A Thought For Every Man Who's Tried To Figure Out What's In HIs Hands
Thanks to lyssamorgaine for hipping me to this community. This one's been rattling 'round my brain since I saw Episode III. I suppose this fits in with Wave Two, but it was written before I saw the challenges.
Title: A Thought For Every Man Who's Tried To Figure Out What's In His Hands
Author: Silver Alaska
Type: Drama, POV, OC
Rated: R for violence.
Disclaimer: Zandru Khirin belongs to me. All other recognizable locales, concepts, etc., are, along with many other things I wish I owned, the property of George Lucas. Also, the title belongs to Oasis and is from the song "Cast No Shadow."
Summary: What happened to Zandru when Order 66 came down? Did the clones receive a sense of honor from Jango's legacy?
Feedback: is cradled lovingly and always welcome at blue_blade@coruscant.net
Archive: blue.blade; all others must ask. If you want this, tell me.
Author's Note: This one's been running 'round my head since the first time I saw Episode III. If you want to know more about Zandru, check out my stories at blue.blade.
"Execute Order 66," Palpatine had said, seconds ago.
"It shall be done," The order number whirred through Trooper ARC-1742's enhanced brain. When his neurons arrived on the action that matched the order number, the clone frowned inside his helmet. As an ARC trooper, his brain was a bit more highly developed and capable of more independent thought than the masses of regular clones he commanded. His eyes flashed on General Zandru Khirin, the Jedi overseeing their action on Drynmar-IV.
Khirin was a gentle man who always seemed the tiniest bit bewildered and out of place amid the guns and ugliness of war, though he had designed many of the weapons currently in use by the Army of the Republic. At the moment, he was tinkering with a large cannon, his black hair flopping into his silver eyes as he concentrated. Khirin was armed, yes, his lightsaber was at his belt, as always, but he left his back to the clone troopers. Why wouldn't he? They were fighting on the same side.
ARC-1742 knew what he had to do. He leveled his blaster at the Jedi's unprotected back. Jedi or not, no general ever *expected* to be shot in the back by his own men. Purposefully, he strode toward Khirin. As he drew closer, the ARC trooper heard Khirin humming a tune, a reflection of the jubilant mood that had taken hold recently. They had just received news that Kenobi had defeated Grievous on Utapau, which meant that the war was drawing to a close and everyone was that much closer to going home.
To ARC-1742, it didn't really matter. What was his home? The cloning pod on Kamino? Six of one, half-dozen of another, he supposed. Six . . . oh, yes. The order. Number 66. He snapped the safety off his blaster. No, he didn't have a home, but Khirin did, with an officer on one of the enormous capital ships that held an orbit high above. He remembered Khirin talking about the officer. She liked tea and was a practical joker.
ARC-1742 cursed his independent thought for making him waffle. He cursed it for making him question the fact that he had been ordered to gun down a defenseless man, a defenseless man he, 1742, knew had someone waiting for him. ARC-1742 didn't know from love, didn't know how it felt to know someone was waiting for him, but he could get his mind around it. He remembered moving through cities they were too late to save, remembered people rushing out of burnt-out buildings into the street and calling out names, their voices growing louder and shriller each time as they realized that nobody was answering and probably never would again.
ARC-1742 had no such attachments. He did care for his men, if it could be called care. He wanted to lose as few as possible of the men who shared his face and voice but still couldn't rightly be called his brothers. But he knew that, were something to happen to him or any of them, another man who shared the same face and voice could step into position in minutes. Clones were good soldiers *because* they didn't question orders and thought in processes of nearly pure logic. But at that moment, ARC-1742 wasn't so sure that the enhancements that he and the other ARCs had received made them better soldiers. With independent thought was bound to come *questioning* thought.
ARC-1742 lowered his blaster and moved a little more quickly toward Khirin. He knew that the other field commanders had received the same command for Order 66. One of them could show up at any minute.
Jedi Knight Zandru Khirin raised his head from the gun when he heard ARC-1742 approach. His face was relaxed and open, and the creases around his eyes were less pronounced than they had been a few short days ago, when Grievous was still on the loose. A gentle smile curved Khirin's lips. He had always made a point of treating the clones just as any other being he might encounter; ARC-1742 was not so regimented as to be unaware that this was not the norm. He knew that by and large, the clone army was seen as a passel of mercenaries with one face, little better than the droids they fought.
ARC-1742 removed his helmet, then finally spoke. "General Khirin, it has been an honor to serve under you," he said, snapping a salute.
Zandru laughed. "It's not over *quite* yet. The order--"
"I got an order," replied the clone. The Jedi looked askance at him. "Get out of here. They're killing you Jedi. They're sending us to do it. Get out of here as fast as you can. Don't ask me any questions."
For a moment, Zandru's silver eyes seemed to stare a thousand klicks away. In the next moment, his gaze returned to the trooper's face. "An honor." He saluted, then walked deliberately to his Jedi starfighter, docked nearby.
ARC-1742 stood frozen until the small craft left the atmosphere. As the lights faded, he became aware again of the blaster's weight in his hand. He lifted it, contemplated the open safety. A clarity above any other settled into him, a clarity of purpose higher than simply carrying out orders as given. Clearly, he saw that his treachery would be found out. Clearly, he saw that he would die for it. Clearly, he saw that he would not die by hands stained with innocent blood. Clearly, he saw the blaster in his hand, as he raised it to his temple and fired.
