Despite the luxury and convenience, after two days of being stuck in a tiny room with a very bored Rex, Echo was ready for a change of scenery. For the thousandth time, Rex paced over to the viewport and stared at the lines of light of hyperspace.
“Emerie, can I ask you something?” Echo asked, dragging his attention away from the captain.
“Sure.”
Echo leaned forward on his elbows. “I never got around to asking this of Omega, since I figured she might not know. But you’re a scientist. How exactly can you and Omega be clones of Jango Fett? He–and all the rest of us–are male.”
Emerie smiled. She was often tense and anxious ever since leaving Wayland, but speaking of things she knew and understood seemed to provide some relief. “Since male humans have two different sex chromosomes, and females have two of the same, the Kaminoans simply deleted the male sex chromosome and copied the other. Therefore, we were both made using only genetic material from Fett. By that definition, we are clones despite being female.”
“But Omega is an unaltered clone,” Echo said. “Yet the Kaminoans had to have altered Fett’s genetic material in order to make her female.”
Emerie shrugged. “It’s a matter of semantics, I suppose. They did not alter the genes found on the chromosomes, such as they would if they were to speed up her maturation or to fix a genetic defect.”
“Hm.” Echo pondered this. “So they could make female clones out of male clones. How could they make female clones out of males?”
Emerie frowned. “Why would they?”
“Lama Su sent a bounty hunter after Omega to bring her back to Kamino, presumably to create more clones. But it wouldn’t have worked, would it?”
Emerie thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Perhaps Lama Su believed they could use most of her DNA and simply replace the male chromosome from some of Fett’s original genetic material they had remaining. Using only a small portion of the old material would decrease the incidence of harmful mutations.”
“As interesting as this conversation is,” Rex said from nearby, pulling on his boots, “we just dropped out of hyperspace. Echo, see what the stormtroopers’ status is.”
“Yes sir,” Echo said, standing and moving over to the jack. He removed his droid hand and plugged his hand-scomp in. “Looks like they’ve set up the checkpoint.”
Rex pulled his stained tunic over his head. “Good. We can get moving then. If they’re busy with the checkpoint, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting down to the hangar.”
“Hold on.” Echo tilted his head as he concentrated on the datastream flowing into his heavily-modified brain. “That’s not all. A shuttle is docking with the ship, delivering twenty more stormtroopers.”
Rex’s jaw dropped. “That’s a lot of troopers for a single target.”
Echo smirked. “I guess they really want you taken out of commission.”
“This doesn’t change our plans, but…” Rex sank into a chair. “It could make getting to the garbage crates that much more difficult.”
“They’re looking for three clones,” Echo reminded the captain. He nodded to Emerie, who stepped over to the closet and pulled out three Ubese suits out from the closet and handed them out. “Not three Ubese. Three Ubese suits, freshly laundered, courtesy of a rewired service droid.”
“No one’s going to wonder what three Ubese are doing climbing into a garbage crate?” Rex asked.
“I’ve arranged for there to be a gap in the guard schedule in the hangar bay,” Echo said as he accepted his costume and began wrestling the Ubese suit over his gray armor. “We’ll have exactly three minutes to get into our crate.”
***
CX-2 waited beside Dahl and Ferrus as Kirgard organized the new troopers and gave them their assignments. He checked his gear once more, anticipation making him a bit anxious.
“You’ve checked your gear three times already,” Dahl muttered. “I don’t think it’s changed in the last thirty seconds.”
“Just eager to get moving,” CX-2 replied.
Just then, an Ubese wearing a full face-mask shoved its way through the troopers and shoved a finger in Kirgard’s chest, blabbering in its language.
A protocol droid stepped forward. “The Ubese says that he is very disappointed in the service onboard. Three of his suits that were sent to be cleaned have not been returned yet. He demands immediate compensation.”
Kirgard waved a hand dismissively at the alien. “That’s not my job. Go find someone from Guest Services.” He turned away from the Ubese and walked over to the rest of Vulture Squad.
“Do I look like the staff?” he growled when he got within earshot. “Never mind. Let’s head down to the hangar bay. We can scan each container for life forms as they leave.”
CX-2 and the others fell into formation around Kirgard and marched down to the hangar bay without incident. CX-2 was almost vibrating with excitement by the time the doors slid open to reveal the rows of crates stacked to the ceiling and the fizzy blue containment field distorting the starfield beyond.
“Everyone take a scanner and get to work,” Kirgard said, indicating a pile of scanners that had been left on a nearby crate.
CX-2 eagerly picked one up and started down a row of crates labeled, “Linens.”
