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“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” said Hunter, casting a wary eye at the entrance of 79’s. Booming music spilled out onto the platform, waves of synth-funk and pounding bass already half-deafening. The neon lights made his tongue prickle with the taste of ozone.
“Hey, how often do we get to shore up on Coruscant?” Wrecker asked, shoulder-checking him on his way out of the cab. “C’mon. The regs are always goin’ on about this place. I wanna see what the big deal is!”
”The big deal is alcohol, of course,” said Tech. He folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at the garish neon and the clusters of clones in off-duty blues and standard issue armor milling about. “And the chance to imbibe it aggressively. I’ve heard some of the tales that come out of this place, too, and things don’t always end well. I suggest we take a more moderate approach, given none of us has ever had the chance to drink before.”
“We’ll be fine, Tech,” Crosshair said, adjusting his toothpick. “We’re defective, remember? I’m sure we could drink these regs under the table.”
”Don’t get cocky,” said Hunter, though he had to admit he was curious. “It’s not a contest.”
They’d just come off their fifth ever mission, riding high on how they’d managed to pit two tactical droids and their armies against each other with epic results, and he thought of the medals they’d been awarded for it. He’d stowed his safely in his bunk on the Marauder until he could figure out what to do with it, but every time he glanced at it, he couldn’t help but feel a fierce pride. They did deserve to blow off some steam after that.
Wrecker led the way into the bar, more than a few clones turning and staring at him — then at the rest of them as they filed through. Too tall, too short, too broad, too skinny. Though they were wearing their blues, there was still no hope of blending in. A few stared at Tech’s goggles and Crosshair’s silver hair in particular; most were smart enough to avert their gaze at Wrecker’s bulk, given Wrecker would happily give them a shove if they mouthed off.
Hunter watched the other clones’ faces carefully, ready in case anything started, but they made it to the bartender without incident. Under the pounding music, he thought he heard a few whispers, but nothing major.
The clone behind the bar tilted his head, giving them an appraising look. “Ninety-nines?” he ventured, his face impassive.
”What gave it away?” Wrecker laughed.
“Problem?” Crosshair drawled, leaning over Wrecker’s shoulder.
”No problem. Money’s money,” the bartender said with a shrug. “What’ll it be?”
The four of them looked at each other. They hadn’t gotten that far.
”Four harvest brews,” Tech said. The bartender nodded and turned away. Tech leaned in close to them to be heard. “It’s a reasonable first drink. Lower proof, known to be easy to drink. I suggest we see how that goes and proceed from there.”
“Did you research the menu ahead of time?” Hunter asked, already knowing the answer.
”What do you think I was doing in the cab?”
”Lower proof,” Wrecker said. “Does that mean it’s for lightweights? ‘Cause I’m no lightweight.”
“We’d noticed,” said Crosshair.
”Careful, Wrecker. Don’t let it go to your head.”
The bartender returned with four large glasses of foamy amber ale and Hunter reached for his credits. The Republic didn’t pay much, but they had nothing else to spend it on. Why not this?
The bartender held up a hand. “Want to start a tab?”
”Yeah!” Wrecker said before Hunter could stop.
“All right, sure,” Hunter said, feeling only slightly uneasy.
They took their drinks to a far corner of the bar, where a bunch of regs clustered around a table lined with two sets of glasses. Hunter watched curiously as one tossed a small light ball into the air, bouncing it off the table until it clattered against the opposite side’s glasses harmlessly. He groaned, the clones beside him shoving him and telling him to get it together.
”I propose a toast. It’s traditional.”
”All right, what do you think?” Hunter asked Tech.
”To Clone Force Ninety-Nine,” Tech said, raising his glass high.
“To the Bad Batch !” Wrecker crowed, clinking his glass enthusiastically.
”To the Bad Batch,” they echoed, raising their glasses. They each took a drink.
”Phawww,” Hunter groaned, his nose wrinkling, sticking his tongue out. The ale was bitter and malty, with an odd sour note. It clung to the inside of his mouth, and he wished they had some ration bars on hand to cut the taste. “This is beer? It’s horrible.”
”I dunno, I kind of like it,” said Wrecker, taking a huge drink. He coughed and sputtered. “Maybe I don’t like it that much.”
”Perhaps it’s an acquired taste,” said Tech, looking less than pleased with his drink. He took another sip, grimacing slightly. “Or perhaps the intoxicating effects make up for the musty flavor.”
”I think it’s fine,” said Crosshair, drinking a quarter of his glass in one go. He stifled a cough by chewing frantically on his toothpick, and Hunter rolled his eyes.
