Work Text:
Compared to everything else she carries in her heart right now, Omega’s initiation into the daily operations of Mount Tantiss are monotonous. Wake up at 0600, breakfast at 0730–
“Good morning, Omega.”
She keeps her chin up. Looks up at the science officer. Tries to remember the manuals she was given; to fit in, to play along, until the moment presents itself that she could escape. She is simply biding her time, and in doing so, she makes sure the rest of her brothers are safe.
“How are you feeling today?”
At 0900 she attends to lab work, taking samples, organising charts, and ushering clones in and out of the room with the help of the science techs and guards. By 1200 their collection for the day is complete, and Omega progresses to the lab with Nala Se. There is a short break for lunch at 1300, followed by the lurca hound’s feeding at 1400, and pen cleaning until 1600.
Anything from 1700 until 1800 is leisure time, 1830 is dinner, and then by 1900, the lights are out. The door is locked. Another scratch is carved into the wall.
Omega is alone.
And then…
“Good morning, Omega. How are you feeling today?”
Breakfast, lab work, specimen processing – in which Nala Se removes specimens from the rotation, her specimen – lurca pens, alone time, dinner…
“Good morning, Omega. How are you feeling today?”
Breakfast, lab work, specimen processing…
“Good morning, Omega.”
Breakfast, lab work…
“Good morning, Omega.”
Sighing, Omega resigns herself to follow the other clone, but she comes to an awkward stop when she realises that Emerie hasn’t moved from the doorway. She looks up at her counterpart again, with an unamused frown dancing on her face. As if to say, Why not get on with it?
“Are you feeling well?” Emerie asks. Curiously, the monotonous question changes, and Omega’s eyes narrow critically. Followed by Emerie remarking, “You have not been keeping within the facility’s grooming standards.”
Of course, alongside the monotonous routine within Tantiss – which, remarkably, has helped to keep Omega’s heavy heart at bay – there were also the endless scores of standards. Clothing, grooming, personal security, and clearance levels. There were also warnings about the hostile jungle outside, and storm warnings for the impressive lightning storms. Mentions of Imperial data security and scrutiny under the base lead, Dr Royce Hemlock, as well as the Emperor himself.
Specifically, the grooming standards state:
5.7.2(1) Staffers with long hair must ensure hair is pulled back:
(a) to not obscure face identification;
(b) to avoid contact with machinery.
Then Omega recalls the latter standards and manuals; the ones handed to her when she was formally assigned as Nale Se’s ‘personal assistant’.
1.1.3(3) Specimens’ head hair must be cropped within 15mm.
1.1.3(4) Specimens must not grow facial hair.
1.1.3(5) Specimens’ body hair is excluded from this policy, with the exception of:
(a) sites used in medical examination;
(b) by order of superior officers.
There really was nothing better for Omega to do than to read the manuals. She thinks, somewhat bitterly as she wipes her hair out of her eyes, that Tech would be proud. In… a roundabout way. She really is good at memorising things. Even if it's Imperial things.
“I’m allowed to have long hair,” Omega says. “I’m a staffer, and the books said–”
Emerie raises her hand to stop her. “You are also a specimen.”
“But I’m Nala Se’s personal assistant.”
The scientist’s lips press into a line. “I understand. But the policy is clear, in any case.”
“But my hair’s never been under the length it says. I’m a girl, my hair is longer than the other clones!”
Sighing, Emerie returns, “I will discuss with the other staffers, in the event it could impact your sampling and any further testing.”
She turns to leave, but Omega, still with her hand running through her hair, asks her to wait. She takes a handful of it into her hand, tugging on it nervously, as Emerie turns around.
“Can you… just let me keep it long?” Omega asks nervously, imploring. “I… I know you know about my brothers, not just Crosshair, but my other brothers. Wrecker and Hunter. And Hunter, he… he has long hair too. Even Kamino let him grow it, you know, during the war, when he was training. And Kamino was really strict too, but they let me wander around sometimes, and Hunter, with his hair–”
Emerie raises her hand again. Her lips, where they were pressed into a line, have turned down into a pensive frown. Then she sighs quickly, reaches into her back pocket, and offers her open palm out to Omega.
“It is a hair band,” offers Emerie quietly, nudging her hand forward when Omega doesn't move to meet it. “If you will not adhere to the standards, at least, you will permit a compromise and pull your hair back like the other staffers are required to do.”
Omega takes the hair band, and for the first time in a long time, finds a small smile touching her face. She may not have worked with her own long hair before, but she knows about Hunter’s hair. She remembers watching him pull it up into a ponytail sometimes, or a bun, depending on the situation. Usually after a shower. Or when he was working on machinery, in or around the Marauder.
Mirroring Hunter's movements, from her memory, she combs her fingers through her hair, then pulls it back into a low ponytail. The band doesn’t catch all of her hair. However, it’s enough for Emerie to give her a satisfied nod.
And then the day begins, just like any other.
Lab work, specimens… And like always, Omega is alone by 1900. The lights are out. The door is locked. Another scratch is carved into the wall.
Omega is alone.
But not entirely. Her fingers run through her hair again, like Hunter does in her mind’s eye, and she practices pulling it back into a ponytail again.
She can’t wait to show him how she looks.