***
When they were dressed, Rex, Echo, and Emerie slipped out of the stateroom and hurried down the hall to the lifts. A few more minutes later, they were walking down a stark gray hall that stank of antiseptic and lit by brutally white lights overhead.
“Just a little farther,” Emerie said, glancing at the schematic on her datapad.
They rounded a corner and slipped through a set of doors that led out through the side of the hangar bay.
“That’s a lot of crates,” Rex mused.
A clatter of boots sent the three of them ducking behind a crate. They peered out from behind their hiding places.
“When did you say your window was?” Rex asked Echo.
The cyborg clone glanced down at his chrono. “Three minutes from now.”
“Which ones are ours?”
Emerie said, “Two rows from the far side.”
“That’s a long walk from here.” Rex winced. “Let’s hope your window works, Echo.”
As they waited, Rex watched the stormtrooper closest to him. The stormtrooper wasn’t patrolling as usual, he noticed; instead of holding a blaster, he seemed to be holding a scanner of some sort which he was pointing at each crate. Rex’s stomach dropped.
“They’re scanning the crates,” he said. “Even if we get in, they’ll see we’re in there.”
Echo shook his head, not taking his eyes off the chrono. “There’s too much organic matter in the garbage crates. The scanners shouldn’t be able to distinguish trash from living creatures. We should be fine.”
Rex watched the stormtrooper nearest them. There was something familiar about his movements, the way he was hunched over the scanner. Rex nudged Echo.
“I think that’s the trooper who recognized us,” he said quietly. “He has the same posture as Tech did, doesn’t he?”
Echo watched the stormtrooper for a moment, a light beginning to show in his brown eyes. “Maybe if I could just talk to him–”
Rex opened his mouth to object, but he realized he was talking to the same man he himself had saved on a flimsy hope. Rex sighed.
“We don’t have time.”
The light died in Echo’s eyes. The cyborg swallowed hard and nodded, fixing his eyes back on his chrono.
He glanced up. “Now.”
They watched as several stormtroopers headed for the exit. But four stormtroopers remained, all carrying scanners, including the one nearest them with the odd posture.
“They’re a persistent bunch, aren’t they?” Echo muttered.
Emerie tapped her datapad. “I could set off an alarm as a distraction.”
Rex shook his head. “We’re out of time. This’ll have to be good enough. Follow me.”
CX-2 caught sight of the suit-encased intruders out of the corner of his eye.
“Contact,” he snapped into his comlink. “Intruders in Sector 17.”
He sprinted after them, slinging his scanner over his shoulder and pulling his blaster out of its holster as he went.
“CX-2, confirm identity of contact.”
CX-2 followed the intruders down a side row. He jumped over discarded clothes, a belt here, and then three masks.
“Three Ubese.”
Unsuitable attire for a chase unless climate regulation is essential, CX-2 noted. “Correction: contacts are not, I repeat, NOT Ubese.”
CX-2 darted down another aisle and saw the three clones from earlier scrambling through the maze ahead of him. They’d been wearing their armor underneath their disguises, he realized.
“Target confirmed,” CX-2 said. “I have eyes on Rex.”
“Vultures, converge on CX-2’s location.”
The crates here had been stacked closely together so that only one person could reasonably fit at a time. CX-2 raised his blaster and shot at a crate just ahead of the clones, causing a cascade of meiloorun fruit to splatter on the their heads. CX-2 continued to shoot until the entire tower of crates toppled into the path.
Ahead of him, the three clones skidded to a halt. They seemed to be arguing with each other. One of them, the shaggy spacer CX-2 had identified as Rex, pulled out a small vibroblade and began cutting away at the pile of debris while the woman and the cyborg started moving the detritus aside.
CX-2 stomped down the passageway towards the clones. He could hear the rest of Vulture Squad approaching behind him, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins refused to let him wait. He could see his prey. Rex was cornered. If CX-2 waited for the others, Rex might get away again. He needed to catch the rogue clone captain now .
The cyborg clone turned and saw CX-2 approaching. He stopped and planted his feet, letting his blaster hang down.
“Echo! Come on! We don’t have time!” Rex shouted from down the passageway. He and the woman had cleared away enough debris for them to squeeze through.
The cyborg shot a pained glance at his companion, then took a step towards CX-2. Behind him, Rex cursed. With a moment’s hesitation, he nodded reluctantly and handed the vibroblade to the cyborg. Then he followed the woman through the hole they’d made.
“You are not my target,” CX-2 hissed at the cyborg clone, raising his blaster. “Step aside, or I will kill you.”
But the cyborg held his ground. In fact, he took a step forward, his eyes searching for something behind CX-2’s helmet.
