Chapter Text
REAR ADMIRAL SLOANE KANTOO STOOD IN FRONT OF THE LARGE BACTA TANK. The glowing blue fluid cast a pale glow on the officer, illuminating her sharp features. Her auburn hair, streaked with stray strands of silver, was pulled in a tight bun. It was slicked with gel, and every possibility of a flyaway was eliminated. Her black boots were shined enough that she could do her makeup in it. Her arms were neatly bolded behind her back and razor-gray eyes were focused on the slow rise and fall of the anomaly's chest.
CT-9902, a clone commando who served in the Grand Army of the Republic and one of the members of Clone Force 99. His body was marred with purple and black bruises. The medical droids had scanned him and concluded that he had three fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a few major spinal injuries. Tubes coiled around the tank like protective serpents, pumping life into his body. Monitors blinked steadily, tracking vitals through the network of biosensors stuck onto his body. His slack body floated, his face relaxed. Almost peaceful. The tank was hard at work, mending torn muscle and repairing what had been broken.
She didn't know what she was expecting. Just that she was expecting more. Sloane had been sent here by her colleagues in the upper chain of command. They trusted her judgment, they said. But, she knew the truth, she knew it was simply because no one was free to see if this clone was worth salvaging. They had all the more important stuff to do.
To think that the Empire was foiled time and time again because of the efforts of clones like these. It would've been almost comical, if these setbacks didn't bring an array of consequences across the chain of command ridiculed the Empire. And, the Empire, especially the Emperor, never and will never take ridicule as simple jokes.
"...He doesn't look like much," She concluded, her tone neutral. "You wasted imperial credits for a search and rescue mission. And, you continue to waste more on your...specimen alive."
She turned to Royce Hemlock, her eyes taking note of his frustratingly calm features. He had been silent for her whole assessment and his gaze hadn't left the clone, taking note of every moment, no matter how small. His fingers were laced behind his back. His black hair was shaved at the sides with the rest of his hair slicked back. His brown eyes were just white dots in the darkness. He wore a black and silver jacket and black pants and boots. There was nothing extraordinary about him. One glance, it would be safe to assume that he was a harmless man.
But, that couldn't be further from the truth.
"What lies behind those closed eyes is a mind more advanced than anything we've ever seen. It's more advanced man than most of the officers under your command. Miraculous, really. The fall should've killed him. His physiology has...unique resilience."
Hemlock's enthusiasm was noted, but that didn't draw attention away from the fact that the man's efforts were a liability. A credit burner. With the growing Rebellion, every credit needed to be spent with purpose and reason. They couldn't afford to feed this experiment simply for Hemlock's ambition.
She turned to him, a brow raised. "...Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems like you're fond of the clone. Odd."
"I'm simply interested in what he can offer. His knowledge, his adaptability. He was genetically enhanced, just like the others of Experiment 99. He's dissected Separatist and imperial code, can reverse-engineer encryption, and devised escape plans that had helped him and his batch slip past systems that were considered the most heavily guarded in our ranks. He's adaptable, dangerous, and most importantly, brilliant."
"I've served with many clones during my time with the Republic," Sloane said smoothly. "Billions of credits that could've been used to advance our efforts were poured into Kamino, breeding soldiers like commodities. But, there were flaws, of course. They were artificial. Too many variables. Having a single facility was a vulnerability that we couldn't afford and should've never tolerated. And, here you are, one of the Empire's most brilliant minds, tinkering with them."
"You are underestimating him, Admiral."
Sloane clicked her tongue, her eyes narrowing slightly as she saw Hemlock's jaw tightening slightly. "What good is a half-dead clone to the Empire? Our resources could be put into more important matters. The amount of funding we've been putting into your program could buy us a formidable amount of destroyers to make many fleets. I hope you understand that."
Hemlock sighed. "Yes, I understand that, Admiral. But, you aren't seeing the bigger picture."
Sloane shook her head. "Clones are tools to dispose of once they've done their work. Treating them like they were anything more was a mistake that the Jedi made - and look where that had gotten them. Let him die. Then, we can focus on more pressing matters."
Sloane turned to leave, but the scientist grabbed her arm. She stiffened and she fought the urge to recoil. She simply opted to rip her arm from him, brushing away the lingering disgust his touch had left on her.
"I understand your skepticism, Admiral," Hemlock had the slightest bit of insistence - and desperation. "But, he will be incredibly important to our case. Where other clones fall short, Tech exceeds. He is the greatest work of the Kaminoan's molecular duplication and projects. He is their Magnus Corpus."
