Chapter Four
The ex-senator’s estate was half-way up the top floor of the Kellerman residential complex. It was an upper class compound with smooth floors, jewelry, and lots of glistening surfaces. And like every home on the skyscraper complex, his had its own landing pad, which was where the soldiers made their landing.
All seven troopers filed out of the LAAT while the pilot kept the vehicle parked.
32 was the first to get out.
“Alright men. You have your orders. Eliminate Jedi on sight. Detain anyone else you find. Let’s make a clean sweep of the area. Call in at the first sign of trouble.”
The soldiers knew what to do. They had their positions.
“Unit two,” said 32. “Are you ready?”
There were additional soldiers making their way from inside the complex, choking all points of escape.
“We’re on the move,” came 87s voice on the comm.
“Alright. We’re going in.”
32 led the way inside by breaking down the glass entrance at the helipad with the butt of his gun. Zanesh was standing over the sofa in his living room, hands in the air. Mortified, and yet somehow 483 could tell that he’d been expecting them.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. Or he would have were he not interrupted mid-speech with barking orders to get down.
“On the floor!”
“Hands behind your back!”
“Do it now!”
Zanesh did exactly as he was told.
“Please, I have done nothing wrong. I don’t deserve this.”
And suddenly, 483 remembered the vandals earlier in the day. The ones that said the same exact thing.
32 pointed to the first man he could find.
“Get him on the LAAT.”
59 complied, and dragged the blue skinned man by the arm.
“The rest of you, start sweeping.”
The troopers moved with unrelenting resolve, scanning rooms throughout the entire estate. The ex-senator’s room covered two whole stories of the building complex, so there was a considerable amount of space for them to gloss over. And not to mention they had to check for possible hiding spaces. The troopers had to be as efficient as they were quick.
“39 clear.”
“91 clear.”
“645 clear.”
A few seconds afterwards, the commander responded.
“32 clear.”
483 went into the kitchen, where he immediately noticed something out of place. The refrigerator jutted slightly from the wall, slanting off to one side. Like someone didn’t have the time to pull it back.
He closed in and peaked into the wall behind it, where there was a suspiciously large narrow opening. Behind it he saw a bright pair of eyes. Small, quivering. Staring straight into his visor with a look of utter dismay, and yet the boy kept quiet, uncertain as to whether or not the trooper had seen him.
“483. What’s your status?”
Despite the fact that the voice was identical to all the other soldiers, himself included, it didn’t take a genius to know who was calling.
“483,” the commander repeated.
483 watched the child in utter silence. He didn’t move. And aside from all the nervous shaking, neither did the boy.
The first time that 483 had ever seen a boy was back in the labs on Kamino, where he was raised. The bounty hunter, their father, had a son that he kept at the facility because it was safe. 483 had seen the boy a few times.
And then there was that time when they were at the infirmary. The boy because he had a fever. 483 because he’d sprained his elbow.
In his delirium, when 483 stepped inside, the boy unwittingly called him father.
Father.
483 was not a father. He hadn’t been bred to be one. But if the man whose blood they were derived from could have it in him to have a child, then was it too much to expect that maybe some of his clones might wish for the same things?
“483, I swear. This is the last mission you’ll be on if you don’t respond immediately.”
“483 here.”
“Well. What’s the situation?”
His eyes remained on the boy. And then the other dim faces on the opening behind the fridge.
What was he going to say?
“483, clear.”