Chapter Text
He could not move an inch.
His limbs strapped to the table and a band holding his head down, Dogma could only watch helplessly as Nala Se drifted closer, a hypospray in her eerie hands. He knew that in a matter of minutes, he would be dead. Yet another clone dead at the hands of the Republic, but Dogma did not know if he’d be worthy of marching on with his brothers.
What a pathetic waste of a soldier. He’d turned on his brothers, aided a traitor, killed a Jedi (nevermind that the Jedi and the traitor were one and the same), and what did he have to show for any of it? He didn’t get the dignity of dying in combat and he was under no illusions that his vode would miss him. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the only blue armor at his court martial was Rex’s.
His lip trembled.
He wanted Tup. His last batchmate, his rock. He wanted his ori’vod to thread his fingers through his hair (nevermind that it wasn’t long and fluffy like his) and tell him to ignore the bullies and the whispers and…and…he wanted Tup to hug him and tell him it’d be ok, like he did when they were cadets.
He’d lost any right to his vode that moment he’d lifted a blaster towards them. Tup did not want him anymore. Fives would never forgive him. Jesse would forever scoff at his memory. Hardcase…
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Nala Se looked at him impassively, swiping a long finger over the wetness on his cheek. She looked at it for a moment before wiping her finger off on her clothes with a look of disdain. Dogma wondered if she knew it’d leave a slight mark, albeit a temporary one. Just like him.
“Defect.”
CT-6922 felt the sting of the hypospray entering the left side of his neck, the numbing of his body, the sudden struggle to stay awake, keep breathing.
Dogma’s life had been left with his brothers. All he was now was an empty shell to be disposed of.
When his eyes drifted shut, Dogma tried, one last time, to think of Tup.
***
It hurt to breathe.
Which wasn’t a problem because it hurt, it was a problem because Dogma was certain that he wasn’t supposed to be breathing.
His chest felt tight and bruised, lungs expanding but not getting enough air. That was the first thing he noticed. The second was that his neck was burning . A fiery sensation up and down his veins, burning him from the inside out. An agony greater than any he could remember.
Dogma’s eyes struggled to open. Every part of him felt weak and sluggish. He was about 83% certain that if his stomach had any contents, it would’ve given them up at this point between the nausea and his pounding headache and the pain .
When his eyes finally opened, he realized that he was in some form of a crate that was just barely large enough to hold him. He could feel the crate moving, as if it was on some sliding surface. A weird hissing sound surrounded him and he could barely make out someone’s voice. They weren’t terribly far away, maybe 20 or 30 feet.
And above all that, he could hear the crashing of waves that seemed to get louder every other hissing sound.
Nala Se. Decommissioning. The hypospray.
Dogma felt as though he couldn’t breathe, mind finally catching up to him. He’d been decommissioned, but he was alive! He didn’t know how or why, but he’d survived. Unless this was some terrible afterlife he’d been sent to. He’d probably deserve it.
The pain in his neck was too real though, the box around him too firm. He was alive. He was in a box. If he was alive, that meant that the Kaminoans didn’t know. They thought he was dead and if they thought he was dead…well something had to be done with the body, right?
All sense left him as he raised his arm--only the right, as the left wouldn’t cooperate--and banged on the box around him. He might be alerting the Kaminoans for all he knew, but the box was getting smaller and he was supposed to be dead and he just wanted Tup…
“Gaa'tayl! Help me please! I’m not dead! Help me! Get me out! Gedet’ye! Gedet’ye !” His words drifted into hysterical and breathless sobs, terror welling up in him as he struggled to breathe.
It felt like an eternity later when the box lid opened and all Dogma could see was blinding white light. He scrambled desperately, coordinating his sluggish limbs just enough to hurl himself out of the box. It was a hard fall and he landed heavily on his left side, but the box was no longer around him and that was all that mattered.
Someone touched his shoulder and he shrank away. Before they could move back, he then clasped at whatever of that person was closer and clutched on tightly, begging brokenly not to be put back in that box.
