Other Lives

Meeting Lucky's intense gaze, the young Balosar woman nodded at the soldier's sensible request, "I'll see what I can do --- So it's the diplomatic shuttle then? Fitted out with a quarantine suite?

"Anything else?"

Trailing Sectors Command - Denon

The large cruiser slowly settled on it's landing gear - the diplomatic shuttle Bravo was to use miniscule in comparison - it's massive, heavy loading ramp slow to descend as the whole of Denon base turned out in their dress uniforms. No one faulted the Squad for their armor - for theirs was important work they were moments from setting off on - as the Honor Guard took their positions, the ramp settling with a massive hiss of compressed air, revealing the flag draped coffins within.

Master Kota was the first to ascend, pausing at the first, undoubtedly offering some words for his fallen friend General Ima-Gun Di - whose squad had been working with the Ryloth Resistance movement and where he and Captain Keeli had fought to the last man ensuring the Resistance's escape. With a call of 'present arms' from the base commander, all present saluted, the Honor Guard respectively and slowly bringing the fallen out. So many - an entire Company - and a pointed reminder of the costs of war.

---

They caught Sarge staring out the shuttles front view port, the procession long since past and the Squad resuming their preparations to leave.

So many of our brothers," he said, shaking his self free from his reverie, "Best we be on our way. Before whatever they were cooking up gets released and we are forced to endure more of these.

---

Observing the ceremony, Ani reflected on many things... She believed in the mission of the Jedi, and of the Republic - to bring peace to the Galaxy. But you of course cannot create peace with war.

It was the last course of action.

War creates nothing but suffering, and fear, and anger, and death. And certainly those things - when targeted and executed properly - can, sometimes, and for a time, create a manner of peace. Just as bringing a criminal to justice can create a manner of peace. But war... what a terrible means to achieve an end.

Just as with a criminal case, there was still a wrong, still loss, that would remain and could never be truly erased. And war was the same but on a much greater scale, and unlike a criminal case, almost inevitably demanded the creation of more wrongs and more loss to bring that peace.

Anytime someone thanked her for her service, she couldn't help but reflect morose and inwardly, as she smiled and accepted the platitude graciously outwardly. Too often the words would come out as a reflex from those who offered them, with no actual thought or honoring of the phenomenon of service afterward.

She would want to say back to them;

'Don't thank me for my service. I do what I do, not for you, but for those who had no choice. For the wronged and the loss. For those who were wronged in the acts that started the war. For those who were wronged in the process of war - both civilian and soldier. And that, for those of both sides.

So that perhaps if I do my job right, there will be fewer wronged and fewer lost.

I, and those who are wronged, don't need your words - I need your action.

To thank me, I instead only ask that you live a life that treats all other lives with respect. One that doesn't depend on resources that must be extracted at someone else's expense. One that doesn't indoctrinate or demand that others consider your customs above any other. One that doesn't seek a unending expansion of influence or wealth. One that seeks truth and kindness.

That is how you can thank me.

Look behind you, and look ahead of you, and with that perspective try to live a life that doesn't necessitate war.'

And so it was with these thoughts that she looked upon the continuing losses.

CT-8470 stopped for a moment to stand at attention as the fallen are unloaded from the cruiser. The loss of so many good soldiers was never a good thing, but those men had died doing the exact thing they had been made to do: Fight so that other sapients might live. Not everyone got to fulfill their purpose in life in so unambiguous a manner. He could only hope that General Di got the same consolation in his own death.

Offering a quick salute, CT-8470 turned back to his own duty. "7447, do you have what you need to gain entry to facilities in lockdown?" If the Seps had closed up shop prior to evacuating, they might need to unlock sealed doors or else blow them open.

Lucky offered salute to their fallen brother obviously. He never forgot his fallen brother himself, they were always in his mind and heart.

For for all the heroics exits, recognised and honored by all, there were thousands of brothers falling unseen and forgotten. Keeping them with him everyday was the best honour he could give them.

Beamer stood at attention, expressionless. His brothers died doing what they were intended to. They were certainly being buried like men. Still, an uneasy feeling crept around the back of his mind. Was there anything after this for them? He was proud to be part of something bigger. Proud to be made for this - and good at it. But he knew full well that even though they were far more complex than a new-model rifle, they were still specifically engineered as tools of war. Would they still be treated like men as the novelty of a clone army wore off?

Pebble's comment brought him back. He turned to them with a wry grin.

If all else fails we can make due with sticks and stones. He gestured to his rifle. Just let me bring my own stick.

Master Kota had seen to it that Denon had a small supply of fitted space suits for Wals' use. The complication of a tail made simple refitting almost impossible. The armorers had fitted plates to it, pinning down the normally bulky and flowing robes Wals favored under brown-striped white pauldrons and an armored belt containing an atmosphere regulator. The bubble-canopied helmet, transparent to his lower jawline where it hinged open to fold back behind his neck, was tucked into a pocket beneath his voluminous hood. It still bounced uncomfortably on his back between his shoulders. He had finally asserted himself at the addition of armor plates to his tail, leaving a single hinged plate protecting his posterior joint, the rest of the appendage sleeved in the black undersuit material common to clone trooper armor.

