Chapter Two
They reported back to base at Silpoint. The commander first, 483 last. 32 had had enough time in between to inform the other men about what had happened earlier in the day. That they’d apprehended five rebels in a lucky sweep, and that 483 froze when he was given one simple order.
“Like a rookie,” he said. “Like a damned child.”
483 arrived at camp to hear the laughter, and the ridicule. The men that shared his face pointed at him like he had flaws that they themselves didn’t have, couldn’t have, and would never understand. In their eyes it made him different from them. Weaker. Worthy of derision. He’d seen more combat than all of them combined. But that didn’t matter.
32s command had always held a deep-seated resentment over the fact that their unit didn’t get the chance to fight at Kashyyyk, or at Utapau, or on any of the plethora of military campaigns that won the emperor the war. After Geonosis, they were ordered to Coruscant to safeguard the capital from Separatist hostility. They didn’t see an ounce of battle until the Jedi rebellion. But now the Jedi were gone. Either dead, or in hiding. The only threat left in Coruscant were the insurgents. Civilians whose only means of battle was guerilla warfare. And even then, they were hardly a formidable threat. They weren’t organized. They weren’t trained. They had no discernible agenda. A few random speeder bombings every once in a blue moon hardly constituted as warfare.
Coruscant was nothing like the Clone War. The men they were after weren’t trained soldiers. Just civilians. Some of them armed with nothing more than spray cans. Some, with even less.
483 removed his uniform and stepped into the shower room. There were others there. Other soldiers bathing, rubbing soap bars against themselves. They all stood at the same height. The fact that they all looked so familiar had on more than one occasion confused 483. Especially added with the fact that the bathrooms had mirrors. Sometimes, when he was watching from a distance he would mistake his own reflection for that of another soldier’s. For such a childish blunder, he was surprised that it had happened to him as often as it did. 483 wondered if it had ever happened to any of the other soldiers as well. Or if it was just him.
Evening fell over Coruscant, marking the end of his duties for the day. 483 had more rounds of patrols to look forward to in the morning, so it was important for him to get some sleep.
Of course, it wasn’t as if it was his choice.
The commanding officer, number 32, decided when the men in his unit got their sleep. When their hours began, and when it ended. The hours were reinforced, and strictly. The Clone Army was nothing if not well organized.
The time was almost 2000 hours. The morning, afternoon, and night patrols had their own designated hours for sleep. For 483, it was right about now.
He changed into his trunks, and was ready to slide into his bunk when suddenly the commander stepped in, and strutted towards the center of the room like he had an important announcement to make.
“Listen up boys.”
The men in his unit got up from their beds. Some of them stirring from their sleep. Once everyone was up and at the ready, the commander continued.
“We’ve got some fresh new intel that says there’s Jedi hiding at the estate of an ex-senator,” he dropped his eyes down to the folder he had apparently brought with him. “Zanesh Matar.”
When 32 mentioned that their target was an ex-senator, the immediate implication that surfaced into 483’s mind was that the man was once a senator of the old galactic government. When he mentioned that he was hiding Jedi, 483 concluded that he was a political sympathizer of the old Republic. A man with an ideological belief, whose old government position had meant more to him than just a simple job.
Not many politicians in Coruscant maintained their sympathy for the faded Republic once it was gone. He knew from the holofeeds. With the instatement of the empire, a sizable majority of the old government coffers had been quick to warm up to new, albeit different government jobs. A job was still a job, and it paid the same. Some even better.
Those with ideological differences from the empire left politics altogether, with their reputations largely intact. A few of them joined the Rebel Alliance, and were branded traitors. And then there were some that worked from within, relaying information from Coruscant to the Rebel Alliance.
Was Zanesh Matar one of them?
“The orders,” said 32. “Are to find the Jedi and wipe them out on contact. Zanesh, we question. But if he runs, or if he resists us in any way, shape or form, well, you know what to do. Am I right 483?”
The commander’s eyes landed on 483, as did the eyes of everyone inside the room. He could feel their sharp gaze poking at him, silently mocking him.
483 gave a weak nod.
“Right.”
32 wasn’t convinced.
“You’re riding with me. The rest of you, get ready. We leave in five minutes.”