”So we just… sit here? Drinking?” Wrecker asked, doing just that. He looked puzzled. “That’s really what people do here?”
”I suppose,” Hunter said. “You put it like that, it really doesn’t sound like much.” He tried his beer again, bracing himself, but it wasn’t as bad the second time around now that he knew what to expect.
“Well, we could always play a game,” Crosshair said slyly, glancing at the regs clustered around their table. “You know we could destroy them.”
”You don’t even know what they’re playing,” Tech admonished. He adjusted his goggles. “Then again, the rules do appear to be exceedingly simple. Throw the ball into the other team’s cup, they take a drink. The more intoxicated they become, the less able they are to throw accurately at the other team’s cups. It’s basic enough for even the wildly intoxicated to grasp. I suspect the wild intoxication is the point.”
”That sounds like a recipe for a fight to break out,” Hunter said, a dozen different incidents of fights they’d had with regs sober coming to mind. “C’mon lads, forget them. We’re celebrating kicking ass together, who needs the regs?” He raised his glass again. “Wrecker! You nailed Plan Forty-two. That was one helluva bomb!”
Wrecker laughed, taking another swig. “Yes it was! I almost thought I wasn’t gonna have enough chargers ‘til Tech helped me rig those downed droids to blow. That was awesome!”
”The ensuing explosion was nothing short of tremendous,” Tech agreed. “Truly inspired! I was happy to assist.”
”Well, what about Cross’s ricochet taking out half of ‘em before they even got going?” Wrecker said, clapping Crosshair hard between the shoulders. Crosshair nearly choked on his toothpick and took another drink, his cheeks flushing faintly reddish.
”It was easy,” he said, but Hunter knew he was pleased.
“Easy nothing. It was one for the books,” Hunter said, and Crosshair gave him a faint, surprised grin.
”Don’t forget Hunter’s planning,” Tech mentioned. “We’d never have gotten that trap laid without his enhanced senses.”
“All part of the job,” Hunter said warmly. Huh. He felt a little warm all over, come to think of it.
Wrecker drained the last of his glass, and not to be outdone, Crosshair did the same with his. “I don’t feel anything,” Wrecker said, disappointed.
”Me neither,” said Crosshair, though Hunter thought his voice sounded a little different, even accounting for the loud music. His face looked more flushed, his cheeks uncharacteristically ruddy. Tech was giving him an appraising look.
”It is not instantaneous,” Tech said. “Perhaps you should give it a moment before —“
”Another round!” Wrecker said, getting up to his feet. “C’mon, Cross, let’s try something different.”
”You’re on,” said Crosshair, following as Wrecker parted a way through the crowd with his massive shoulders.
Hunter turned back to Tech. “I have a bad feeling about this….”
Bad feeling? What bad feeling?
Hunter snaked an arm over Tech’s shoulders, gripping his arm hard. “Ahhh, glad we came out tonight,” he said. He felt pleasantly warm and more than a little giddy, and everything was just funny . “Just a couple bad batchers out on the town!”
”You could hardly call Coruscant a town,” Tech corrected, his cheeks pink and his goggles slightly askew. Instead of leaning away from Hunter’s hug, he completed it, his arm draped loosely around Hunter’s waist. With his other hand he gesticulated dramatically. “It is an ecumenopolis with the city structure covering all natural features entirely except for a sliver of the planet’s tallest peak, which has been preserved as a —“
”Tech, Tech, Tech,” Wrecker said, draining his second drink and then patting him on the shoulder. “Drink more. Smart less.”
”Shots?” Crosshair asked, elbowing a reg out of the way as he came back to the table. He had four tiny glasses balanced in his hands, each filled with blazing layers of red and pink and yellow liquid. “They call it a Kamino Sunrise. 79’s special.”
“We are already exhibiting sufficient signs of intoxication,” Tech pointed out, letting go of Hunter. He’d drawn the word sufficient out far longer than he needed to, enunciating each syllable. He held out his hand, tapping his palm as he counted. “Slurred speech, jovial attitudes, and an expansive broadening of our normal personalities. Trying these shots may put us over the line from tipsy to — what do the regs call it — wasted.”
”Live a little, Tech,” said Crosshair. He slammed the shots down on the table save one, a bit of liquid spilling over the rims. “Come on. We live or die like men.”
”What does that even mean?” Wrecker roared, laughing and swiping one of the glasses. “Hurry up!”
“I am living! But I am also not eager to completely obliterate my exceptional critical thinking skills,” Tech said defensively. “However, in the interest of brotherly camaraderie, I will try this shot against my better judgment.”
