Chapter Text
FELLIAN OUTPOST — TRYTH
Tech was only half-paying attention as he and Phee made their way to the till, list completed and shopkeeper looking like he was less than a moment away from dragging them from the market and chucking them out into the Tryth evening.
Tech could have brought the shopkeeper's attention to the dusty chrono above the door which clearly demonstrated that they still had approximately one minute until closing, and thus, the sour treatment was unwarranted. But his mind was elsewhere, almost entirely consumed by his and Phee's earlier conversation.
He had been quite serious when he told Phee that the question of clone fertility was one he'd contemplated for quite some time. It had been a largely passive consideration during the war; something to chip away at but nothing that had any real bearing on Tech's life, at least in the moment. Landing on Pabu and spending time with Phee had brought that consideration closer to the forefront of his mind. It was a natural consequence of being around other families and hearing Phee's stories of her upbringing, he decided. Absolutely nothing to fret over. Now though, as he gathered items for the daughter of a fellow clone and her mother, with Phee's question hanging in the air, Tech's mind was in a categorical tailspin.
What would it mean for you?
What an inquiry to receive in the chilled section of an outpost market while pushing a sticky hovercart, Tech thought. Civilian life continued to be full of surprises.
Even as a cadet, Tech was aware that clones did not come into being naturally. Quite the opposite, in fact. Their origins were never hidden from them; the glittering embryo lab was the Kaminoans' crown jewel of scientific achievement, the clones themselves a walking result of a relentless breaking down of science to its most basic forms then building it back up again, over and over.
But, their unconventional existence aside, they were still human. And humans, typically, procreated in much less clinical ways whether they intended to or not, the logistics of which clones were both cognizant and capable of. Besides, their reproductive education had been thorough, and time was precious — the Kaminoans would not have provided it without reason, not when they could have replaced it with yet another live-fire exercise or field medicine drill.
However, Tech had worried at the various environmental and chemical factors that might inhibit that ability over time. The Kaminoans' logical desire to protect their clones meant the growth accelerators were likely mostly — read: hopefully — harmless in the short term and tapered off as clones reached deployment age, but Tech was still leery of what, if any, lasting impact they might have at an advanced age. Likewise, nearly all clones had been clipped by anything from blaster bolts to bioweapons and everything in between — plasma penetrated chestplates, fumes slipped through in-helmet rebreathers, and illness skirted right past the lot. Certainly no promises where the latter were concerned — some clones had had it much worse than others — but at the very least, Ponder provided an invaluable baseline, a starting point under much better circumstances than any they'd had before.
And what circumstances they had been. A clone living long enough to even get the chance to have a child would have been a bigger question than any sort of biological capability. A nauseating number left Kamino in their first deployment, shipped to some far-flung system just to never see another sunrise. And even if a clone did take up with someone on their limited time between assignments, they came and went at the whim of the war. There was no telling how many children of clones existed with their father being none the wiser, moved along from a dalliance with hardly a chance to say goodbye, exchange a comm code. Countless variables had to come together perfectly for a trooper to make it through a rotation, a mission, a deployment, the entire war.
And Tech, for all his forward-thinking, had not done any sort of planning or dreaming — not until recently. During the days of the Republic, he made peace with the fact that he would likely not live to see the end of the war. That was a simple fact of being a soldier. He was an excellent soldier, but still a mortal one.
But somehow, all those variables came together — he had survived. And now, he was being faced with a question he never thought he'd be asked and never realized he'd have the chance to answer.
Tech told himself that he had no idea where to begin, but he knew better. He did know. The possibility of existing in a manner so incredibly contrary to his sole intended purpose as a soldier and having the chance to create something other than war, to be something he never imagined, was thrilling. And as exciting as it was, it was still not something he was sure he could enumerate clearly to himself, much less to Phee, even though he desperately wanted to.
Because, eventually, he would have to tell Phee. After arriving on Pabu, he'd thought up all sorts of potential futures for himself and realized she was present in every single one. It brought about a whole host of feelings. Surprise, for one, to have such affection for a person (his siblings aside) that he was unable to imagine his life without them. But, beyond that, he felt overwhelming comfort and relief at the thought of Phee being in his life consistently in a capacity beyond just an ally or friend, as much as he enjoyed her as such.
But anything he wanted to say in that moment was tangled, incomprehensible, made worse by wondering what her response would be if he asked the same question. What it would mean, if anything, for her.
The shopkeeper finished totaling up their items and held out a hand for payment. Tech gathered enough mental clarity to count out some credits, then shouldered the heavier bags, followed Phee out into the silvery night, and willed his heart rate to return to normal.