requests are sent to Palpatine directly, and Fox desperately fields the rest, even going as far as to try to intercept them before Palpatine can see them. He’s willing to take the punishment that will come if and when he’s caught.
Some things never come back, and all the Corries know they’re missing something, just like they know they can be turned on and off by numbered Orders, like they know Palpatine is doing something to stop them speaking out. Every Corrie knows something is wrong, rotten, evil, Sith, it’s just how life in the Guard goes.
Usually, I use lunch to work on a book but the last two days Orphan Black's media tour has taken over. Today's rambling: potential death of favorite character.
Both John Fawcett and Tatiana Maslany have been talking about how no clone is safe during their media interviews. Let's look at this a little closer.
First, this is obviously a response approved by the show. In reality it is a brilliant marketing move because it upsets the fan base, causes more discussions, and raises the profile of the show.
Second, it could be a gentle way to prepare us for a death this season. Story-wise it makes sense. Making a painful assumption that it is true, who will it be?While Cosima is an obvious choice due to her illness, I think it would be another clone for the surprise factor. You have to admit that Orphan Black likes to mislead the audience.
For me, I am going with option one - raising the show's profile, keeping the mystery, and energizing the fan base. Simply because it makes business sense and more importantly, it makes ME feel better.
"The fuck is wrong with you, Sal? It's too bloody early to be staggering about like that."
Millicent didn't know Sally-Anne to be a light-weight at anything, but now the girl was staggering into the dorm as if she were a second year who got their hands on their first bottle of firewhiskey. Sally-Anne had never had a phase like that as far as Millicent knew. It was like she came to the castle knowing how to handle herself. Theodore and her would throw parties like none the house had ever seen. It couldn't be one of those that left her leaning against the door-frame just staring at Millicent.
"You look like you're about to blow, have you seen Pomphrey?" Millicent asked, warily stepping towards Sally-Anne. If her friend was going to vomit, Millicent wanted to avoid any sort of contact with it. The last thing she wanted to do was have one of the few outfits that her clones hadn't made off with stinking of sick. Sally-Anne closed her eyes tight and shook her head once, reaching out and grabbing Daphne's bedpost for support as she made her way through the dorm.
"No." The word sounded pained to come out. "I was...just walking here...and...I started to feel sick...Millicent, help-"
Sally-Anne's hand went to her mouth and Millicent backed up. Friends or not, Millicent was not about to share this experience with her. With her lip curling Millicent looked around and snatched Tracey Davis's cap from its resting place on the bed post.
"If you're going to vomit do it in here," said Millicent as she tossed the pointed thing to Sally-Anne. Sally-Anne managed to reach for it but missed, her hand just hanging empty in the air, the poor girl was looking worse and fast. She paled and looked to Millicent again, a helplessness in her eyes that dropped a boulder into Millicent's stomach.
"Fuck."
Millicent moved quickly, grabbing Sally-Anne's upper arm, gentleness wasn't a priority. If they made it to the Hospital Wing in time, Millicent was certain there would be a bruise on the other girl's arm. Millicent would be furious if Sally-Anne got mad at her for it, but they both had to know what was going on. Millicent had never been told how long exactly it took for a clone to die from when they got sick. As she watched her friend, lethargic and pained, Millicent hoped it would be long enough to do something.
It wouldn't be. The blinding white light bled through Millicent's grip on Sally-Anne's arm before they even made it to the dorm's door. It felt as if the girl was melting through her grasp, dissipating until almost instantaneously Millicent's hand was grasping at air and horrific hissing filled the air as the adder dropped to the ground.
The snake was larger than Millicent had expected and it was instantly vicious, lashing out at her. Jerking back from what had once been her friend, Millicent pulled out her wand. Under any other circumstance, Millicent would be curious about the creature, but the damage she had heard of them causing she was wiser than to let her curiosity get the better of her.
The creature curled again, preparing to strike. Millicent didn't give it enough time to. A spell shot out haphazardly, striking the ground beside it and knocking the snake towards the door. If Millicent had the time, she would have let out a string of swears. The adder was angrier and blocking her only way away from it. It curled back again and she let out another spell, this time it hit its mark.
