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Kix smiled as he entered the decanting room. Ten growth vats were lined up on the wall, a free-standing control and monitoring station facing them; inside each one, a vod’ika floated, breathing masks over their faces, eyes closed. They looked almost like they were in bacta, sleeping off healing and battle, save for their tubes being oriented horizontal instead of vertical.
CT-67-9010 through 9020. Today was their decanting day.
Decanting was the first clear memory any clone had, and it usually wasn’t a good one. Kix remembered his; he had awoken abruptly, plunged into a world like an icy pool, his senses reeling with overwhelming sensations, most of them unpleasant. The cold hardness of an examination table, the stabbing brightness of the overhead lights, the blank gazes of the Kaminoans as they heartlessly poked and prodded at him with their cold, dispassionate fingers. They had said words that he automatically knew the meanings of, but didn’t really understand , the alienness of the flash-trained knowledge making him frightened.
It wasn’t like that anymore, Kix was proud to say.
He glanced to either side of him, sharing an excited grin with Helix and Coric, his fellow medics- Healers now, he reminded himself- just as excited as he. It never got old, bringing vatties into the world.
Kix approached the control panel, rapidly going through the process of starting the decanting process on the first three and setting a timer to begin the process on the rest in sets of three every five minutes, while Coric and Helix prepared to receive them with the ease of long practice. Once the process was started, Kix joined them, then picked one of the tubes, watching the fluid drain and the vattie slowly sink with the fluid level until he was resting in a fetal position on the floor of the tube.
Once the fluid was gone, Kix popped open the front of the tube and reached in, gently wiping away most of the slimy fluid with a soft towel in efficient, practiced motions, simultaneously checking for any abnormalities but finding none. The breathing mask he slipped off and left in the tube, along with the dirty towel. By this time, the vod’ika had begun to stir, confused whimpers slipping from his mouth before his eyes even opened.
“Shh,” Kix shushed soothingly, strong arms easily lifting the boy out, wrapping him snugly in a warm, fluffy blanket; this one knitted, a warm orange. The blankets were provided by a small army of volunteers, mostly elderly former slaves who liked to knit and sew and lovingly spoil children; each blanket unique, save for being large and comforting. Big enough to swaddle a (physically) eight-year in, comforting enough to soothe the harshness of the world on skin that had never felt it before.
It was a newer tradition, the blankets, started only about three weeks after they transferred the remaining vatties to Cin Vehtin. Kix wished they had thought of it sooner.
Hefting the still whimpering vattie into a more secure hold, cradled against his chest, Kix carried him out of the room, humming soothing nonsense to him and nuzzling short black hair, distantly aware of Coric and Helix doing similar- Coric had even started humming Vode An. Amber eyes blinked blearily open, looking around with an unfocused gaze until they met Kix’s. Kix knew that his eyes wouldn’t be able to properly focus for about an hour yet, the muscles of the iris as weak and unused as the rest of him, but Kix met his eyes and smiled anyway.
“Hey, vod’ika,” he murmured softly, not expecting a reply or receiving one. Down the dim hall, he walked, until he approached a room whose door swished open at his approach. Inside was as restfully dim as the hall, painted in soothing colors. The space was dominated by a massive low bed, the bed a messy nest of blankets and sheets and pillows and other soft things. Four vode sat in a rough semi-circle on the bed- Wolffe, Comet, Boost and Sinker, today; all wearing nothing but soft night shorts to increase skin-on-skin contact. The Wolfpack were frequent volunteers for “welcome duty”, Wolffe claiming General Koon encouraged them to do so. Kix thought he just liked influencing more “pups” without finally committing to adoption.
All four brightened when he entered, their low conversation halting. Kix went to Sinker, the closest vod to him. He held out the vattie, with a quiet murmur of “9012,” Sinker easily taking him and settling him in his lap, grinning down at the boy.
“Hey, pup,” Sinker chuckled, cuddling him properly, the vattie clumsily snuggling in, humming. Kix smiled fondly, then turned to go and repeat the process.
It wasn’t long before all ten were removed from their tubes and in the bed, piled about the Wolfpack in a warm puppy pile, the adults murmuring soft reassurances and welcome to their newest brothers. The medics hovered about them, unobtrusively checking the vatties over, noting down anything that merited further investigation later during their first check-ups in a few days.
By the time they were done, about half an hour later, the vatties had roused enough to be making clumsy attempts at movement and speech, looking around curiously even as they instinctively cuddled with the Wolfpack and each other. That was the first thing that had been changed when they had taken over from the Kaminoans; now, the only flash-training the vatties got pre-decanting was an absolute minimum understanding of Basic, only the two hundred most common words. Just enough to get them started. They would not be shorted the joy of discovery.