*******
FIN
Title: A Thought For Every Man Who's Tried To Figure Out What's In His Hands
Author: Silver Alaska
Type: Drama, POV, OC
Rated: R for violence.
Disclaimer: Zandru Khirin belongs to me. All other recognizable locales, concepts, etc., are, along with many other things I wish I owned, the property of George Lucas. Also, the title belongs to Oasis and is from the song "Cast No Shadow."
Summary: What happened to Zandru when Order 66 came down? Did the clones receive a sense of honor from Jango's legacy?
Feedback: is cradled lovingly and always welcome at blue_blade@coruscant.net
Archive: blue.blade; all others must ask. If you want this, tell me.
Author's Note: This one's been running 'round my head since the first time I saw Episode III. If you want to know more about Zandru, check out my stories at blue.blade.
"Execute Order 66," Palpatine had said, seconds ago.
"It shall be done," The order number whirred through Trooper ARC-1742's enhanced brain. When his neurons arrived on the action that matched the order number, the clone frowned inside his helmet. As an ARC trooper, his brain was a bit more highly developed and capable of more independent thought than the masses of regular clones he commanded. His eyes flashed on General Zandru Khirin, the Jedi overseeing their action on Drynmar-IV.
Khirin was a gentle man who always seemed the tiniest bit bewildered and out of place amid the guns and ugliness of war, though he had designed many of the weapons currently in use by the Army of the Republic. At the moment, he was tinkering with a large cannon, his black hair flopping into his silver eyes as he concentrated. Khirin was armed, yes, his lightsaber was at his belt, as always, but he left his back to the clone troopers. Why wouldn't he? They were fighting on the same side.
ARC-1742 knew what he had to do. He leveled his blaster at the Jedi's unprotected back. Jedi or not, no general ever *expected* to be shot in the back by his own men. Purposefully, he strode toward Khirin. As he drew closer, the ARC trooper heard Khirin humming a tune, a reflection of the jubilant mood that had taken hold recently. They had just received news that Kenobi had defeated Grievous on Utapau, which meant that the war was drawing to a close and everyone was that much closer to going home.
To ARC-1742, it didn't really matter. What was his home? The cloning pod on Kamino? Six of one, half-dozen of another, he supposed. Six . . . oh, yes. The order. Number 66. He snapped the safety off his blaster. No, he didn't have a home, but Khirin did, with an officer on one of the enormous capital ships that held an orbit high above. He remembered Khirin talking about the officer. She liked tea and was a practical joker.
ARC-1742 cursed his independent thought for making him waffle. He cursed it for making him question the fact that he had been ordered to gun down a defenseless man, a defenseless man he, 1742, knew had someone waiting for him. ARC-1742 didn't know from love, didn't know how it felt to know someone was waiting for him, but he could get his mind around it. He remembered moving through cities they were too late to save, remembered people rushing out of burnt-out buildings into the street and calling out names, their voices growing louder and shriller each time as they realized that nobody was answering and probably never would again.
ARC-1742 had no such attachments. He did care for his men, if it could be called care. He wanted to lose as few as possible of the men who shared his face and voice but still couldn't rightly be called his brothers. But he knew that, were something to happen to him or any of them, another man who shared the same face and voice could step into position in minutes. Clones were good soldiers *because* they didn't question orders and thought in processes of nearly pure logic. But at that moment, ARC-1742 wasn't so sure that the enhancements that he and the other ARCs had received made them better soldiers. With independent thought was bound to come *questioning* thought.
ARC-1742 lowered his blaster and moved a little more quickly toward Khirin. He knew that the other field commanders had received the same command for Order 66. One of them could show up at any minute.
Jedi Knight Zandru Khirin raised his head from the gun when he heard ARC-1742 approach. His face was relaxed and open, and the creases around his eyes were less pronounced than they had been a few short days ago, when Grievous was still on the loose. A gentle smile curved Khirin's lips. He had always made a point of treating the clones just as any other being he might encounter; ARC-1742 was not so regimented as to be unaware that this was not the norm. He knew that by and large, the clone army was seen as a passel of mercenaries with one face, little better than the droids they fought.
ARC-1742 removed his helmet, then finally spoke. "General Khirin, it has been an honor to serve under you," he said, snapping a salute.
Zandru laughed. "It's not over *quite* yet. The order--"
"I got an order," replied the clone. The Jedi looked askance at him. "Get out of here. They're killing you Jedi. They're sending us to do it. Get out of here as fast as you can. Don't ask me any questions."
For a moment, Zandru's silver eyes seemed to stare a thousand klicks away. In the next moment, his gaze returned to the trooper's face. "An honor." He saluted, then walked deliberately to his Jedi starfighter, docked nearby.
ARC-1742 stood frozen until the small craft left the atmosphere. As the lights faded, he became aware again of the blaster's weight in his hand. He lifted it, contemplated the open safety. A clarity above any other settled into him, a clarity of purpose higher than simply carrying out orders as given. Clearly, he saw that his treachery would be found out. Clearly, he saw that he would die for it. Clearly, he saw that he would not die by hands stained with innocent blood. Clearly, he saw the blaster in his hand, as he raised it to his temple and fired.
*******
FIN