“Please, please, please I’ll do anything, please…don’t put me back there, gedet’ye…please don’t kill me! I’ll be better, please don’t put me back in there, gedet’ye, gedet’ye…I want Tup…”
The person he was clutching was rubbing at his back gently, a soft voice drifting over him without words. Not a Kaminoan, then. He would’ve been back in that box already if it had been. A Nat-born? No, he couldn’t remember any that were this…nice. A vod?
Slowly his breathing and tremors slowed down, the tears still coursing down his cheeks. The hand on his back was soothing and he wished that it wouldn’t stop. He dared to look up, still clutching at the fabric in his hands.
Kind old 99, the confidant and advisor beloved by all clones, gazed down at him with bewildered and sad eyes. His hand was steady as it ran over Dogma’s thin shoulders, but Dogma remembered seeing him briefly when he’d been brought back to Kamino after the sentencing. Ever since he’d almost been killed in the battle of Kamino, which Tup and Dogma were still on Kamino for, the old clone moved slower than ever. But he’d sent Tup and Dogma off with kind words and a bracing hug, having been the only other vod outside of their batch to understand Dogma in a way that couldn’t be explained.
Special, he’d called him.
Dogma didn’t feel special.
“99?” Dogma croaked, voice hoarse from the cries and dryness.
“Dogma, vod,” Tears coursed down Dogma’s cheeks at a more rapid pace. He’d never thought someone would call him vod again. “How are you alive? Th-they decommissioned you.”
“I don’t know.” He rasped out, burying his face in the pant leg which was apparently what he was grasping. “I thought I died…then I woke up and the box was all around me and I hurt… ”
“Easy now, easy. Take a breath, little brother.” 99 saved him from going into another spiral with soothing words. “I won’t put you back in the box, I promise.”
99 never backed out on his promises. The part of Dogma that desperately needed to believe in his older brother won out and he was able to finally stop crying, breathing mostly steady. The nausea, the headache, the neck pain, the chest pain…all of that was worse than ever. But Dogma wasn’t panicking anymore.
He lifted his head just enough to look around the room. Boxes just like the one he’d gotten out of were spread all over, only a few with their lids still on that were on a conveyor belt. The room was classic Kamino, white and otherwise empty. A clear hatch let out into the violent waters below.
99 saw that he was looking around. “The longnecks found that the simplest way of getting rid of bodies was into their own ocean.”
“They make you dump vode into the water?” Dogma whispered in horror. Umbara, with so many clones slaughtered , flashed through his mind.
99 hesitated. “They don’t make me do it. I volunteered.” At Dogma’s horrified look, he explained, “Didn’t seem right for the last person to handle them to be a nat-born. Least with me, they have a brother with them. Someone to say a remembrance, know their names and their personalities.”
Dogma clutched at the old clone tighter. He not only was a pillar of support for every cadet and trooper, he was also the last friend that his dead brothers got to have. And he volunteered for it.
After a long moment, 99 continued, “Dogma, you can’t stay here. If they notice you, they won’t screw it up again.”
“But where do I go?” Dogma’s voice sounded desperate, broken. “I have nowhere to hide here. My tattoo will give me away.” He let go of 99 and sat back unsteadily to look up at the clone, who was hovering over him in worry.
“You can’t stay on Kamino. I have to get you off planet. I’ll…I’ll contact the 501st! Surely they can hide you in their new batch of shinies! And-”
“They don’t want me, 99.”
“They’re your brothers, of course they want you.” 99’s brow creased. “You’re part of Torrent Company, I heard. I knew you could do it-”
“They don’t want me!” exclaimed Dogma, voice desperate. “99, do you even know why they decommissioned me? My brothers hate me…”
“Dogma, you killed a dar’jetti. One who murdered our brothers, one who used you as a pawn, one who betrayed the Republic. You are a hero.”
“I did so many horrible things, 99! Even Tup hates me! Fives will kill me if he sees me again. They don’t want me! I’m dar’manda! Aruetii!”