Tech and Hunter picked up their shot glasses, and Hunter gave Tech a look of Well, here goes nothing. They clinked their glasses together.
”To… to…what are we toasting this time?” Wrecker asked.
“Uh….” They stared around at each other, Crosshair nibbling his toothpick, Tech staring off into the distance, Hunter’s mind a complete blank. He stifled a giggle.
”To Lula!” Wrecker announced.
Hunter met his brothers’ eyes, and they nodded, roaring, “To Lula!’
They slugged back their drinks, and Hunter had time only to perceive burning sugar spicy sweet before he’d gulped the thing down. A wobble passed through his legs almost instantly, traveling like a wave from his head down, making everything glow.
“Uh, Cross? What was in these?”
“I dunno. I’m not a barkeep,” Crosshair said, weaving slightly where he stood. He caught sight of the regs at their table and grinned. “C’mon. Let’s get ‘em.”
The battle was fierce.
The regs had been less than welcoming. But with Wrecker looming and cracking his knuckles, Crosshair glowering, and Hunter’s relaxed shrug to say you may as well make it easy on yourselves, the regs had relented and given them a go. (Tech, for his part, had simply shaken his head and rolled his eyes at the whole idea.)
Hunter figured they were sorely regretting it now. They’d added this round to their tab ( hope we brought enough credits!), which had gone a long way towards the regs playing with them. And like Tech had said, the game was easy. But it turned out bouncing the ball before it landed in a cup meant the other team had to drink double. So did calling which cup the ball was going to land in before tossing it. Absurdly, the effects stacked if both things were accomplished.
Which made Crosshair even more deadly than usual.
He sidled up to the table, toothpick jutting from his mouth, looming over the playing field like a vengeful Venator. Hunter could swear one of the regs, a shiny by the looks of him, was actually shaking. He nursed an ale, keeping watch on the situation. Funny how the beer seemed to taste a lot better now than it had in the beginning. He took another drink, grinning.
Crosshair was merciless, especially with Wrecker egging him on. It was hard not to. Hunter couldn’t help but whoop with both of them as Crosshair scored hit after hit. Even Tech whistled once or twice, one of those shrieking whistles with two fingers hooked into his mouth.
It was a massacre. Occasionally the other team managed to land a shot, but they were pretty damn gone and they missed far more often than they succeeded. The few times they did land a shot, Crosshair gamely took a drink each time. He started slurring his calls, but his aim was as good as ever.
“Cup six, two bounces.”
“One bounce, spin off the rim of cup two, it’ll land in four. Trust me.”
“Two bounces off the wall, back onto the table, it’ll hop into three --”
“Cup nine from ten feet back, come on, give me some room--”
The regs on the other end of the table groaned. “Come on! Someone else has gotta take a turn! He’s cheating!”
Crosshair drew himself up to his full height, instantly incandescent with rage, his eyes snapping. He spat his toothpick to the floor, raising his fists. Oh kriff -- Hunter had time to think before he jumped out in front of his brother, pushing him back with a hand on his chest. Crosshair staggered into Tech, who managed to catch him before he fell.
“No he’s not,” Hunter bellowed, whirling to face the regs. He glared at them, showing his teeth. He’d learned pretty early on with the skull tattoo it was a good way to scare people off, and two of the regs took a step back, sweating. “But if you’re a bunch of cowards who can’t handle it when someone’s better than you --” He puffed out his chest, crossing his arms.
“Hey!” Wrecker cried, leaning heavily on Hunter’s shoulder. “Hey Hunter. Why can’t we all just -- just get along?” He hiccuped, grabbing one of the cups off the table and taking a drink. “These guys ain’t so bad. They’re tiny. And they suck at ale pong. But maybe we should all be friends.”
Hunter snorted, looking up at his brother. “Now I know you’re drunk.”
“Not drunk! Just…” Wrecker searched for the word.
“Just drunk?” Tech supplied helpfully.
“Yeah! That’s it, drunk!”
Hunter buried his face in his hands.
Crosshair shoved past him, jerking a finger at the regs. “This isn’t over,” he snarled. He went to lean a hand on the table but missed, and promptly crashed to the ground in a pile of long flailing legs. The regs erupted in laughter.
Tech was bending down, helping Crosshair back up to his feet. Wrecker let go of Hunter and leaned down, elbowing Tech out of the way and hauling Crosshair up so fast he nearly fell over again. “Hey, little brother!” Wrecker said loudly. “You all right?”