"You believe that if we keep him alive, he will be useful," Sloane stepped closer to the tank, studying the steady precision of Tech's body. She reached up, a black-gloved hand falling on the glass surface of the tank. Her fingers curled, as she gently rapped them against it. "You are very persuasive, but I know your reputation. Ambition clouds your judgment."
"Think of the possibilities, Admiral," Hemlock pressed on, putting his hand on the bacta tank's glass. "Think of the way he could serve the Empire. If we harness his capabilities, we will achieve new heights. A soldier who can think faster than any other thing could ever hope to, with an understanding of technology that surpasses any engineer and scientist. You talk about wasting resources, but terminating this clone will be a waste of a potential resource."
"...What about his effectiveness? Or, rather, his defectiveness. To waste all these resources to keep him alive, only to have a soldier that has too much defiance in him to conform to imperial law."
Hemlock smiled cruelly, his expression tight with resolve. "Then, we will refine him."
"We?" Sloane scoffed.
"Think about it, Admiral. With your oversight and my research, we could make a weapon beyond compare with an enhanced tactical mind that is capable of interfacing with our technology on a level never explored before."
Sloane's eyes flickered with a spark of interest. The scientist's words slithered into her mind, lingering there. There was indeed something undeniably intriguing about CT-9902, but she couldn't put her finger on it. The rear admiral bowed studied him for a second longer, then turned her gaze to the bacta tank. The clone's unconscious form floated serenely. A broken thing, but some broken things could be fixed. And, sometimes, the right kind of broken thing could be turned into something extraordinary.
"...If we are to continue this project," She said slowly, her words weighing in the air. "I have one condition." Hemlock nodded, as she turned to him. "I will have full control. I will call the shots. I am placing this facility and the project under my direct oversight. Of course, you will remain in charge of your research, doctor, but I will decide the best course of action. I will decide what value this clone will bring to the Empire. And, when that value ends."
To Sloane's surprise, the man didn't even flinch. His expression remained composed, a flicker of triumph swimming in his eyes. "Of course, Admiral. Your expertise will be...invaluable. This will be a collaborative effort. I believe you and the others will find the results...enlightening."
The doctor bowed his head slightly, a subtle sign of respect. However, his eyes remained fixed on Tech with an almost obsessive intensity that slightly worried Sloane. "Thank you, Rear Admiral Kantoo. You won't regret this."
She leaned closer, her voice a simple whisper. "See to it that I won't."
She turned on her heel and walked toward the exit. Her boots made soft blacks on the sterile floors of the lab. The blast doors opened when they sensed her. Then, when she was out of the lab, the observation doors slid shut with a brief, but sharp, hiss. Her footsteps faded down the sterile and echoing hallway until they were mere echoes in Hemlock's, the coldness pressing against her.
It was quiet, too quiet, for an Imperial facility. The cold metallic walls seemed to narrow, as she walked deeper into the heart of the base. She exhaled slowly, releasing the last of the lifeless air she had barely tolerated inside Hemlock's squeaky-clean laboratory. The illusion of order and control was comforting. But, illusions were temporary. It was a reality that allowed Sloane to know how things were rarely as neat as they seemed.
Just like Hemlock.
She turned a corner, going up a stairwell to the officer quarters. She stopped at the second one on the right. Sloane pressed one of the data pads, alerting whoever was in there to open up.
The doors opened. Standing there was Captain Ren Varas. A sharp man, precise, and most importantly, loyal. A rare thing nowadays. Just the kind she wanted serving in the ranks. The textbook Imperial officer. As soon as he saw her, his heels clicked together to form a forty-degree angle. His arms were pinned to his sides and his head snapped forward, eyes unmoving.
He saluted crisply, his arm parallel to the ground and the point of his middle finger touching the end of his eyebrow. "Rear Admiral," Varas greeted her, his voice neutral.
"At ease, Captain," She said, saluting back just as orderly. She cut her salute and he dropped his arm.
"Did everything proceed smoothly with Doctor Hemlock?" He asked, stepping back to allow her to step into his quarters.
"Smoothly enough," She replied, her voice flat. "Hemlock has convinced me to let him continue with his project with...the clone."
"The clone? The one who fell on Eriadu?"
Sloane confirmed it with a sharp nod, her lips tightening. "There's potential there. Something worth investing in. At least...for now." Her gaze turned cold and she lowered her voice, taking Varas by the arm and lightly pulling him towards her. "I don't trust that man, not entirely. He has this...intense focus on these clones. It's safe enough to call it an obsession. It doesn't sit right with me."
"You know how he is, Rear Admiral," Varas suggested. "He's an ambitious and passionate man. Like most of the scientists we've dealt with."
"Hemlock is dangerous, Varas. It isn't wise to underestimate him."
"...Course of action, Admiral?"
