Chapter 2 - RC-1309 "Niner"
Submitted August 14, 2006 Updated August 14, 2006 Status Incomplete | [Republic Commando, post Hard Contact] The clone commandos contemplates the simple things as Omega Squad prepares for their next mission onboard a luxury liner.
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Chapter 2 - RC-1309 "Niner"
Chapter 2 - RC-1309 "Niner"
Simple Things
by Famira Damaris
Disclaimer: I don''t own Star Wars or any of the Republic Commando characters.
Author''s Note: Randomly decided to try continuing the short fics. Niner''s POV.
Summary: (Republic Commando, post Hard Contact) The clone commandos contemplates the simple things as Omega Squad prepares for their next mission.
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Simple Things
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(RC-1309 "Niner" )
Niner also liked it simple, like Fi, but he knew just as well as the rest of his brothers that simple was only a fantasy. So instead he always prepared for the worst, while going by the book – not that there was a “book”, but taking things literal usually was the closest bit of control he could muster. If he couldn’t have simple, he’d at least like to have control.
At the moment, being in control simply meant obsessively checking his HUD’s chrono every few seconds.
“Go time in five,” Fi said. “Let’s crash this little Sep picnic; breaks my heart how they forgot to invite us.”
Niner almost smiled. Instead, after the forced chuckles died down, he said, “Then it’s our job to remind them who we are.”
His brothers nodded. They weren’t his original podmates – they had all been killed at some point, hence the formation of what he knew were being called “mongrel squads” – but he liked them. More importantly, he trusted them. That was more important than anything else. Trust and loyalty were the currency of the GAR clones, as far as he was concerned, and from he’d heard from Kal Skirata, they were both like honor in this day and age: exceedingly rare, hard-won, yet more lasting and final than any amount of credits in the Republic. That was what simple, in the end, meant to Niner. Simple was knowing who you could trust and who deserved loyalty. Simple was knowing who didn’t.
Those generally deserved to be slotted. Or ignored. Either worked.
It really couldn’t get any more simple than that.
Unfortunately that meant that other than those core concepts, things had a habit of making themselves as complicated as possible. As far as he saw it, it was his duty to tackle these…complications, in whatever shape and form, head on, and do his best to get the mission accomplished and his brothers out alive. Mongrel squad or not.
He made it a point to keep tabs on how his brothers were feeling as much as possible. That meant talking to them personally in frequent one-to-one’s, doing his best to read the little nuances of emotion and mood in what they said – nuances that he knew now were practically invisible to what was that other breed of alien – civvies, wets, non-combats, there were plenty of names for what he didn’t know and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. The galaxy could be split into five categories: brothers, Kal Skirata (deserving of a category all to his own), civvies, tinnies and Jedi.
Tinnies were easy enough to understand, so long as you knew the most efficient way of slotting them. Kal Skirata was…well, he was Skirata and there was simply no other words that did the man justice. Civvies were utterly foreign, and vaguely threatening, in Niner’s opinion. He couldn’t trust any wet who could just as easily beg for mercy as stab you in the back with something as primitive as a pitchfork.
And then there were the Jedi.
Niner couldn’t help glancing at Darman. Darman had been exceedingly close to Jedi – to one Jedi in particular – since their first mission on Qiilura, although any concerns that Niner had about such a fascination being distracting were laid to rest by his brother’s performance. The man knew and breathed ordnance. But his fellow clone also had a habit of perking up whenever Etain was mentioned, actively interested in her welfare; it wasn’t a problem yet, but Niner didn’t want Darman to get his hopes up.
Best to focus on the mission. Doing anything else just made things more complicated than they needed to be.
Niner checked his chrono again. 300, by Coruscant – Triple Zero – time.