99 visibly paused. “They renounced you as a dar’manda?” Technically, only a few. Jesse had muttered it darkly and so had others. No one had stopped them. Many had nodded. Fives had crossed his arms. Tup had merely hung his head. This had been just before he’d been taken to the gunship. Dogma was positive that by now he was widely regarded as a dar’manda--how could he not be?-- so he nodded. “I-I see. Maybe not the 501st, then. But I’ll get you off this planet.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you in a bit. Could you wait here for a moment? I just have a few more to send off.”
More brothers to send off. Dogma felt sick. “Yes.”
He couldn’t help but watch as 99 gently took each vod’s body and said a remembrance, sometimes with a name, sometimes not. Then the hatch would open (the hissing sound) and the vode were given to the sea.
As 99 sent the second to last one off, Dogma gathered up the courage to ask, “Were all of them decommissioned?”
“Some. But most were…experimented on. And-and it didn’t go well.” 99 sent off the final one with gentle words and a sorrowful look. The vod looked like he was sleeping and Dogma just wanted to go back to his cadet days when he knew his brothers were dying but couldn’t fathom what that would look like.
He blinked in surprise when 99 appeared beside him again, flinching when a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. It fell away immediately and he mourned the loss. “C’mon. We have to get you off the planet.”
Dogma struggled to his feet, limbs working slightly better but the pain in his neck was increasing. The moment he stood upright, he pitched forward and 99 barely caught him before he hit the floor.
“Dogma? Hey, easy there!” The old clone helped him to the floor, gaze growing more concerned by the moment. “What’s going on?”
“Dizzy.” Dogma managed to bite out, the world spinning each time he tried to look up. “Hurts…”
“What hurts?”
“Neck…head…everything…” Dogma didn’t know how to explain that his insides felt like they were burning, like something was crawling underneath his skin. He didn’t know how to explain that he was terrified and just wanted everything to go back to the way it was.
“That hypospray…” 99 frowned deeply. “It may not have killed you, but it is affecting you.”
“What does that mean?” Dogma whispered. “How do we make it stop?”
99 fumbled for an answer. He and Dogma both knew that their situation was impossible. They needed a doctor quickly. But the only doctors around Kamino were Kaminoans that would decommission Dogma for good this time and without a second thought. 99 thought of trying to get a medical droid, but that would only work short term and possibly not at all without an idea of what they were looking for. 99 thought of the clone medics and he almost went to get one…but it was too risky. Every moment spent in Kamino was a moment closer to getting caught and all three of them would be decommissioned without question. As much as Dogma needed help, 99 couldn’t ask another vod here to put their life on the line.
But what about those who weren’t on Kamino and right under the long necks? The medical facility on Kamino was Dogma’s best chance, but there was no way he could use that. If 99 could get Dogma to one of their best field medics…
It was a risk. Too big of one, really. Dogma was supposed to be dead. Anyone could see him and shoot him dead where he stood and not get in trouble because that’s what he deserved. Anyone found harboring him would be in big trouble.
99 knew all about the situation that had landed Dogma here. He knew about Dogma’s own actions. He knew about Krell. And he knew about the trial and how the Jedi had first tried to try him themselves and then tried to defend him to the Senate. Especially Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon, and Kit Fisto. They were Jedi particularly known for caring about their men. Even with their attempts, the Senate had made an obviously biased choice.
99 may have never left Kamino, but he knew quite a bit. The Kaminoans were gossips, despite their serene and quiet outward appearance.
He still wanted to send Dogma back to the 501st. He knew Rex and he knew that the captain had stood on Dogma’s behalf during the trial. He knew how Rex had tried to defend him, saying that the trooper had only done what Rex was trying to. But it had been twisted badly by the Senate and had ultimately only made things worse. Rex might try to help Dogma, but if the trooper was right and he was declared dar’manda by any of the 501st, the situation might only be made worse.