“I’m fine, I just -- I must’ve --” Crosshair slurred. His face suddenly looked pale, and he gripped Wrecker’s arm hard. “Ooh. Dizzy.”
“Let’s get you to sit down,” Tech said. “I tried to warn you.”
“Shut up, Tech --”
“Listen to him, Crosshair,” said Hunter. “Don’t make me pull rank.” Crosshair glared, but the fight was going out of him.
They shambled their way back to a free table. Crosshair was very definitely wobbling. Wrecker was steady, but he was loudly singing something ridiculous. Some pop song from the bar? Hunter focused, or tried to. Everything was coming through muzzy and muted. His senses had never been so dull in his life, and he wondered vaguely if this was what normal clones felt like all the time.
Hunter pulled up a seat at the table, peering at Crosshair. Wrecker was still humming off-key under his breath. Tech had disappeared. Where had he gone to? Hunter pulled his gaze away from Crosshair, glassy-eyed and pale, and saw Tech over at the bar.
“Oh he’d better not be getting another round,” Hunter muttered, thinking of Crosshair. Although he felt fine, if a little wavy around the edges. Maybe he’d get one more beer before they headed out, ride this feeling a little further… Nah, that probably wasn’t the best move right now.
“See ya,” Wrecker said suddenly, getting to his feet and taking Crosshair with him.
“What? Where are you going?” Hunter called after them.
“He’s gonna upchuck!” said Wrecker cheerfully, bustling a tilting Crosshair off into the crowd. “Wanna come?”
Hunter groaned, torn between following them and waiting for Tech. He got to his feet, wending his way through the crowd until he found Tech at the bar, having an argument with the bartender.
“I’ve calculated our tab, and you have been wildly undercharging us!” Tech accused. “It’s highly suspicious --”
“It’s half-price night!” the bartender protested. “Don’t you remember me telling you when you came in?”
“No,” Hunter said. He leaned in. “Tech, what gives? If they want to charge us less, who cares?”
Tech opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He pursed his lips. “Well. I suppose it’s his prerogative.”
“Look, we’d better settle up. Whatever it is we owe you,” Hunter said heavily. The bartender gave him a price and he paid it, wondering what was going on with the pricing, but not caring enough to find out.
“Have a good night guys, all right?” the bartender said. “And here’s some water for the way home. You’ll need it.” He slid several bottles of water over to them and Tech and Hunter gathered them up.
“You just had to bring up math, didn’t you?”
“It doesn’t make any sense. There is no special, Hunter. I saw others close their tabs at the normal rate.”
“Maybe he charges less for defective clones. Credit error in our favor, right?”
“It’s ridiculous, but -- Ah. Where did Wrecker and Crosshair go?”
“I think Crosshair overdid it,” said Hunter. “They’re off to the ‘fresher. Let’s go find ‘em.”
They found Wrecker guarding the far stall in the busy restroom. Crosshair was slumped against the wall of the stall, cradling the toilet with one arm.
“Yikes,” said Hunter.
“I did warn you,” said Tech.
“He’s taking it like a champ,” said Wrecker proudly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Hey! You guys brought another round? I could go for somethin’ else!”
“It’s just water. And you’re in the bathroom ,” said Tech in disgust.
“Aww, man!”
Hunter crept into the stall, crouching beside Crosshair, who had leaned his head against the wall with his eyes closed. The stall smelled of sick and sweat, nearly enough to turn his own stomach. “Cross. You all right?”
Crosshair cracked open one eye and glared blearily at him. “At least no one had to hold my hair back,” he muttered.
Hunter bristled. “Oh, you are such a little --” Then he grinned. “Yeah, I think you’ll be all right. Come on. Ready to get out of here?”
Crosshair closed his eyes, wincing, then swallowed. “Eurgh… another minute.”
Hunter hurried out of the stall, slamming the door shut behind him.
They finally made it out twenty minutes later, after Crosshair swore he was done puking. He was still wobbly on his feet but the glassy look in his eyes had faded. Wrecker was steering him through the crowd, clearing a path with his vast arms. Tech followed them, chattering to himself about inefficient business practices, while Hunter brought up the rear. The crowd had started to thin out by now and it was noticeably less jam-packed and quieter. Time to get a move on.
There was a lull in the music, and his ears pricked at a conversation carried through an empty pocket in the center of the room. It was the bartender, talking to someone. Hunter paused, listening, keeping his gaze averted so as not to alert the bartender he was being listened to.
“Damn, I’m glad I followed my instinct with those ninety-nines.”
”What do you mean?”
”Well, they may have been defective, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a shiny when I see one. Gave ‘em the shiny special.”