It was time. He didn’t even have to say anything – they all rose as one, with Niner slightly in the lead, and trooped from the bench into the hold of the medium-sized, three tiered luxury transport waiting for them. It wasn’t a Corellian vessel, which was slightly disappointing; Niner quite liked Corellian ships. They were reliable, efficient, ridiculously sturdy and could double as a gunship as readily as a passenger yacht; nevermind the space for all kinds of "modifications", which made them adaptable to boot. Niner was hardly an expert on spacecraft, but this luxury transport was just was it looked like.
And what was more, for appearances sake, it would soon be filled with actual civilians (wealthy ones), once they were cleared of the small fleet orbiting Bakura. The luxury transport was too small to be called a cruiser, but that didn’t stop people from vacationing, even if something as inconventient as a war happened to be going on at the same time. Most of Omega Squad would be concealed in a special cargo hold outfitted just for this mission alone, with the exception of Darman.
For some reason Niner couldn’t fathom, Darman had been selected by Omega’s CO to be stationed onboard the main guest tier. It was why he was currently sweating up a storm underneath his Katarn-class armor; he wore an additional layer of civvie clothes, something that he complained about itching and making him feel “like I’ve got ‘useless’ plastered all over my back”. It was an improvement, Fi chimed up with a straight face, now the clothes matched the clone. That had earned him a good thwack across his shoulder plate from Darman.
Still…Niner had a distant feeling that if Darman wanted to switch clothes with Fi, Fi wouldn’t have made much of an argument. Civvies fascinated Fi like Jedi did Darman. Best if Fi was with the rest of his brothers. Niner didn’t really like the idea of him wandering around up in that kind of jungle, where credits made a man. The plan was to pile into the cargo hold, get settled in for the ride, get Darman out of his armor and onto the main tiers – just like a tourist.
“Have fun, Darman,” Fi said, the grin still in his voice. It sounded a bit strained to Niner.
“I will,” Darman replied, in a way that said he most certainly wouldn’t.
Atin came up behind them, ducking through the narrow hatch into the cargo hold. “Move it, Fi. You’ll get to play tourist next time.” He gave Fi an almost playful half-shove. “But until then, we get to baby-sit you.”
Niner brought up the rear, his helmet’s T-slit glowing blue as he went in after Atin, closing the hatch after them manually. Darkness sealed them in. Atin could be distant to his fellow clones, but he had a good head on his shoulders, although he was pretty tight-lipped about anything having to do with his former squads. Niner thought that he seemed to be around Fi a good deal more than usual, but said nothing. If anything, having Atin around might ground Fi. Better than this strange desire to be around civies. Niner trusted Atin. He didn’t trust civilians. At all.
“Let’s load up. Keep the chatter to the standard channels,” Niner said quietly. “And Darman?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful up there.”
“I’ll watch my back, if that’s what you mean,” Darman’s voice was wry in the darkness. The luxury ship’s engines rumbled to life around Omega Squad, and Niner could feel the vibration of the drives kicking in through his boots. “I’ll miss my armor though. I don’t know how civvies can stand walking around like this. It screams ‘shoot me’.”
After a while – a standard hour, another compulsive check of the chrono told him – Niner saw the helmet from Darman’s direction lift off and set down on the floor. Atin and Fi helped their brother out of the armor, Fi stooping down and collecting the bits and pieces, neatly stacking them and stashing them into a satchel. Another hour and Darman slipped out the hatch that led into the lowest tier, the door hissing shut behind him. He was gone.
Niner checked his chrono. Darman would be out there for five hours – six if there was a delay, and there would be, civvies were notoriously unreliable – and then they’d deploy once they’d been successfully smuggled planet-side.
He just hoped that everything would go according to plan. Above all else, Niner wanted Darman back where he could see him. Civvies complicated everything. So much could go wrong in ways he couldn’t predict (though he’d tried), that it made him almost prefer to be crawling around in the muck and grass back in Qiilura. Almost, but not quite.