What about the other Jedi that had called for his release? Plo Koon was notorious among the clones for his compassion, but 99 didn’t know where he was stationed at the moment. Kit Fisto was someone that he knew little about (except that Monnk apparently had a crush the size of Kamino’s ocean on him) so that wasn’t a good option. Obi-Wan Kenobi, however…
A vague plan formed in his mind and the older clone leaned down to help Dogma up, letting him slump with an arm around his shoulders as 99 guided them towards the door. Dogma slurred, “Where we goin’?”
“To the armory.”
***
Getting Dogma through the halls of Kamino wasn’t easy. The trooper slowly started to be able to stand on his own for short periods, but 99 didn’t let him wear himself out. He’d need all the strength he could get. 99 knew where all the cameras were and was thankful that the medbay was right near the armory, otherwise this could go wrong--well, more wrong--quickly. Dogma kept his head down without 99 even having to ask. Unless he raised his head, he could be any vod.
They got to the armory and 99 bustled around, trying to put together a full outfit as quickly as he could. Dogma sank onto a crate nearby, face pale under his golden skin. He looked so painfully young as his eyes followed 99 around and the maintenance clone couldn’t help but remember a very young Dogma and Tup following him around whenever they managed to shake their trainers to hear stories of the more famous vode growing up, like Cody and Rex. Both young clones had been fascinated by the stories of the captain and commander, but Dogma in particular had looked up to Rex, finding inspiration in another vod who’d been different but made his way to the top anyway. Dogma had been bullied from a young age, ever since it was discovered how desperately he needed order and rules to function. But he’d never lost the light in his eyes like this.
Then again, he’d always had Tup.
“Here.” 99 had managed to assemble a full blank kit of armor and began handing the pieces for Dogma to take, helping him whenever his hands fumbled with the latchings. Just as he handed Dogma his helmet, the other clone hesitated, looking like he wanted to ask something. “What is it?”
“Could I have something to eat?” His voice was a whisper. “It’s just…I haven’t had anything since coming here…”
Dogma had arrived around a week ago, kept for tests before decommissioning. He hadn’t been fed during that time? No wonder the kid was so shaky. “Stay here and get out of sight if someone comes in.”
Dogma was happy to comply, resettling onto the crate he’d sat on before. It was comforting to be in armor again, but it wasn’t his armor. There was none of the blue he’d worked so hard to paint. He wondered what had happened to his set and then decided that he would rather leave that question unanswered. For now, he just relished the hard shell around him, making him feel more normal than he had since before Umbara.
99 comes back after a bit with an entire stash of ration bars, handing him two. Dogma scarfed them down immediately and wished he could have more, but knowing he’d overload himself if he did so.
“Here, keep the rest on you. We need to get moving or we’ll miss it.”
“Miss what?” Dogma tucked the ration bars into a pocket on his belt.
“Transport. You’ll need to pretend to be a shiny for a while if you’re seen, but once you’re on the transport you’ll need to hide. It wouldn’t be good for you to be recognized as an outsider from the squads departing.” The chance of that wasn’t high, but if anyone guessed he wasn’t a shiny, the gig would be up. 99 handed him a blaster and ushered him to get moving, which was slightly easier than it had been before. He was less dizzy and a little stronger, but the nausea and pain were still terrible. Dogma was hedging his luck on only just making it into that transport.
“We need to hurry; there’s a transport leaving very soon.” The two clones walked out into the halls and made their way to the hanger, with Dogma only stumbling a few times along the way. When they got to the more crowded hallways, Dogma drew himself up into the perfect soldier pose, trying to ignore the pain lacing through his whole body.
“99?”
“Yeah?”
“What do I do when I get there?” Dogma’s voice was small and scared. It’d only been maybe 3 hours (according to 99) since the hypospray had entered his neck. In that span of time, he’d died-but-not, woken and had a full panic attack, learned that something was very wrong with his body, cried his heart out to 99, and then was hurried into armor to escape. But Dogma didn’t even know where he was escaping to.