As they finished, the Healers sat on the edges of the bed, joining the pile unobtrusively. Kix beamed when one, this one half out of his pastel-colored, lothcat patterned blanket, rolled away from where he had been laying by Comet’s side to crawl over to his lap instead, the vattie curling up half in his lap, picking at the fabric of his green healer’s uniform with a frown, the healers the only ones dressed. Kix let him with a chuckle, gently petting his hair.
“Who you?” one asked thickly, looking up at Wolffe from under his blue downy blanket, spangled with white stars. He was one of the few that had figured out how to sit up already, currently huddled under Boost’s arm, leaning against the older clone’s side.
Wolffe offered him a grin. “I’m Wolffe,” he introduced himself. He nodded his head in the direction of each of his brothers, introducing them in turn, “That’s Boost, and Comet, and Sinker. That’s Healer Helix, Healer Kix, and Healer Coric. We’re your ori’vode, your big brothers, and we’re going to take care of you.” They went quiet, considering this answer.
“Who they?” another piped up, this one curled up on his side under a plush plum blanket, his head resting on Helix’s thigh, looking over his batchmates.
“These are your vode, your brothers,” Wolffe answered patiently. “You have lots more, but these are your batchmate vode. We will teach you to take care of each other.”
Another bout of quiet contemplation. Then, from one with the blonde mutation and a satiny amber blanket that matched his eyes, curled bodily around one of his batchmates, “Who am I?”
Kix smiled. They had even done away with flash-training their designations.
“Your designation,” Wolffe answered, “Is CT-67-9017. But you will discover who you are.” He paused, before offering gently, “Would you like a name?”
The boys all startled, blinking, just realizing they didn’t have names, and there was a difference between one and their designation. They didn’t quite understand the difference, Kix could tell, confusion dominant in their eyes, but he knew they’d learn.
“Yes,” the blonde one finally answered, sitting up with effort to face Wolffe better. “What is my name?” he asked, seriously.
Wolffe chuckled at the seriousness of the vattie’s tone. “Your name,” he answered firmly, “Is Sternen.”
The newly named Sternen blinked, seeming to weigh it, mouthing it to himself, learning the shape of it. Eventually, he nodded in approval.
“I want a name!” 9012 piped up loudly from Sinker’s lap, now sitting up, reclined against Sinker’s solid chest, his orange blanket pooled about his waist and covering his legs, but his naked back pressed to Sinker’s naked chest, a pout on his face.
The men laughed, Sinker reaching up to teasingly tug on his ear. “I think we should call you Gekgek,” he chuckled.
Kix snorted. Gekgek meant ‘noisy’ in Togrutan.
Gekgek was oblivious, however, seeming pleased with his new name, his pout disappearing. Soon, there was a flurry of requests for names, the seven troopers doling out names, each of them naming at least one.
The one in Kix’s lap looked up at him, his brow still furrowed and frown still on his face. “Can I have a name?” he asked quietly.
Kix nodded, tapping the tip of his nose playfully. “‘Course you can,” he assured him. “How about...”
Kix considered. He always named the vatties after a brother that had marched away, either one of his own personal brothers or one he had failed to save. It was an idea picked up from Pantora, from Chopper- there, they always named a youngling after someone dead, as they believed saying the name of the dead would draw the attention of their ghost. It made their name a protective talisman, the ghosts of those marched away standing guard over them. Which of his brothers would best look out for this frowny-faced vattie?
A sadness seeped into his smile. “How about Jang?” he offered. Jang had been one of his batchers; he had been lost at Felucia. He had always been quick with a joke, particularly enjoying teasing their more serious brothers. “They need it more,” he had always insisted.
The vattie thought for only a moment before nodding, some of his frown easing. Kix beamed at him, drawing him up into a proper hug, rubbing a bare arm and pressing a kiss to soft black hair. “Good to meet you, Jang,” he whispered. Jang gave a contented hum, snuggling in, his small hands grasping handfuls of Kix’s uniform tunic.
For several hours, they all snuggled together, the younger brothers gaining control over their limbs and tongues in leaps and bounds, the older brothers answering questions and showing them the comfort of brothers.
“What’s this?” Jang asked shyly, holding up a handful of his blanket for Kix’s inspection.
“That’s your blanket,” Kix informed him, reaching down to hike it up a bit and wrap it more snugly around his chest, leaving just his shoulders and arms free. He traced the outline of one of the unnaturally colored lothcats. “It’s got lothcats on it, see? It’s yours, for however long you want it. A gift.” Jang’s eyes went wide and soft with awe, his hands smoothing over the cotton. He knew what ‘gift’ meant.