“Tech?” the cyborg clone asked, his voice tentative. “Remember me? Echo?”
The cyborg took another step forward, palms facing out.
“This isn’t you,” the cyborg said. “You’re not one of them.”
CX-2 didn’t even feel the blaster droop as his mind lurched into the past.
The door slid open and a clone stumbled in. Gaunt, pale, shivering. He looked up at CX-2 and blinked in surprise.
“Tech?”
It was the same clone as before, Crosshair. He was wearing a black jumper.
The scene shifted.
“You’re not one of them! Listen to me! It’s Hemlock’s reconditioning! It’s not really you!”
The vision faded. CX-2 was still in the hallway, the cyborg staring hopefully at him. CX-2 lost his balance for a second, stumbling against a crate. He caught himself, then shook his head to clear it. A moment later, the lingering effects of the episode had faded.
Kirgard’s order from the mission briefing rose to the front of CX-2’s mind. “We have our orders. Board the transport, apprehend the target. Understood?”
The last of the fog in CX-2’s mind evaporated. There was nothing besides the reconditioning. The reconditioning was who he was. This was necessary and right. He was Hemlock’s blade to shove into the hearts of all who might oppose the Empire. His orders were to bring in his target, dead or alive. And right now, the cyborg was between him and his target.
The blaster came up once more and with cold, calculated efficiency, CX-2 burned a hole in the cyborg’s chest. CX-2 leapt over the body to go after the other two clones.
“CX-2! Halt!”
Surprised, CX-2 did as ordered. Though he felt the tug of his target pulling him on, he turned and faced his captain.
The other three members of Vulture Squad were heading towards him. When they saw the smoking corpse at CX-2’s feet, Dahl whistled appreciatively.
Kirgard stepped over the corpse of the cyborg and strode to CX-2. “Stand down, soldier.”
“The target is going to get away,” CX-2 said, accusation lacing his words.
“Rex isn’t on the ship anymore. We’re not sure how he got off, but he’s gone.” Kirgard turned to a service droid and gestured at the cyborg’s corpse. “Get rid of this.”
“We should check the crates that have been offloaded–” CX-2 said.
Kirgard held up a gloved hand. “The mission is over, CX-2. We failed to bring in the target. It’s time to head back.”
Kirgard and Dahl headed down the hall. Ferrus lingered, however.
“You did well,” she said.
CX-2 blinked in surprise at the compliment, especially in light of his failure.
Ferrus shrugged. “No shame in failing to apprehend a man like Captain Rex. Would have been a nice feather in our caps to catch him, but no one’s going to look down on us because he gave us the slip.”
“You have expressed an extreme dislike of me,” CX-2 said. “Why the abrupt change?”
“Like I said, you did well. Better than most of the men I’ve served with.” Ferrus turned and headed down the hall after the others. Without looking back, she said, “You coming, Reboot?”
***
The next day, as Vulture Squad nursed their drinks and their egos in the lounge aboard the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Vindicator , Dahl stared at CX-2.
“Is something wrong?” the clone asked.
Dahl shook his head slowly. “No. I’ve heard tales of you clones, obviously, of your obedience and loyalty. But seeing you in action…” He shook his head, then took a swig of his drink. “That was something else.”
“I do not understand,” CX-2 said. “Was my performance lacking?”
Dahl shook his head again. “Not at all. I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone so…excited for a mission.”
Kirgard ran his finger around the lip of his glass. “Clones were bred for war. It’s all they know.”
“Is that true?” Dahl asked.
CX-2 nodded.
Dahl shook his head in wonder. “I guess I can’t even imagine.” He downed the rest of his drink and flagged down a serving droid for another.
CX-2 stared down into his acid-green drink. Could clones be anything other than soldiers? His instinct was to believe not, but…for some reason, he thought that maybe there were other options. A ghost of a memory tickled the back of his mind, like a whisper he couldn’t quite make out. Something about a clone who’d chosen another path…
CX-2 gave up trying to catch the memory and took a sip of his drink.
Now that the adrenaline of the hunt was over, the mission failed, CX-2 felt himself…droop. The driving force that had pushed him forward during the mission was gone, leaving him strangely empty.
After listening to his companions half-heartedly try to get a conversation going, CX-2 left the rest of Vulture Squad staring dejectedly into their drinks and made his way to the solace of his quarters.
CX-2’s thoughts drifted back to that moment, before the others had shown up, when the gaunt clone’s words had frozen him for a second before his conditioning had reasserted itself.