“Isn’t that where you only serve ‘em half strength of what they ordered?”
“Yeah. The brainy one almost figured it out, but the leader called him off. Can you imagine how messed up those clones would have got if I’d let ‘em have the full-strength stuff? Bunch of lightweights.”
”Kriff.”
”Yeah. Poor bastards. Shinies always overdo it.”
Hunter swallowed. They’d been drinking half of what they thought they had? Crap. That was embarrassing. Shiny special, indeed.
He caught up to the others as they squeezed out through the front door and into the stale night air, finally free of the music that had been dully pounding in the background for hours. Tech turned back to him. “I’ve called a taxi. Should be here in twenty. I suggest we find a spot to sit down -- far from the edge of this platform, judging by the way our reflexes have been affected.”
“My reflexes are fine,” said Hunter, reaching for his knife to show off. His hand hit fabric and he remembered he’d left his vibroblade with his armor back on the ship. He gave Tech a flustered grin. “Okay, fair point.”
They found a spot to sit against the wall, well away from the plummeting empty space at the edge of the platform. For a moment, they were quiet, leaning back against the wall and sipping the water the bartender had sent them off with. Hunter shook his head. That clone had had their number, all right, as embarrassing it was to admit. He wondered if he should tell the others, but he kept quiet, his senses slowly coming back to him.
Speeders whizzed by in the dark, flashes of multicolored lights zigging against the blue-black void and the neon across the shaft. Their engines were bright little hums pressing against his eardrums. He could feel their wind against his hair, the closest thing to real wind one could find this far down. He watched them go, on and on, entranced.
Hunter looked over at his brothers. They all looked drowsy, eyes heavy, faint smiles on their faces. Tech yawned, leaning against him, head drifting to Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter adjusted, making it easier for Tech to lean on him. Beside Tech was Crosshair, his face slack and unfocused, his cheeks flushed, arm slung around Wrecker’s shoulders. Wrecker was still humming, a cheery little nonsense tune.
“Not a bad night, lads, all in all,” said Hunter.
“It was certainly experimental. We shall be better prepared next time.”
“You were over prepared! I coulda kept going.”
“And we all might have blacked out if we’d tried to keep up with you.”
“Don’t fight,” Crosshair mumbled. “Fun night.”
“Even if you puked your guts out! Ha, good thing I got you in there in time.” Wrecker looked way too pleased with himself. Hunter would have gently smacked him if Tech wasn’t in the way, burrowing further into Hunter to get comfortable, his goggles digging into Hunter’s shoulder.
Crosshair shifted, giving Wrecker something like a hug. “Wrecker, you’re the best,” he mumbled. “Had to tell you.”
“Me? Thanks, Crosshair!” Wrecker said, clearly delighted.
“Best… brother. ‘Cept when you hog Lula. Miss her,” Crosshair continued, closing his eyes, sounding half-asleep already. “Best brother. ‘Cept Tech. Or Hunter. Way better than those regs,” he rambled.
“I am clearly the best brother,” Tech announced, his face still jammed in Hunter’s sleeve.
“Nuh-uh! He said I was the best first!”
“He said I was the best last,” Hunter countered. “Beat that!”
“You are all… absurd. Yes. That is the word.”
“You’re just jealous!”
“All you… best. Best brothers…”
“Aww, I think I like cuddly Cross!”
”I suggest we do not tell him of this in the morning. He appears to have avoided alcohol poisoning, but not by much. He may blackout and not remember.”
”Not tell him? Are you kidding? I’m gonna tell him every day!”
Hunter chuckled to himself, taking a drink of his water and trying to get comfortable against the wall until their taxi came. He watched the speeders zipping back and forth, his brothers arguing at his side, and he thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Morning on the Havoc Marauder.
”Am I dead?”
”You are not dead. You are merely hungover.”
”I think I’m dead.”
”Have some water. Again, I must assure you, you are not dead.”
”Hunter, am I dead?”
”No. Listen to Tech. Drink some water.”
”But —“
“That’s an order.”
”Fine. Also, I hate you both.”
”Sure.”
”I find that unlikely.”
”Wrecker. Am I dead?”
”You better not be. I’d be pissed.”
“Aw. You’d miss me.”
”Yeah, I mean, probably.”
”I hate you too.”
”Love you, Crossie.”
"Don’t call me that — uggh. My head…”
“Just take it easy, Crosshair. It’s a while back to Kamino. Sleep up, take your pain pills, and drink some water. …lightweight.”
”I am not!”
The ship filled with laughter, and Crosshair took his pain pills, scowling fiercely enough to kill.