Pabu, a planet in the Outer Rim
The nightmare was chaotic, dark, flashing lights, screams. Crosshair looked down and saw an electrospear in his hand, violet lightning crackling between its prongs–and then it was buried in Tech’s white-clad chest, the goggled clone staring in shock and betrayal at his brother.
Crosshair felt the scream rip from his throat, felt the vice close around his heart as the light faded from Tech’s eyes.
Crosshair looked down. The electrospear, back in his hands. He tried to drop it, to get rid of it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop himself as he threw the spear again and again–
Cold water drenched Crosshair. He sputtered, blinked away the water, and saw Hunter and Wrecker leaning over him, an empty bucket in Wrecker’s oversized hand.
“Are you alright?” Hunter asked with a slightly reproachful glance at Wrecker’s bucket.
Crosshair slowly sat up. His tunic was drenched in icy salt water. The sniper glared at his brothers. “Was the water necessary?”
“You were screaming,” Wrecker said. “And we couldn’t get you to wake up.”
Hunter handed Crosshair a towel. “Bad dream?”
Crosshair nodded. There was no judgment from either Hunter or Wrecker, only worry. They understood.
“You wanna talk about it?” Wrecker asked.
Crosshair shook his head. “No. I’d rather be alone for a bit.”
Hunter hesitated, worry etched as deeply into his face as his tattoo. Slowly, he patted his brother on the shoulder. “We’re here if you need us. Always.”
Crosshair nodded silently. As they left, returning to their own rooms in the bungalow they shared, Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t tell them, but the secret was eating away at him.
With a heavy sigh, he swung his long legs out of bed, ripped his tunic off and donned a new, dry one. He grabbed a soft blanket and tossed it around his shoulders.
Still barefoot, Crosshair stepped out into the mellow night. A soft breeze wafted in from over the ocean, cooling the sweat and water lingering on his brow and tugging at the blanket. Pulling the blanket tighter around himself, he made his way to the rocky shore and picked out a flat rock that overlooked the rippling waves, then sat cross-legged as Omega had taught him.
His heart rate was still high, and though the images of the dream had faded somewhat, the horror and guilt and fear from the nightmare lingered.
Instead of meditating, though, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift back to what had really happened that night. Truth was better than whatever twisted horror his subconscious mind had concocted, right?
***
The base was dark, with flickers of firelight casting eerie shadows. Crosshair saw the dark form of one of the assassins creeping towards Hunter and Omega.
Shoving aside the blinding pain in his hand–no, it was gone–Crosshair blinked, trying to clear his vision. He pulled the blaster up with his remaining hand, brushing his…his stump and grunting in pain.
Stay focused, he reminded himself. He leveled the blaster as best he could at the assassin and shot him, catching him in the side and making the black-clad clone spin.
An electrospear flew from Hunter’s hand–Crosshair wanted to cry out, to stop the spear, to warn Hunter–but it was too late. Violet lightning skittered across the assassin’s body, and the clone slumped, dead.
Crosshair couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Tech . He stared in horror at the slumped assassin, frozen in shock. Time stood still, as though the universe had ground to a halt.
Suddenly, Hunter was there, supporting him.
“I’ll find Omega,” Hunter said. “You should stay here.”
Crosshair glanced at the limp form of his dead brother. He felt sick.
It’s not him, the sniper reminded himself desperately. Tech died months ago. That’s only a shell. But Omega is alive. I can still help Omega.
Crosshair’s voice was hoarse from pain and the acrid smoke. “Not a chance.”
As they stumbled away from the body of their brother, Crosshair blinked away the moisture pricking at his eyes.
Now you can rest, brother.
Crosshair swallowed and gritted his teeth. Focus on Omega. You can mourn Tech later.
***
Slowly, sitting on the rock, Crosshair’s breathing slowed. The guilt ebbed away, and Crosshair let his grief take over. Tech was gone. When Hunter had killed that assassin, it wasn’t really Tech anymore. The assassin’s death had been a release, and Tech could finally rest in peace.
Crosshair let that thought envelope him, let it soothe the pain. But as always, his brain wasn’t satisfied with it. Around the edges of that thought came other thoughts, worming their way in.
Tech had always been there. He’d always put everyone else before himself. Even though he hadn’t agreed with Crosshair’s decision to remain with the Empire, he’d accepted Crosshair’s choice.
Crosshair’s fingers tightened on the hem of the blanket. Out of all the 99’s, why had Tech been the one to be tortured, twisted, then killed by his own brother?
And yet I lived.
That thought struck Crosshair in the gut like a physical blow, guilt washing over him once more. He doubled over, sobs wracking his thin body.
He didn’t hear Wrecker come up beside him. When Wrecker wrapped an arm around Crosshair, the thin clone stiffened, shame and embarrassment flooding him. He began to pull away.
“Knock it off, Crosshair,” Wrecker grumbled. “We’re a family. We’re here for each other. So shut up and take it.”
And so Crosshair did, even though guilt and shame and the unshared secret still gnawed at him like a million insects crawling under his skin.