The reductor curse knocked the adder through the doorway violently and Millicent lurched forward and slammed the door shut before seeing it land. Her hand jerked away from the door like it had burned her and she staggered back to the nearest bed, sitting on it and knocking a book to the floor.
Her friend had died.
No. A clone of her friend had died.
But it had been her friend. Or that's what people said.
Millicent's heart felt like it was in her throat and her eyes dropped down. The dark floorboards in front of the door had a wet shine to it, blood Millicent was sure. If the adder wasn't dead, it was wounded. The most important thing was that there was a door between it and Millicent. She knew she would have to let an auror know what had happened, but at the very least she was going to wait long enough to be sure there would be nothing waiting for her when she left.
Another One Bites the Dust || The Death of Ernie MacMillian's Clone
"Merlin, Ernie. If you don't stop coughing, I'm going to suffocate you with my own bare hands."
Morag growled, looking across the table at Ernie MacMillian who had decided to join her at her table to study. Typically when Morag ventured into the library, as rare as it was, she preferred to sit alone. She would spread her books and papers all around, discouraging any friendly face from joining her. Even her scowl as Ernie took a seat across from her didn't stop the boy. He proceeded to chatter on about nothing important and while she would never admit it, she was enjoying his presence.
"Sorry Morag," He said, flashing her his famous Ernie smile. She refused to give into him, smiling would only encourage him to talk more. Not that he needed anymore encouragement.
Another fit of coughing happened and she looked up from her essay to threaten him. This was the last thing she needed, to get sick when the biggest quidditch game of her life was right around the corner. "Ernie," She snapped before noticing that their was bloods in his hand. He quickly moved to hide it. Suddenly it all dawned on her. She knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Come on, Ern." She said, trying to play it cool. "Let's take you to Madame Pomfrey. She'll get you all fixed up."
Her heart was beating. Her palms were sweaty as she knew that the Ernie sitting in front of her would no longer be Ernie soon.
"But.."
Ernie tried to protest but Morag shook her head, "Come on. It's probably a stupid cold."
"Yeah, probably a stupid flu bug or something."
Self denial, Morag thought to herself but she wasn't about to break the news to him. She'd drop him off at Pomfrey's, he turn into an adder and Morag wouldn't think any more of it. She wouldn't think about his corny jokes or his lazy grin. Nope not at all.
"Come on."
They headed through the halls, she dragged him along but she could already tell he was getting weaker. His steps were slower. Most people had already retired to their common rooms and the hallways were empty. Then it happened, just like she had heard. A white, blinding light appeared and where Ernie had just been, sat a dark, nasty looking adder.
It had happened so quickly, she stood there in shock. The adder was obviously annoyed, hissing at her. Morag put her hands in her face as she tried to think straight. The snake was literally Ernie seconds ago and now he wasn't. They had to get him back. They just had to. She reached for the snake, a misjudgment on her part and it attacked. Sinking it's fangs into her hand. Her natural reaction kicked in as she swung her hand, trying to get free as blood flew everywhere. Tears sprang to her eyes as she screamed, finally the creature let go and Morag fell to her knees. Quickly she found her feet and sprinted to the Hospital Wing, barging in, tears filling her eyes. Her bloody appearance quickly catching the attention of the healer.
Morag wasn't quite sure whether she was crying from the pain, her Quidditch career hanging in the balance or the fact that Ernie was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. She continued to sob, begging Madam Pomfrey to fix it, to do something. This is what adults did, they fixed things. The last thing Morag remembered was slipping into darkness as Pomfrey gave her something to sedate her.
Ginny was stunned into silence by the girl's coldness. "Luna," she whispered. "Luna, I'm your friend."
In an unused classroom on the fifth floor, two doors from the tapestry of Mafalda Sweeney and sixteen paces from where the stairs normally were, the real Luna Lovegood had made herself a base. She thought of it as a base and called it as such, though it was really something more akin to a home or pillow fort, because she'd read the term once in some old reference books that laid around the Lovegood home. When the elven-vampire crossbreeds had gone to war with the hag children in 1344, the newspapers hadn't reported on the battles because they were scarcely visible - both sides conducted themselves from heavily defended bases, in which they protected their livelihood and made their stands.