"Let it play out. Do nothing. For now." Sloane straightened her back, her posture gaining its usual air of control. She straightened her cap. "I've given the green light to continue his work. But, I'll be watching him. I'll keep him on a tight leash."
"You have my support, Admiral," Varas said finally, his tone firm.
"Good," Sloane nodded, a flicker of gratitude passing through her steal demeanor. "Keep this quiet. The last thing we need is unnecessary attention and Hemlock's distrust. But, if the scientist steps out of line, I want to know about it. If the clone so much as thinks to step a toe of line, I want to know about it. Should this go wrong, I want it buried before it catches Command's nose."
"Understood, Admiral."
Sloane turned, her boots echoing like the soft thuds of a judge's gavel. As the doors opened, she cast a glance over her shoulder.
"Long live the Empire, Captain."
"...Long live the Empire, Admiral."
PAIN WAS THE FIRST SENSATION. It was dull. Distant. Like an echo. But, rapidly, it began to sharpen. It was like every nerve ending was on fire. His consciousness swam upward and he broke through the haze with a gasp. His eyes fluttered open. Harsh white and sterile lights stabbed into his vision. The scent of cleaning chemicals and rubber gloves assaulted his nose.
Tech registered that something cold was pressed against his back. He lolled his head to the side, catching his reflection on the metal table. His body felt light and he looked down. His armor had been stripped from him, leaving him only his black under armor that clung to him like a second skin.
Cold fingers, thin and spider-like, gently forced his head back down. Medical droids, their cold faces with lights for eyes, assessed him with scanners. Injections were at the ready. They moved over him with an eerie and fleeting gentleness. Pain pulsed through him in uneven waves, as one of the droids pressed a cold sensor to his temple. He hissed at it. A monotone beep followed. Then, he felt something press against his wrists. His ankles. His chest. Finally, his forehead. He looked to his wrist, seeing the sterile straps that flattened him to the table.
It was like he was a frog being prepped for dissection.
"Vitals within expected parameters," A flat mechanical voice droned. "Neural activity stable. Physical response: Present. CT-9904 is responsive."
A shadow moved at the edge of the lights. Then, the lights were moved away from his line of sight.
Looking down at him was a man. He had seen his face somewhere, not in person. Maybe he saw him from a hologram. Tech tried to dig into his memory banks to find out where he had seen him, but he couldn't. He couldn't remember.
"You should be dead," He said. "But, science, or rather your design, disagreed. You've come a long way from that fall."
Memories pierced through the fog that was his mind, lancing into his mind like a thousand blaster shots. The cable rail. Wrecker and Omega's faces. The sickening creak of the dangling cable car. Lifting his blaster and shooting a final tactical shot. Gravity. The sky, or him, tumbling down. Down. The whistling wind. Down. Air. Down. The blur of rocks. Impact.
"I am Royce Hemlock."
Now it came to Tech. The scientist of the Republic Science Corps was expelled for his 'unorthodox and unauthorized experiments.' The 'chief scientist,' in charge of the Advanced Science Division for the Empire.
"You are on Tantiss," The man continued with a faint smile that held no warmth. "Calm yourself. The exertion will only slow your recovery."
There was the faint hiss of a door opening and closing. Then, he heard them, boots. Boots, boots, boots, moving up and down again. He turned to look to see a blurry shape push Hemlock lightly to the side. Hemlock's blurring face hardened, clearly displeased by the woman's actions. The footsteps stopped. When his vision focused again, he saw a woman he had never seen before looking down at him. Those eyes were as cold as the medical droids' fingers, maybe even colder. He recognized her black imperial uniform and the REAR ADMIRAL rank pinned to her chest that gleamed underneath the lights.
"Good," Her voice was detached. "He's awake. I am Rear Admiral Sloane Kantoo, the one that you will thank for your continued existence."
Sloane Kantoo, the name burned into his mind like a brand.
She tilted her head like a vulture looking over a dying animal. A fascination was in her eyes, but it wasn't the kind of wondering fascination in Omega's eyes. No, it was like someone inspecting a new machine.
"The Empire has spent a good sum of credits on you, clone," She leaned down enough that Tech could smell the smell of her gel and the stiff scent of her insignia's shining polish. "A squad to extract you and bring you back, the finest bacta tank credits could buy, a full medical recovery, neural monitoring, structural reconstitution, and assessment of activity, to name a few. All of it. Just to keep one of the Empire's outdated assets from decomposing in a canyon and leaving you for the scavengers. You are in debt to us."
Tech's lip curled. His heartbeat spiked. His throat was as dry as sandpaper, but he managed to rasp through the ache of misuse, "I don't...owe you...anything..." Without warning, he lifted his head, pulling the restraints taught against his forehead.