“It’s soft,” he observed quietly, adding more firmly, “I like it.”
Kix smiled, pressing another kiss to his hair. “I’m glad, vod’ika.”
It wasn’t long, however, before they gained energy, beginning to giggle and tumble about, testing their bodies and beginning to learn each other. The adults chuckled and matched their energy, carefully preventing bumps and strains while teaching them simple learning songs like the alphabet and the first verse of Vode An. Coric eventually stood, calling the vatties over to him; they followed him off the bed on wobbly legs, tottering like newborn nerf. Coric led them in a series of simple stretches, the Wolfpack joining them and offering encouragement. All three medics watched them carefully, making sure none were displaying signs of any physical disorders; but this batch appeared healthy, and by the time Coric was done with them, mostly steady on their feet.
Finally, three hours after their decanting, Helix brought out a big bin of colorful, soft youngling clothes; tunics and pants and soft little boots. Wolffe and the others dressed again in their own clothes, encouraging them to copy, and eventually most of them were mostly dressed; two, Hen and Atin, staunchly refused even boots, choosing instead to remain wrapped up in their blankets. They let them be, encouraging the choice-making, and made sure every vattie didn’t forget their blanket.
As ready as they would ever be, Wolffe led the charge to the creche this particular batch would call home for the next few years, gesturing them forward with a bright, “Let’s go home, vod’ikase!” The younglings followed after him, chattering excitedly, the remaining members of the Wolfpack corralling them from behind.
Jang, now in a bright red tunic and cream pants but no shoes, with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, moved to follow, stopping short when Kix let go of his hand. Big amber eyes turned up to Kix, confused and hurt.
Kix smiled warmly even as he felt a tug on his heart, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. This was always the hardest, when one bonded to him. “Go on, Jang,” he encouraged gently. “Wolffe and Comet and Sinker and Boost are going to take care of you. Helix and Coric and I need to go wake up the next batch.”
“No,” Jang whimpered, tears filling his eyes, shaking his head in childish denial. “Want ori’vod Kix.”
Kix chuckled, pulling him into a hug, kissing his hair, letting him clutch his tunic front and bury his face in his shoulder for a few minutes, before gently pushing him back again. He met amber eyes with his own, his hands cupping baby-fat cheeks and thumbs wiping away tears.
“Hey, it’s ok,” he murmured soothingly. “You can come visit me sometimes if you want, ok? But I can’t go with you. Sometimes that’s just how it is,” Kix sighed sadly, tipping their foreheads together in a reassuring press. Gently, he offered the piece of advice he gave all the ones that got attached to him. “That’s why, if you find someone who will always be by your side, you hold on tight to them, ok? Never ever let them go.”
Jang sniffled, dejected, but eventually nodded. Kix offered him a proud smile. “There’s a trooper,” he praised. He stood, then picked Jang up, eliciting a squeal of surprise from him. An eight-year was a little big to be picked up like this, but the Kaminoans had made them strong. Kix was glad to put it to good use.
Kix chuckled, hugging him close, then turned to Comet, who had lingered behind to wait for the reluctant youngling while the others went ahead. He shifted Jang to Comet’s arms, Comet taking him with a chuckled “Come on, pup,” and Jang clinging to Comet like a monkey-lizard. His big amber eyes watched Kix over Comet’s shoulder as the trooper strode away, an uncertain frown tugging his mouth down again. Kix smiled reassuringly at him, waving until they turned a corner and were gone.
Kix felt his smile fade, his hand dropping despondently to his side.
A brotherly arm draped comfortingly over his shoulders, Kix turning to face Coric. His mentor smiled, understanding warm in his eyes. Kix sighed.
“Are you sure Jesse would mind if I brought another one home?” Kix asked Coric in a whine.
Coric chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure. Jesse would have my head if you brought one home, especially so soon after Netra.” His arm tightened around Kix’s shoulders in a firm hug. “We give them a good start, Kix. That’s all. You know that.”
Kix sighed sadly, crossing his arms over his chest in a self-hug. “I know.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It is a good start, isn’t it? Lot better than we had.”
“Damn straight,” Helix snorted from his other side.
“Damn straight,” Coric echoed, giving Kix one last squeeze before dropping his arm. “Let’s go get lunch quick, then we’ll get our second batch out.”
“Yes sir,” both Kix and Helix replied, just flippantly enough to be teasing. Coric rolled his eyes, turning to head to the cloning center’s mess.
“No respect,” he grumbled, equally teasing.
Kix laughed and followed his brothers, already thinking ahead to the next batch and giving them a good start.