Actually, what he’d like most, what would make things almost simple, was to have Skirata here. Niner tried to channel his trainer, but he knew he’d never match the real thing – and the real thing would be a lot more comforting than Niner playing at being a replacement Skirata for his brothers.
But he was the next best thing. Niner could take some comfort in that.
by Famira Damaris
Disclaimer: I don''t own Star Wars or any of the Republic Commando characters.
Author''s Note: Randomly decided to try continuing the short fics. Niner''s POV.
Summary: (Republic Commando, post Hard Contact) The clone commandos contemplates the simple things as Omega Squad prepares for their next mission.
--------------------
Simple Things
--------------------
(RC-1309 "Niner" )
Niner also liked it simple, like Fi, but he knew just as well as the rest of his brothers that simple was only a fantasy. So instead he always prepared for the worst, while going by the book – not that there was a “book”, but taking things literal usually was the closest bit of control he could muster. If he couldn’t have simple, he’d at least like to have control.
At the moment, being in control simply meant obsessively checking his HUD’s chrono every few seconds.
“Go time in five,” Fi said. “Let’s crash this little Sep picnic; breaks my heart how they forgot to invite us.”
Niner almost smiled. Instead, after the forced chuckles died down, he said, “Then it’s our job to remind them who we are.”
His brothers nodded. They weren’t his original podmates – they had all been killed at some point, hence the formation of what he knew were being called “mongrel squads” – but he liked them. More importantly, he trusted them. That was more important than anything else. Trust and loyalty were the currency of the GAR clones, as far as he was concerned, and from he’d heard from Kal Skirata, they were both like honor in this day and age: exceedingly rare, hard-won, yet more lasting and final than any amount of credits in the Republic. That was what simple, in the end, meant to Niner. Simple was knowing who you could trust and who deserved loyalty. Simple was knowing who didn’t.
Those generally deserved to be slotted. Or ignored. Either worked.
It really couldn’t get any more simple than that.
Unfortunately that meant that other than those core concepts, things had a habit of making themselves as complicated as possible. As far as he saw it, it was his duty to tackle these…complications, in whatever shape and form, head on, and do his best to get the mission accomplished and his brothers out alive. Mongrel squad or not.
He made it a point to keep tabs on how his brothers were feeling as much as possible. That meant talking to them personally in frequent one-to-one’s, doing his best to read the little nuances of emotion and mood in what they said – nuances that he knew now were practically invisible to what was that other breed of alien – civvies, wets, non-combats, there were plenty of names for what he didn’t know and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. The galaxy could be split into five categories: brothers, Kal Skirata (deserving of a category all to his own), civvies, tinnies and Jedi.
Tinnies were easy enough to understand, so long as you knew the most efficient way of slotting them. Kal Skirata was…well, he was Skirata and there was simply no other words that did the man justice. Civvies were utterly foreign, and vaguely threatening, in Niner’s opinion. He couldn’t trust any wet who could just as easily beg for mercy as stab you in the back with something as primitive as a pitchfork.
And then there were the Jedi.
Niner couldn’t help glancing at Darman. Darman had been exceedingly close to Jedi – to one Jedi in particular – since their first mission on Qiilura, although any concerns that Niner had about such a fascination being distracting were laid to rest by his brother’s performance. The man knew and breathed ordnance. But his fellow clone also had a habit of perking up whenever Etain was mentioned, actively interested in her welfare; it wasn’t a problem yet, but Niner didn’t want Darman to get his hopes up.
Best to focus on the mission. Doing anything else just made things more complicated than they needed to be.
Niner checked his chrono again. 300, by Coruscant – Triple Zero – time.
It was time. He didn’t even have to say anything – they all rose as one, with Niner slightly in the lead, and trooped from the bench into the hold of the medium-sized, three tiered luxury transport waiting for them. It wasn’t a Corellian vessel, which was slightly disappointing; Niner quite liked Corellian ships. They were reliable, efficient, ridiculously sturdy and could double as a gunship as readily as a passenger yacht; nevermind the space for all kinds of "modifications", which made them adaptable to boot. Niner was hardly an expert on spacecraft, but this luxury transport was just was it looked like.
