Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE: A Brother Wronged
Years ago | Tipoca City | Kamino
He could scarcely eat. Nervous energy kept him fidgeting in his seat on the bench beside Tech in the mess hall that evening. The handle of his fork had been gnawed on more than the food on his tray.
“Crosshair, wake up.” Fingers snapping under his nose sprung him immediately from his anxious thoughts and into the moment with a flash of anger.
But the face before him belonged to Tech, and of all his brothers, Crosshair found it hard to stay angry at him.
“Hunter’s speaking to you.” Tech had, at present, an unfortunate minefield of acne across his cheeks. This awkward adolescent phase had not been kind to any of them, least of all Tech.
With spindly arms and legs, and clownishly large hands and feet, Crosshair was not doing much better. At least he could boast clear skin. Most days.
But the real travesty of fairness was that his voice had not fully changed yet. While the others, especially Wrecker, had developed their deeper, huskier tones overnight, Crosshair was still likened to a “girl-with-the-croup” by some of the regs.
What did Hunter want?
Leaning forward to peer around Tech, Crosshair gave their eldest brother a pointed look with raised eyebrows. These days, he seldom spoke if he could help it, and especially not within earshot of the regs.
Definitely not in front of the regs.
“I was just saying, don’t forget, we’ve got a meeting with Nala Se in 1900 hours. It sounded important.”
Frustratingly, Hunter seemed to have taken on puberty like it was just another sparring opponent, getting it into a chokehold and not letting up the pressure until it cried uncle. He seemed to have only allowed it to give him the better aspects of teen maturity and somehow manually bypassed the bad.
The awkwardness. The gangliness. The unwarranted voice cracks – of which Wrecker was currently the reigning champion, and Crosshair was pushing a close second place. But Hunter did not seem to have experienced such embarrassments a day in his life.
“Of course, it’s important.” Tech said, voicing the exact thoughts Crosshair would have expressed had he not been reluctant to speak. “Let’s not pretend we don’t all know what it’s about. We’ve been anticipating this meeting for nearly a month.”
Good, reliable Tech had done it again. Crosshair could always count on him to say what needed to be said, regardless of whether anyone wanted to hear it or not.
“I’m just saying,” Hunter went on, his voice serious and even, “there’s no need to be nervous.”
“Who’s nervous?” Wrecker questioned between spoonfuls of Felucian green pudding. “Not me!”
Crosshair. Crosshair was nervous. Every wiry inch of him. His foot drummed on the floor with unspent energy.
This evening could be a turning point for him. It could change everything, even down to the dynamic he shared with his brothers around this table. Especially that.
Finally, after all these years of silent diligence, his hard work was going to pay off and earn him the respect he deserved.
He was the obvious choice, was he not? His focus was unparalleled, his ability to think under pressure.
His intellect, in his opinion, struck the perfect balance. Tech was a genius, but he couldn’t focus, whereas Crosshair knew how to parse and compartmentalize.
And that was to say nothing of his skill set. In training, he far surpassed his peers as a marksman. He’d always gotten good marks on his exams. He was consistent, disciplined, methodical. Always.
So it was without a trace of doubt that Crosshair knew he was the one Nala Se would select for the role.
All right, perhaps there were some traces. Why else would he feel like he might throw up any second?
He told himself the anxiety wasn’t owing to doubt, but to the new responsibilities he would take on, and how his brothers might react. No doubt they would fail to see his obvious qualifications.
All these years of proving them wrong, and they still saw him as the youngest brother who didn’t know half as much as they did and had to be told everything more than once (Hunter was especially bad for this).
“Crosshair, be sure to take that second mag with you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t forget the second mag, got it?”
“I heard you. Shut up.”
And so it went.
When the buzzer sounded to announce the adjournment of mealtime, Crosshair’s tray remained untouched, which he passed on to Wrecker who wolfed it clean before they reached the tray receptacle at the opposite end of the mess hall.
1900 seemed to arrive far too slowly. The walk to Nala Se’s office was fraught with shared teenage anticipation.
The only one who didn’t seem to be bothered much was, as always, Tech. He clearly knew this decision was not going to involve him. But even if it had, Tech was never one to be stirred up about anything.
Nala Se’s office was no different from any other Kaminoan room on Tipoca City. The white walls were bare, the room itself empty save for a tear-drop shaped chair suspended from the ceiling, and a single shelf containing rows of data tablets.
The head scientist herself raised her long neck to observe the boys with her bulbous black eyes. She was seated as they entered, one slender leg folded across the other, but as they approached, she straightened and stood. Her height towered over the boys despite their recent growth spurts over the past several months.
That, at least, was one advantage Crosshair could boast over Hunter. For most of their lives, they had stood eye to eye. But in no time at all, Crosshair had sprung to a full head taller, leaving his stocky older brother behind.