He didn’t dare mention this to Kirgard or the others, of course. Hemlock’s reconditioning had made him into an unrelenting weapon. The conditioning allowed CX-2 to complete missions that ordinary humans could not. If he mentioned his hesitation or his hallucinations, Pare would have ample reason to pull him from duty immediately.
But the reconditioning had failed him for a split second. If that cyborg clone hadn’t hesitated himself, CX-2 would have been the one on the floor with a hole in his chest.
CX-2 peeled off his armor and piled it up near his bunk.
Curiosity and worry warred in his mind. That clone, Crosshair, was the key to unlocking CX-2’s past. He was certain of that. Crosshair would be able to fill in the gaps in his memory, both of Tantiss and of before.
But if CX-2 followed that train of thought, if he hunted down this Crosshair clone and found out what he knew about CX-2’s past, or about the cyborg clone and why he’d called CX-2 ‘Tech,’ would he undo Hemlock’s conditioning? If he did so, would he still be of use to the Empire?
CX-2 stretched out on his bunk, mind buzzing in circles so that sleep did not come easily. Instead, he tossed and turned, plagued by one more thought:
That cyborg clone had claimed to know him, and yet CX-2 had killed him without a second thought because he was interfering with the mission. CX-2 would never be able to ask that clone about their past together, or inquire who he’d been before Tantiss Base.
For some reason that he couldn’t identify, that loss ate at him more than any other thought.
***
“CX-2 performed admirably,” Captain Kirgard said to the glowing blue hologram of Grand Moff Tarkin on the table in front of him and Dr. Ambrose Pare. “We nearly caught CT-7567 thanks to CX-2’s insights into the clone mind. We would have caught him if it weren’t for Rex’s companions.”
“He did not hesitate to carry out his orders?”
Kirgard shook his head. “Not even once. If anything, he seemed too eager to comply.”
Tarkin’s hologram turned to Pare. “Is this sufficient evidence of the clone’s loyalty to the Empire?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kirgard wiped the surprise off his face as Pare shuffled his feet.
“Good. I expect a full report. You will have your next orders within the week, Captain.” Tarkin’s hologram winked out of existence.
Kirgard turned to Pare. “Is there a problem, doc?”
Pare shrugged. “I’m worried about CX-2’s mental stability.”
Kirgard snorted. “You ought to be worried about all of us, then. I doubt anyone on Vulture Squad could pass one of your mental tests.”
“A fact I’ve pointed out several times to Grand Moff Tarkin,” Pare said, his attention going back to his datapad. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on CX-2, will you? Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Such as?”
“If he hallucinates, says things that don’t make sense, stares at nothing and you can’t get his attention—anything that might indicate that he’s having a psychotic break from reality.”
Kirgard nodded slowly, considering the likelihood of that happening. From what he saw on the transport ship, he wasn’t worried. CX-2 seemed solid as a rock.
“And don’t try to hide it from me,” Pare warned. “If he has an episode in the middle of a mission, he won’t be able to do his duty and one of your people could get hurt.”
Kirgard smiled. “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
***
The garbage crate dropped down with a heavy clang onto the pile of crates waiting for the incinerator, jostling the slimy, stinking mess within. Most of it was dead, but two still-living beings exploded from within. They yanked small rebreathers from their mouths, groaned and wiped refuse off their faces.
“I’m gonna kill Echo,” Rex grumbled. His left hand had landed in a bucket of a weird blue slime that now coated his glove. He cast about until he saw Emerie trying to wipe a similar slime off her goggles, but only succeeding at mucking them up further.
“Did you see where Echo ended up?” he asked.
Emerie waved her goggles in the direction of the corner of the crate. She and Rex waded through the trash.
“Echo? Can you hear me?” Rex called.
A muffled grumble came from near their feet. Together, they dug until they could hook their arms under Echo’s arms and haul him up. He spat out the rebreather.
“How’s the chest?” Rex asked.
Echo rapped his knuckles on his chest plate, which now had an impressive blaster scorch mark right in the center of it. He winced.
“Not quite beskar, but it got the job done,” he said. “Glad I switched when I joined the Bad Batch.”
“I guess we know for certain, then,” Rex said solemnly. “That couldn’t have been Tech. Tech wouldn’t have attacked his brother like that.”
Echo nodded sadly.
“Good work on the plan. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but it did.” Rex slapped the cyborg on the shoulder. “You know, that armor’s missing something…”
He planted his slime-covered hand on Echo’s chest plate, then shoved him down into the muck. “That’s for the trash up my nose,” he grumbled.
“Fair enough.” Echo smirked as he got back up. He looked down and saw a deep blue hand print right where he used to have one on his old clone armor.