Luna thought of her pillow fort as the place she made her stand. Her last stand, maybe. Such fatalism was seeming increasingly likely these days. How long had it been since she'd been released from the dungeons? And nothing had happened. Some might call it a stalemate, but Luna knew better. No progress was the same thing as negative progress. As the Ministry guided everyone into false security with the clones, Luna felt sure the completion of the final clone plan drew ever closer. The textbooks that formed the defensive walls of her pillow fort were alternately much-needed classroom tomes, necessary if she was ever going to catch up with the work she'd missed while being tortured, and books on all sorts of conspiracies - replication spells, dark legends, centaur astrologies, deathly hallows, indecipherable runes. Luna would figure out what was going on with the clones. She had to.
Because if she didn't apply her mind to something, it would fall apart.
(On several occasions, she'd thought to ask Neville if, maybe, there was an in-between phase before his parents had completely flown the coop. But she couldn't ask that. If she asked that, he'd know, and no one could know. She was fine.)
On this particular frosty morning, Luna was in her base with a filched volume of Dark Spells propped open before her, when the protective charm she'd set by the doorway to her classroom tripped, shooting sparks from her pillow. She lunged for her wand and stood cautiously, mindful of the sheet overhead as she aimed her wand at the door.
Whoever it was outside was still, a silhouette on the clouded glass window. Luna stepped forward carefully, the rustle of fabric explosively loud in the world of silence she'd become used to. In one deft movement, she snuck out of her tent, hearing magnified now that the thick sheet had been shaken off. The person at the door was breathing heavily, wheezing, and from the position of the silhouette, seemed to be standing with his or her back leaning against the door.
Then the person coughed.
Luna took a shuddering breath, stopping still in her tracks and swaying. She had time enough only to recollect her resolve, grip on her wand tightening, before the silhouette was moving, the wracking cough propelling the figure from Luna's doorway.
A sweaty hand gripped the handle - Luna opened the door.
"Luna!" The silhouette was revealed to have a short bob of ginger hair and a spattering of freckles on a pale, tired face. "Luna, oh- Ah, thank Merlin, help m-"
"You're a clone," Luna told Ginny Weasley, her voice calm, but her tone cold.
"What- No! No, I'm-"
"Yes you are. That's why you want my help so badly. You know what's happening. You've been hiding a cough for some time now, haven't you? You're dying."
Ginny was pale across from her, silent, and her knees shook beneath her.
"Help me."
Luna stood, eyes wide and unblinking, shifting from foot to foot. Before her, Ginny trembled, her breathing labored and eyes stinging with un-shed tears. "Yes," Luna said at last. "Yes, come on, I'll do it."
But instead of turning down the hallway toward the Infirmary and the prospect of help, she retreated back into her base, the door open behind her. "Hurry!" she called, disappearing inside.
"Luna?" Ginny gasped, clutching her stomach as she stumbled in. The door blew shut with a rattle behind her and an expelliarmus charm hit her squarely in her aching side, sending her head into the far wall with a crack.
"D-don't move," Luna muttered as the redhead stirred weakly on the floor. "There's a muffling charm cast on the walls so it's no use s-screaming. I won't hurt you any more if you tell me what I want to know."
"Luna, what are you- I'm not-"
"Stop that!" Luna waved her wand dangerously before her. Once and only once, Mummy had thought to take her daughter into Muggle London, where they'd stood transfixed outside a television shop as a crime show played. Luna had seen a Muggle man crying and holding one of the funny metal Muggle wands shakily. He'd discharged it on a woman and on himself and Mummy had never taken her back to Muggle London, but Luna remembered him now and felt she looked much the same. "I know you're lying. I know you're a clone. And you do t-too. So tell me- tell me what you're doing!"