It was a sore spot, an unspoken source of contention between them, and Hunter avoided the subject whenever it arose. Conversely, Crosshair made a point to bring it up whenever possible.
“It is no secret to you, cadets, the reason I have called you all here. No doubt you have suspected for months. You will soon be of age, and a decision must be made. The task has fallen upon me to designate an officer to lead your unique squad.”
Nala Se eyed each of them intensely. Was it perhaps last minute scrutiny? To convince herself she had made the right decision?
Either way, Crosshair felt himself stand a little straighter, at attention like the others, his face betraying nothing of the suspenseful anticipation buzzing within him.
Any moment now, everything’s going to change. For once, for the better.
Rank would not give him full immunity against the relentless harassment and hazing from his peers, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. From now on, his brothers would have to mind what they said, and the attitude with which they said it. Any reg he outranked would have to call him ‘sir’.
The thought almost caused a smirk to break through his stoic expression.
And, if worst came to worst, he could always pull rank; snap them back into line.
Yes, life on Kamino was about to get a lot better.
Without fanfare, without ceremony, Nala Se declared, “CT-9901 will be given the rank of sergeant, for clone force ninety-nine.”
Crosshair did not move, except to convulsively swallow, and his eyes enlarged slightly. These were the only outward signs of the internal screaming taking place on the inside.
He was certain he’d heard the wrong number.
“What?” Two voices smashed together simultaneously. They were almost identical, although Hunter’s was filled with incredulous shock and Crosshair’s with indignant anger.
“Me?” Hunter’s face was a mishmash of horror and panic.
“Him?” Crosshair glared at the hapless usurper, his anger mounting. Surely Nala Se was wrong. She was going to correct herself any moment. But the stupid Kaminoan remained as frustratingly calm and steadfast as before.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Hunter held up his hands defensively, as if trying to physically block Nala Se’s designation of rank from landing on him. “Mistress Nala Se, you can’t be serious. There has to be some mistake!”
“There is.” Crosshair growled, stepping out of line to approach the Kaminoan.
Hunter moved right alongside him, though his emotions directed toward Nala Se were of desperation to make her understand, rather than contempt.
“I can’t be sergeant!” He protested, his words interlacing with Crosshair’s sentiment, which was exactly the same, with the exception of one word: He.
Nala Se turned away from them with a dismissive gesture. “It has already been decided. As of now, CT-9901 has superiority of rank to the rest of you. You must obey his authority. Any insubordination must not go unpunished.”
The Kaminoan looked pointedly at Crosshair. He snapped his mouth shut and unscrewed the look of stunned rage from his face. In its place, he cocked his chin at her with a haughty scowl.
Didn’t she realize she’d ruined everything? This was his one chance to be something more, something he could be truly proud of.
All his potential…ruined, wasted.
His fists squeezed tightly where they hung at his sides.
“That is all.” Nala Se concluded. “You may return to your barracks.”
Hunter still looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, a distant stare gazing around the room in confused disembodiment. Presently, he blinked to the awareness that the attention of his brothers was fixed entirely on him. Two pairs of eyes waited patiently for him to say something, and the third pair scored into him like daggers with barely concealed thoughts of mutiny.
Crosshair already knew: today marked the beginning of nothing good. This little dirt-sniffer would be calling the shots now, telling them what they could and could not do, talking down to them whenever they failed to meet expectations.
“Crosshair, cover our six.”
“Crosshair, be on lookout.”
“Crosshair, do this. Crosshair, do that.”
He could already feel the dread of the years to come weighing upon his shoulders like the miles of ocean between them and the surface above the facility.
Life on Kamino was about to get a lot worse.
Several years later…
There was something cathartic about trading punches between brothers.
Crosshair caught the brunt of Hunter’s taped knuckles with the blade of his forearm, parrying his opponent’s momentum and countering with a precise jab to the ribs.
Hunter absorbed the impact, rebounding with three alternating strikes, two of which Crosshair managed to parry, the third scoring a glancing blow across his temple.
He bit off a grunt and rounded on Hunter, driving a couple feints before his fist buried itself in Hunter’s jaw.
“We need to talk.” Hunter grunted through his teeth as Crosshair’s arm zipped past his head like an adder. “About the battle sim from earlier.”
The statement threw him, and Crosshair was caught off guard for a fraction of a second. He barely jinked sideways in time as Hunter snapped a right hook at him.
“We’re discussing this now?” He already knew exactly which new gripe Hunter was about to levy.
When Crosshair had managed to score a win for his squad in the training room, he’d allowed himself to feel the pride. But he’d known such a victory would come with a price, and that price was having to swallow another lecture from Hunter.
Apparently said lecture was going to take place in the middle of a sparring match.