He gathered his saliva and spat.
The spit hit Sloane square in the cheek. The droids reacted with a mechanical gasp and Hemlock stiffened in the back. Sloane held up her hand, stopping the increasing chattering of the droids. She produced a black cloth from her pocket, wiping the spittle from her face. When she stuffed the cloth back into her trousers, a flicker of a smile touched her lips, but it held no warmth or kindness.
"You have some nerve," Sloane said, dangerously calm that it made Tech's blood turn to ice. She took a deep breath, straightening herself. "Your resistance is noted. I admire it...because it will give me a greater satisfaction when I break it."
She drew her hand back. The sound was like the cracking of a sail. Tech's head snapped to the side, a fresh wave of pain crashing into him and threatening to pull him under. Something warm began to trickle from the corner of his lip, pooling into his mouth. Even without the iron taste, Tech would've known it was blood. Tech turned back, his stare unwavering.
Hemlock stepped forward, his voice breaking the tension. "That's enough, Admiral. He's only just regained consciousness. I would prefer you not to compromise his neurological stability with your dramatics."
Sloane's head pivoted sharply. "...You would prefer?"
"His mind is fragile. Stress wouldn't do him any good. I would remind you that this is a joint effort. We will be working together, not against each other."
The admiral said nothing for a moment. Then, she stepped back and sighed. "...Indeed, doctor. Proceed."
She turned and walked out.
"I apologize for her unpleasantness," Hemlock said, making Tech narrow his eyes. "The Admiral lacks subtlety. Fortunately, I do not." He tapped something on a datapad and the doors opened again, making the scientist turn back. "Ah, Dr. Karr."
Another woman, not Sloane, stepped into Tech's view. She met Tech's gaze, yet it looked like she was looking through him, not seeing him. Her gaze was just a monotone focus. She had dark brown eyes and hair tied into a ponytail. Her goggles had a dark gray frame with red grid lenses. Her uniform was made up of grays and whites. It struck him suddenly, her eyes, the structure of her jaw, and the way she carried herself.
His chest tightened.
"...Omega," He said softly.
It felt foreign on his tongue, making his stomach twist. It shouldn't be foreign. Omega was their little sister. It shouldn't feel strange saying her name.
The woman didn't stop tapping the glowing datapad, her white-gloved fingers dancing over them expertly and bringing out soft beeps and chirps from the pad.
"No, CT-9902," Hemlock sounded like he was speaking to a child who had mispronounced a word. "This is Emerie Karr, one of my most competent research assistants. You'll be seeing her much more often and you'll come to appreciate her role. She will be the one who will log your progress. Every moment. Every response. This is a scientific process after all. Now, let's meet your...other friend."
Tech turned his head and melting from the shadows was a spherical droid. It was black and silver, its plating polished like obsidian sheet glass. A single red ocular sensor cast a steady glow on his features.
"This is D-9. A tool of persuasion, but not of destruction. It has an array of items at its disposal. One of them being injections that stimulate pain receptors. Dr. Karr, prepare the first dose."
"Yes, Doctor."
D-9 drifted forward and produced a thin needle from its appendages. The small vial slowly filled with faintly yellow liquid, thick and luminous. Tech jerked, trying to get away when D-9 came closer and the needle threatened to break the surface of his skin. His heart slammed against his healed ribs and his mind screamed to search for a way out.
But, his gaze couldn't be torn from the needle, glinting in the lab light.
"...You won't break me," He told Hemlock, trying to keep his voice steady.
"We have no interest in breaking you, CT-9904," Hemlock said, putting his hand on Tech's forehead and pressing his head back against the metal table. "This is about understanding you. What drives you. What you remember. What you fear. We want to mold you. Change you into something...better. We'll extract what's needed and then...all of this will stop."
Then, searing hot pain erupted, tearing into his nervous system. It wasn't like blaster fire or the electric whips the Zygerrians used. It wasn't like anything he had ever felt. It was like molten gas being poured into his bones.
Tech's mouth opened. A scream tore from his already pained throat.
"You'll adjust," Hemlock murmured, more to himself. His voice was that ever-gentle tone that made Tech miss Hunter barking orders. "They always do." He looked to Emerie. "Oversee this. Call me for assistance, if needed."
"Yes, Doctor."
The droid didn't stop. It didn't care for the pain it caused, nor the sound of his desperate cries. The pain was the point. It was programmed for this.
He screamed and screamed. All he heard was the soft sounds of D-9 and the beeping of Emerie's data pad. Tech turned to Emerie, trying to find Omega, his little sister that he had done everything to protect, in her experience. Maybe he could find some semblance of warmth or kindness. Yet, he couldn't find anything.
Just a blank face.