And what was more, for appearances sake, it would soon be filled with actual civilians (wealthy ones), once they were cleared of the small fleet orbiting Bakura. The luxury transport was too small to be called a cruiser, but that didn’t stop people from vacationing, even if something as inconventient as a war happened to be going on at the same time. Most of Omega Squad would be concealed in a special cargo hold outfitted just for this mission alone, with the exception of Darman.
For some reason Niner couldn’t fathom, Darman had been selected by Omega’s CO to be stationed onboard the main guest tier. It was why he was currently sweating up a storm underneath his Katarn-class armor; he wore an additional layer of civvie clothes, something that he complained about itching and making him feel “like I’ve got ‘useless’ plastered all over my back”. It was an improvement, Fi chimed up with a straight face, now the clothes matched the clone. That had earned him a good thwack across his shoulder plate from Darman.
Still…Niner had a distant feeling that if Darman wanted to switch clothes with Fi, Fi wouldn’t have made much of an argument. Civvies fascinated Fi like Jedi did Darman. Best if Fi was with the rest of his brothers. Niner didn’t really like the idea of him wandering around up in that kind of jungle, where credits made a man. The plan was to pile into the cargo hold, get settled in for the ride, get Darman out of his armor and onto the main tiers – just like a tourist.
“Have fun, Darman,” Fi said, the grin still in his voice. It sounded a bit strained to Niner.
“I will,” Darman replied, in a way that said he most certainly wouldn’t.
Atin came up behind them, ducking through the narrow hatch into the cargo hold. “Move it, Fi. You’ll get to play tourist next time.” He gave Fi an almost playful half-shove. “But until then, we get to baby-sit you.”
Niner brought up the rear, his helmet’s T-slit glowing blue as he went in after Atin, closing the hatch after them manually. Darkness sealed them in. Atin could be distant to his fellow clones, but he had a good head on his shoulders, although he was pretty tight-lipped about anything having to do with his former squads. Niner thought that he seemed to be around Fi a good deal more than usual, but said nothing. If anything, having Atin around might ground Fi. Better than this strange desire to be around civies. Niner trusted Atin. He didn’t trust civilians. At all.
“Let’s load up. Keep the chatter to the standard channels,” Niner said quietly. “And Darman?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful up there.”
“I’ll watch my back, if that’s what you mean,” Darman’s voice was wry in the darkness. The luxury ship’s engines rumbled to life around Omega Squad, and Niner could feel the vibration of the drives kicking in through his boots. “I’ll miss my armor though. I don’t know how civvies can stand walking around like this. It screams ‘shoot me’.”
After a while – a standard hour, another compulsive check of the chrono told him – Niner saw the helmet from Darman’s direction lift off and set down on the floor. Atin and Fi helped their brother out of the armor, Fi stooping down and collecting the bits and pieces, neatly stacking them and stashing them into a satchel. Another hour and Darman slipped out the hatch that led into the lowest tier, the door hissing shut behind him. He was gone.
Niner checked his chrono. Darman would be out there for five hours – six if there was a delay, and there would be, civvies were notoriously unreliable – and then they’d deploy once they’d been successfully smuggled planet-side.
He just hoped that everything would go according to plan. Above all else, Niner wanted Darman back where he could see him. Civvies complicated everything. So much could go wrong in ways he couldn’t predict (though he’d tried), that it made him almost prefer to be crawling around in the muck and grass back in Qiilura. Almost, but not quite.
Actually, what he’d like most, what would make things almost simple, was to have Skirata here. Niner tried to channel his trainer, but he knew he’d never match the real thing – and the real thing would be a lot more comforting than Niner playing at being a replacement Skirata for his brothers.
But he was the next best thing. Niner could take some comfort in that.
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