The overall effect, with his sleeves tucked into vambraces and his sleek build trimmed tightly, made him almost seem comically dwarfish beside the clone troopers, rather than merely short. His cavern-adapted eyes squinted in the comparatively bright sunlight of Denon as he walked towards the shuttle, well wide of the procession.

By the standards of most races, including his own, Wals was barely past the peak of his adolescence. The expectations of the war wore on even the most seasoned Jedi, but he was still of an age where he grappled with the idea of mortality at all. He almost staggered at the sight, as the caskets flowed from the hold of the llooming Acclamator by the score. He struggled to contextualize it.

The Battle of Geonosis had been a blur, a disastrous battle for survival in the face of an unexpectedly resilent opponent. What had been intended as a show of overwhelming force to cow a nascent group of revolutionaries had turned into a pitched battle far more evenly matched than the Republic had been led to believe. He'd only attended one funeral, aside from a more general memorial service. Seeing Master Shay's casket atomized in the ceremonial pyre at the temple had been devastating.

He couldn't possibly multiply the sense of displacement and disassociation by the numbers that filled the boarding ramp. He couldn't bear the thought of all those troopers, brothers in more than arms, confused and disoriented by the grief. Their training and their shocking youth sheltered them, perhaps, from the full impact, perhaps better than his more empathetic Jedi upbringing, but he couldn't imagine it was any less injurious to them than it had been for him.

He mounted the shuttle's boarding ramp with a shaky hand on an overhead bar, dropping himself into a jump seat at the shuttle's rear with much greater weight than his diminutive frame seemed capable of carrying. He slumped forward in his seat and put his head in his hands, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Not used to flight yet, sir? The energetic voice and footsteps hopping on the transport belonged to...

Well, how would Wals know? They're clones.

Beamer offered him a bracing smile then registered something about the young Jedi's posture. His expression fell but was somehow more genuine.

It's part of the job, but you don't have to like it.

He wasn't talking about the ship anymore.

Wals did not have a reputation for being particularly bright. As he looked up at Beamer with dark, blank eyes, the clone might get the impression that the reputation might be deserved. One furred ridge over his eye furrowed as he decoded the subtext like a foreign language.

But he might just have been shaken.

His thumb moved up and brushed over the curve of his Padawan braid along his jaw. His lips worked a little, struggling to find words in the moment. "I don't know if it agrees with me."

Good.

Beamer liked this kid. Whatever the rumors said, his heart was in the right place. Or at least wanted to be.

My kind? We're bred for this. But why bother ending a war if it agrees with you? People who can say "enough" are just as important as troops. Maybe more so.

He gave Wals a casual salute then buckled in to wait for the others.

Hopefully, that will be given to us. In the past, it has been. My strong suit is mechanics and explosives though.

Along with the others, 7447 pays his respects to the fallen.

Trailing Sectors Command - Denon

The flight deck cleared of personnel, the Honor Guard moving the fallen to a warehouse where they could be placed in honor until the arrangements to return them to Kamino and a proper observance of burial could be made. Sarge, having finished his preflight checks exited the shuttles small cockpit to take inventory of the Squads progress in loading the shuttle and ensure everything was secure.

---

Outside the Capital City of Old Mankoo - Old Mankoo System

The small, yet serviceable, diplomatic shuttle settled upon the grassy plain with a sharp hiss of air that sent the local fauna scurrying with quick, irritated chirps. The tall grass, undulating in the small breeze, appeared as if their transport was floating upon a see of green, the peacefulness broken only by the occasional content lowing of a herd of herbivores in the distant - perhaps making it difficult to believe the planets economy was in such a depressed state. Despite the 'official' documents stating they were on a Judicial mission in search of a fugitive, for all appearances they had landed unnoticed - having received no contact from the starport that Officer B'Hespon had warned at this point was barely classified as 'limited services.

Bravo knew from their study of the holomap that their LZ was upon the high plateau above the medical facility, equidistant between the city - also upon the plateau - and the hospital. The main highway to the facility took a gradual route down and exited the Capital on the far side from where the squad had landed with a service road that was narrow and utilized switchbacks to descend the steep face.

---

Lucky spend most of the trip in a pensive mood. As usual, he used the travel time to double check and maintain his old and new gears. He had made sure to prepare in case of heavy resistance and he was feeling confident. Despite the quick rotation of squadmates, he was starting to get more used to his new role. With the new familiarity came more thoughts about the scale and impact of their assignment, but that was somethings to figure out at a later time.

When the shuttle landed and the site was secured, the trooper addressed the commanders :
"Shall I prepare the bikes or shall we proceed on foot?"

Speed and discretion both had their value. He himself was leaning more toward speed in this case. The situation on the planet seemed to be enough to keep everyone sufficiently distracted.

Wals stepped down the ramp, blinking in the sudden light of the sun. It was only due to their elevated vantage that he could see the city. Their shuttle had likely been little more than a speck, if anyone had noticed at all. He felt the oppressive presence of the open sky, though. An overflight might reveal them.

"I.. think we should ride. At least until we get closer." He turned to their attache, the doctor. "Will your instruments be able to tell us if we are in danger at those speeds?"