The clone on the floor was bleeding from her head and clutching her stomach as her breath came in gasps. She looked up at her captor with large eyes, stricken. "I don't- I don't know, I thought I was real, I-"
Luna didn't think, didn't know what the spell was, but blue light issued from her wand as her lips moved, her shaking hands causing the jet to hit the ground beside the Ginny clone by several inches. Nevertheless, the girl on the floor twisted and shrieked, the high-pitched noise dissolving into a series of breathless coughs.
This was not going well, not at all. Luna hopped in place, rubbing a hand through her hair, trying to think, if she could only think. The coughing wasn't stopping, the clone was going to die before she learned anything, this couldn't happen when she was so close to discovering something. She ducked under the folds of her tent as the Ginny clone struggled for air, grabbing the book she'd been reading before and reemerging with an indifferent eye to the clone's rising panic. She dragged a desk closer to the bloody mess on the floor, setting the book down and flipping through pages with a stony face and shaking hands, determined not to betray how much she was freaking out.
"What- Luna, what's that?" The Ginny clone asked when she'd regained a bit of her lungs. When her captor wouldn't answer, she tried again. "Luna? Please! Help me! It's a-" Her eyes watered as she wheezed and she glanced frantically around the room for a wand that was nowhere to be seen. "-mistake. Luna, it's a mistake, I don't-"
At the desk, Luna had found what she'd been looking for. She sucked in a long breath and held her wand out in front of her with a straight arm. "Tell me what I want to know now," she demanded.
Ginny was stunned into silence by the girl's coldness. "Luna," she whispered. "Luna, I'm your friend."
Whatever reservations Luna may have had about doing what she'd planned on doing was lost as this, this creature flaunted a dead friendship blatantly in her face. Had it been this thing that had turned a malicious eye away while real witches and wizards had been dying below? This thing wearing Ginny's skin dared to toy with her and dared still to profess friendship to Luna's face?
Enraged, her arm swung around in the pattern she'd been poring over in the book, any doubt as to whether she could or should do this forgotten in her anger. "Cr-crucio!" she shouted, a powerful beam of light erupting forth from her wand and catching the clone in the shoulder, though she'd aimed for the chest.
The screams were tremendous. But they weren't Ginny's.
Luna didn't know if she'd done the spell right, because the thing that was Ginny lasted only a moment after she'd been hit. In an instinctual reaction to the coughing, the clone had curled into the fetal position on the floor, but at first contact its muscles spasmed her ramrod straight, and she convulsed, her back arching off the ground as the scream ripped from Ginny's fabricated lungs turned hoarse.
But that took only a second. In another, the scream had gone from hoarse to something more, something animalistic, terrifying. Luna stumbled, the anger in her giving way to fear. And on the ground before her, Ginny's back was still arched off the ground, but it seemed to continue, seemed to bend further than was humanly possible - was that her head by ankles? - and- there was a blinding flash of white light. Luna tumbled back, screaming herself as she scrambled to cover her eyes, and she didn't know how long it was before she'd come back to her senses, collected herself enough to climb to her feet to defend herself.
But the clone was gone. All that was left was a large snake, twitching on the floor in the small puddle of blood the clone had left behind. "Oh no," Luna muttered. She stumbled forward to her knees. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."
She'd killed it. She'd used dark magic and the clone was gone. And she'd not even gotten any information from it. What had she done?
The feeling of rising horror was something she'd grown used to these days, but it wasn't something she could deal with now, not with an adder twitching on the floor before her. I'll save it, she thought desperately. Harry can speak to it, he'll- She thought of how Harry looked at Ginny sometimes when Ginny wasn't looking and frantically smashed her palm into her forehead. No, no, no, she couldn't, no, she couldn't, because Harry might hear Ginny in this snake, might believe, and Luna couldn't- Harry was all she had left, he was the only one who knew, she couldn't lose him too. She climbed to her knees, took the massive dark arts book in hand, and brought it down with a sickening crunch on the snake's head, grinding the leather into the ground to be sure, because some snakes lived hours without heads, and others had phantom heads, and others attached themselves to dolls and lived years more. The tail twitched weakly and fell limp and then she couldn't, anymore, her hands fell useless and for the next few minutes or hours or days she cried and cried.
