Part 2: On a Forcesake Planet in a Galaxy Too Far Away
There it was again. The distant boom and the drumming throughout his body. Grey mud and rubble rained down then more distant booming. Everything ticked slowly in his head. Ash began to tickle his face while his ears popped from the sudden sound of needles whizzing and crackling. Then silence.
“Sundown men! Suck it up! We have until sundown to get your shit together.”
The thought of waiting four long hours till sundown was horrific than being out on the barbed wired field of corpses. Numbly, his senses of reality came back as he observed the state of the situation. His armor itched from the weeks spent unclean and even his genetic alteration could not prevent bugs biting at his scalp and body. His feet burned, possible rotting and his throat burned blood. Three months from living in the dreary flooded channels were miserable. On grey days, it felt that they were one of the dead, living the same day over and over. On sunny days, the flooded channels were humid and permeated rotting flesh and feces. It was unsanitary and unsafe.
“So, that’s why you’ve been here longer than the rest of us?”
It was the young medic from earlier. He sat across with a bright yellow-teeth smile. His head wrap was matted with grime and grease and blue eyes distant curiosity.
“Yeah.” His own voice cracked, sounding not like his own but like of many faces.
“As you can tell, I’m the medic.” The medic laughed as he pointed to his name, written in bold, CANARY. “Wilson Canary.”
“I’m a clone.” The word was vile like the chemicals on his breath.
“Just clone? Don’t got a name?”
“CT 01521“ He pulled out a dirty rag and poured the last of his water on it. After wiping his face he handed the rag to Wilson, who happily took it.
“Just as good as a shower.” Wilson said as he revealed his surprisingly bright skin. His face was embellished with puffy eye bags and little freckles. “So can you clones heal faster than other species? I’m sorry, I’ve not the time to stop and chat with you or any of your brothers.”
“We’re a bit more capable than the average human.”
“Neat. Do you all look the same?”
Nodding his head, “We’re all the same, right down to our DNA.”
“So why did, or, I mean, does the Republic treat you guys they way they do?” He gestured to the carnage above.
“That is our purpose.” He replied monotonously.
“Purpose? But you’re not a droid.” Wilson reached over and pinched at dark muddied skin. “So you’re just a weapon instead of a person?”
The young medic was simply curious, the clone reminded himself.
“Hypocrites, all of them.” The rebel chuckled. His face sombered. “I’m from the northern continent. That sectioned was taken over first, myself and a bunch of others fled to the equator when the bomb went off. They corralled everyone.”
“We’re here to fight for you.”
“For you? You mean with us.” Wilson corrected.
He didn’t know for who or why or how. He was just fighting. The will to live ceased. He thought that suicide was too easy, too regretful, and once the war began, he decided that he’ll let the blaster decide. Now, year and a half into war, he was still alive. From the hazardous environments as factory labor to the frontline, he was still fucking alive. Death. All he wanted was death. Many times he has looked into similar, the same, brown eyes, searching. Searching for what though?
“Dax. My name is Dax.”