“Cross, we know you’re good. You don’t have to prove anything.” Hunter chided with a left jab that grazed Crosshair’s chin.
“There’s nothing to prove. We won, didn’t we?”
“We almost didn’t. I told you to move into position, and you ignored me. The only reason you took down the reg leader was because you got lucky.”
To accuse him of disobedience was irritating by itself, but to chalk up his success to the whims of fortune was nothing less than insulting.
Crosshair ducked to avoid a wild haymaker and straightened again in aghast rage. “Luck?”
Watching from the edge of the mat, Wrecker and Tech had been quiet spectators up until now. But, as always, Tech would speak regardless of whether or not anyone wanted him to.
“Getting the shot to ricochet off a reflective surface multiple times to hit your target at the exact moment he stepped into the line of fire?” Tech adjusted his goggles and raised a skeptical eyebrow as Crosshair sent him a pointed glare – a silent warning for him to shut up.
In that momentary distraction, albeit brief, Crosshair had let down his guard, and he was not fast enough to react when Hunter’s right-cross cracked against his cheekbone.
The mat clapped him on the back. Through painfully scrunched eyes, Crosshair found he’d landed directly in front of where Tech was seated.
His brother merely peered down at him and continued, “The likelihood of you making such accurate and complicated calculations under pressure is...impressive.”
“And one chance in a million.” Hunter added, offering a hand to help Crosshair to his feet. “You have to follow my lead. Sooner or later, you are going to get us into trouble. We’re a squad. When you fail, we all do.”
When Crosshair noticed the hand extended toward him, he slapped it away and peeled himself up from the floor.
“So, in light of that, I’m asking the instructors to give us and the reg team a rematch.” Hunter’s words floated after him, but Crosshair was already walking away to the water cooler across the room.
Of course Hunter wanted a rematch, for no other reason than the fact that the battle simulation had not been completed his way.
Crosshair rolled his eyes, shaking the collar of his training fatigue shirt to cool himself off.
The instructors had enacted a petty rule that no one was allowed to be in the training room without a shirt, and the result was suffocating in sweat-soaked clothing. In retaliation, Crosshair had simply borrowed Wrecker’s vibroblade, hacking off both sleeves and at least five inches from the bottom half.
When spoken to about it by the instructors, his defense was: What’s your issue? I’m wearing a shirt.
“Did you hear me?” Hunter called.
Crosshair sighed tersely. “Yes, I heard you. On what grounds do you expect to get a rematch?”
“So you can prove it wasn’t luck.”
At this particular moment, Crosshair had been taking a swig of water. He snorted, lowering the paper cup to give Hunter a frustrated look.
He wanted to walk out of the rec room that instant, just to make a point, but anger kept him rooted to the spot.
“I believe Hunter has a point.” Once again, it was perhaps not the wisest time for Tech to speak up, but for all his intellect, he was never the best at reading the room. “In your state of heightened adrenaline, the shot with which you bested the reg squad leader could have hardly been calculated.”
“Who asked you?” Crosshair snipped, receiving an immediate scolding as Hunter’s reprimand snapped like a whip.
“Enough! Tech is right. I’m calling for a rematch. And this time, we’re doing it the way I tell you to.”
Crosshair’s jaw creaked from grinding his teeth together. “Don’t you ever get tired of getting your way, Hunter?”
Judging from the way Hunter’s face darkened and tape creaked as it stretched over his knuckles, that remark had been a step over the line into insubordination. They both knew it.
Only Crosshair didn’t care.
He felt Hunter’s eyes burning into his back as he escaped into the locker room. The door shifted into place between them, but even then, Crosshair could feel the gloom of Hunter’s shadow over him like a cloak he could not shake off.
Everything had changed since the days when they were cadets, before there were any thoughts about who would be in command and who would be forced to submit.
Even back when they had been equals, Crosshair had quarreled with Hunter, but nevertheless he’d been fond of him. It was hard to dislike Hunter. He was noble, always looking out for his younger brothers, sticking up for them.
But Hunter had a crucial flaw. He was near-sighted, only focusing on the immediate conflict at hand. Crosshair had even told him once that Hunter was so focused on the battle, he was liable to lose the whole war.
As one might expect, that conversation had not ended well.
When he heard the door open again, Crosshair headed deliberately for the showers, making a point to seem too busy to be bothered. He didn’t even look to see which of his brothers had come in.
“Tactfully handled as always, Crosshair.” Tech said with his easy sarcasm.
“I take it you want to repeat that battle simulation?”
“Not particularly, no. But if placating Hunter is the best way to maintain our squad’s integrity, it is not beneath me to oblige him.”
Crosshair scoffed. “You’re being a suck up.”