99 hesitated. “I-I don’t know what you’ll find out there. But you need to focus on living . Find a doctor, a medic, someone to take a look at you. Keep your head low. Get food, shelter.”
“I’m a deserter. A traitor.” Dogma felt a stinging behind his eyes at the thought. He thought of a younger self, wide eyed and eager to prove his worth. Loyal to a literal fault. “After everything…” After he’d tried so hard, this was all his life boiled down to. A life he didn’t still deserve to have.
“You’re a survivor, kid.” 99 paused as a squad ran by before continuing. “If you were going out there to fight, who would you be fighting for?”
The Republic. Dogma knew he was supposed to say the Republic. But all he could think of was the chancellor announcing his doom, of the way no one seemed to care what happened to him and his brothers. “I don’t know.” He whispered. Thoughts of Tup, Rex, Fives, and so many others rushed to his mind. “...my brothers. I’d fight for my brothers.”
“Then you’re no traitor, vod’ika. Right now, you need to stay alive. The rules of the game have changed.” 99 gave him a tight smile. “You gotta figure it out now, kid.”
But Dogma wasn’t good at that kind of thing. He needed to structure. Tup was better at figuring things out spur of the moment.
They were always supposed to be a team.
“They’re loading now, kid. You gotta get going.” They were right at the entrance to the hanger and Dogma was staring as he watched squad after squad march towards the transport. Less than a full deployment, it probably was a restock. So many brothers marching towards death…
“Thank you.” He whispered to 99. What else could he say to the loving old clone who’d saved his life, who was risking everything to save him even now when so many others deserved it more?
99’s lips twitched into a gentle smile. “Vod’ika.”
Dogma quickly slipped from the passage and fell in line with one of the last squads. The memory of his first deployment sprang to mind and he felt stuck in a sense of deja vu. As he boarded the transport, slipping away from the others to find a good hiding spot, Dogma couldn’t help but look one last time for 99, finding him on the edge of a crowd of cadets who had been watching the troops march off. 99 saw him looking back, probably because he was the only one to do so, and gave a tiny little wave.
Dogma would do the same if it wouldn’t attract attention to himself. Instead, he hoped desperately that 99 understood just how grateful he was.
Dogma managed to slip into a tiny supply room, hiding himself among the crates. He was less likely to be discovered there and he could finally collapse to his knees, the world swirling around him and exhaustion overtaking him. He didn’t know where he was going, but he doubted they’d be there in the next hour, so he painstakingly set his chrono alarm for that amount of time. Then he passed out, unconsciousness taking him before his helmet hit the nearby crate.
***
99 moved away from the crowded vode, heading for the maintenance floor with a frown on his face. While he was glad that Dogma had gotten off of Kamino safely, the vod’ika’s troubles were far from over. If he was discovered on the transport, the gig was up. If 99 had made a drastic miscalculation with the place he’d chosen to send Dogma too, things could go very wrong.
And even if none of those situations happened, Dogma was still dreadfully sick. He would not last without medical help.
99 had been on Kamino the longest of any vod. He knew almost every hiding spot in Tipoca City. He knew how to get little treats to sneak to the little cadets who struggled most. And most importantly in this situation, he knew how to get a minimal amount of messages out in an emergency.
The transport was heading to restock the 212th and the 501st battalions. The 501st might not be the safest place for Dogma right now, but Cody and Rex were fiercely protective of their little brothers. If they knew to look for him, maybe they would help. Even just getting him medical help and sending him on his way could save Dogma’s life.
99 sighed. Too much of his hopes rested on Cody and Rex’s benevolence having survived the hell of Umbara.
Dogma’s prospects looked bleak either way. Cody or Rex finding him and perhaps helping him. Or turning him in. 99 didn’t think they would, but…or perhaps Dogma would slip away without being noticed, which meant that no angry vod or the Republic would spot him, but condemned him to no medical help.
Perhaps Dogma’s real punishment was lining itself up for him, instead of allowing him a quick if miserable death.
Grim, 99 dug his com out of its hiding place. Cody had to listen. He just had to .