“I am not.” Tech came to stand beside him in front of the sinks, giving their reflections in the mirror a studied glance. “I simply know my place. I have never questioned it. Can you say the same?”
Such a question did not require a response. Crosshair glared at Tech’s reflection in the mirror, and vaguely noticed the sound of the refresher door opening.
Several reg clones entered the locker room, appearing in the mirror behind him.
Cold dread seeped up from the floor tiles to curdle inside him as he recognized these regs in particular. Their sergeant wasn’t hard to miss, his face scarred from a history of fist-fights and mess hall skirmishes.
The reg sergeant was CT-0326, but he called himself Ion. He had a notoriously fragile ego and did not like being made to look foolish.
And he was the one Crosshair’s ricochet shot had struck down during the battle simulation.
What happened next was inevitable.
Six men in a refresher. Four had an axe to grind. Two just wanted to get out with their pride and their lives.
Tech spoke up – of course he did.
“Gentlemen, we do not wish to have any trouble.”
Ion cocked his head wryly, his split lips curving into a smirk. “We do.”
A right hook landed with a wheeze. Tech folded in half at the waist, doubled over. He was still bent forward when Ion grabbed him by the head and cracked it face-first into his knee.
Crosshair lunged for Ion, screaming obscenities, clawing as two of the regs caught him by the arms so he couldn’t intervene. That left a third reg free to start swinging on him as well. Blows fell in strafing runs across his face.
He brought up a knee, aiming for his attacker’s groin. It struck true. Of course he was precise. That was his prowess.
The reg howled, curling in pain.
Crosshair broke free. An elbow to the eye for one of them, a heel crunching toes for the other. He whipped around, grabbing the nearest object which happened to be the trash basin, and swung it. The basin caught one of the regs in the head. Metal gonged and echoed off the bare walls.
There was a sizeable dent in the basin and blood on the floor.
Another reg caught him from behind, hurling him against the sink; the mirror cracked into a spider’s web.
Crosshair floundered, coughing for air as the reg clutched at his throat. The sink was slippery under his grasp. He scrambled for a purchase. His improvised weapon had been knocked from his hand.
He twisted his hips, bringing up a long leg and hooking it around his opponent’s head. Pushing off from the mirror, he used the momentum to take himself and reg down to the floor.
A punch blasted across his nose, shattering lips, chipping teeth.
He roared, smashing his fist into the reg’s face. Again, and again.
The reg threw him off, scrambling blindly for the door.
Crosshair staggered to his feet, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he watched the regs hurrying from the room. A smirk of triumph muscled onto his face despite the swelling. He’d won.
A grunt from behind made him turn, and all his elation vanished away like the bursting of a bubble.
Wrecker stood at his back, a towering figure of imposing muscle, most of it on full display as he stood in a pair of shorts with his hands fisted on his hips.
It appeared Crosshair could not take full credit for the regs fleeing in terror. He accepted this fact with resignation, grateful to have made it through the conflict relatively unscathed.
Then he saw Tech.
Favoring what looked to be a dislocated shoulder, Tech picked himself up from the floor with Wrecker’s assistance. His face was a bloody mess, his goggles broken and knocked askew. But in a thin, shaky voice, he assured Wrecker that he was no worse for wear.
Beside Wrecker, Hunter folded his arms. From the way he was eyeing Crosshair, it was obvious where he placed the blame.
“You just can’t leave it alone, can you?” Hunter burst out after a measured silence which felt deliberate.
“Me?”
“I told you to stand down. Did you not hear me?”
Truth be told, Crosshair had not heard him at all.
“Oh, my mistake. I guess I should’ve let them pound Tech into the floor. Was that your plan?”
In an instant, his shirt-front was knotted in Hunter’s fist.
“What’s wrong with you? Do you want to get decommissioned?” Hunter snarled, shaking him. “Do you? Because that’s what’ll happen if you keep this up!”
Crosshair stared into the face glaring inches from his own. It wasn’t unusual for men to speak horribly to each other on the regular, but no clone uttered the ‘decommission’ word lightly. It meant you weren’t fit for duty. It meant you weren’t worth keeping around anymore.
Was that what the Kaminoans were threatening them with now?
Shoving Hunter away, Crosshair straightened his shirt. The three of them were watching him, waiting to see what he might do. He wanted to flip them all off and stalk out, but that felt too cliche for him at this point.
So he did what he was good at. He spoke bluntly.
“No, I didn’t hear you.”
Hunter appeared unconvinced. “You have to trust me to make the decisions for this squad.”
Crosshair’s gaze shifted to the trampled state Tech was currently in and sighed, shaking his head. “Yes, Sergeant.”
The words were soaked in sarcasm, dripping with it.
He excused himself from the conversation, but even as he turned his back on Hunter, he knew it wouldn’t end there.
This was far from over.