Clone Wars: Underground - Chapter 5

     Maaka ducked his head under a sign. People stared at him often, the face of a clone made him stand out. He could escape that issue better by going to the lower levels of Galactic City. The street he walked was several levels below the affluent establishments for Coruscanti high society. Vendors here couldn’t even cater to the middle class. Sentients hurried by, trying not to make eye contact. 

Maaka had been on his own for hours. He was hungry. He didn’t feel like returning to the old places he used to frequent. He didn’t want to run in to anyone he had known before he’d died. He wondered if they’d actually recognize him anyway. His face wasn’t exactly unique. 

“Hey!” Maaka turned toward the voice. A trio of men stood outside. Two Zabracks and and Twi’lek. It was the Twi’lek who spoke. His mottled green skin was smudged with dirt. They all wore dirty mechanic suits. Maaka could tell they were drunk. He walked past.

“Meat droid. Thought they’d put you all down now that the war’s over.” The smug grin on the Twi’lek’s face goaded him further. Maaka didn’t answer.

“Must be a defective.”

“Maybe all his lil’ brothers died.” One Zabrak said.

Maaka’s nostrils flared and his hands clasped into fists. He moved quicker than any of the men could follow in their inebriated state. His fist slammed into the Twi’lek’s jaw. The two Zabraks were on him in an instant. Maaka hadn’t been on the battlefield for months, but his training kicked in and he shoved the first Zabrak off and grabbed the other, slamming him into the wall. The man stayed down. The Twi’lek was back now as was the first Zabrak. Maaka kicked their feet out from under both, exerting a lot of energy. He was on his way up when the other Zabrak struck him hard across the nose. Maaka backed up, holding his nose. He caught the Twi’lek as he came again and knocked him off his feet, his head hitting a pipe sticking from the wall. He was out cold. Now it was just the last Zabrak.  

“What do we have here?” Several more men in the same coveralls appeared through the exit of the cantina. Three civvies were no problem, but this would be harder. Maaka made to walk away. 

“No, no. Stay.” The lead man baited. He reached out to grab Maaka, but the clone side-stepped him easily. The others, however, were already closing in. Maaka figured they must work together with the matching suits. He threw his arms up in defence as the first blows came, but there were too many of them.

They stopped once he fell to the ground, unable to stand.

“You’re a waste of money.” One of them said as they sauntered off to find another drink. 

I failed them. My brothers. The army. My general. Maybe I am a waste of republic money.

He heard the chimes of another door opening nearby and a new set of heavy foot-falls. 

            “Hey there, son. Can you stand?” He felt a wiry, rough arm around him, helping him up. Maaka stumbled to his feet, holding his broken nose. There was blood on his hand. He staggered with the help of a Ho’din who led him into a café across the narrow street. 

            “Sit there.” The Ho’din pointed a long, gnarled finger to a booth against the wall. Maaka sat, resting his head in his hands. His host left him alone for the moment. Maaka discreetly surveyed his new surroundings. The only other patrons in the café were a pair of Ithorians. Exotic plants and shrubbery adorned every nook and cranny and the dim yellow lighting gave the effect of being in the dense understory of a rainforest. 

            The Ho’din reappeared from a back room. He carried a small tray with carious containers and bandages. He was tall and his rough pale green skin seemed to barely stretch over his bones. He had thin paling red tendrils coming from his head resembling a head of corded hair. 

            “I can patch you up now, but you’ll want to visit the local med center to get your nose checked.” The Ho’din’s old voice was gravelly, as if the sound traveled through a bark pipe before issuing from his mouth. “If you need an escort, my son can help you.” 

            “Th-thank you, sir.” Maaka managed, his polite military speech was second nature. The Ho’din was still looking at him as if studying a puzzle that needed solving. He seemed to reach a conclusion and his eyebrows lifted.

            “After that, return here for a meal. It will be on the house.” 

            “Thank you again, sir.”

            The treatments he used were far from the med-packs Maaka was used to. They seemed to be home-made creams and oils. Whatever it was, he felt the stinging pain ebb as the old man applied them to his cuts and bruises. Finished, he took the tray and disappeared again into a back room. 

            Moments later a young blue-skinned Twi’lek boy appeared next to the table. 

            “Hello.” He chimed. He was wearing a soft clean tunic with long sleeved undershirt. It was green like the mock-forest environment and trimmed in fake-shimmer yellow. Maaka nodded at the boy.

            “I’m here to take you to the med station.” He said eagerly. “I’m Cet. Cet Awen.” The boy held out a hand.

            “Maaka.” He didn’t feel like being friendly, but it was his duty towards civvies. He took the small hand and shook it. Cet’s face lit up instantly. Maaka wondered how a Ho’din had a full Twi’lek son. 

            The encounter had given Maaka something else. A flash in his head of men following him though a course. He knew them, but as always, he couldn’t think of their names. He often had dreams about other troopers, ones that weren’t from his last unit. It was like he had someone else’s memories in his own head. 

 

 

            Ellia threw all she had into the punch, but Tiptoe side stepped her. She stumbled forward suddenly off balance and tumbled to her hands and knees. 

            “Good, but I saw you coming. You took too long to make up your mind.” Tiptoe explained. He held out a hand and helped her up, effortlessly pulling her to her feet. She found herself looking up at him. Her cheeks felt warm when their eyes locked. 

            “Uh, let’s try again.” He stammered. Tiptoe was having a hard time concentrating. Ellia’s face had been the first thing he saw when he woke after the battle of the Jedi Temple, and he thought that he’d lost all his will and his life after attacking the Jedi. Her soft features made him forget about everything else around him. 

            “Okay.” Ellia breathed, she was getting tired, but she put her fists up again and charged before he recovered. Her fist connected with his jaw this time.

            “Sorry!” She cried immediately and reached up to check on him. It didn’t occur to her that he didn’t even stumble backwards. A blow like that would have had little to no effect in a fight. He chuckled to himself. 

            “I have an idea, let’s work on speed instead of strength.” He suggested.

            Of everyone, Tiptoe was the one who trained the most with her. Fives thought it was a good idea the “civvies” as he called her and Brenni learn some basic defensive skills. Ellia didn’t mind and Tiptoe had immense amounts of patience with her. It didn’t matter how many times she got it wrong, he carefully corrected her posture, stance, and direction until she got it write.

            “I’m gonna owe you for these classes.” Ellia groaned from exhaustion. Tip smiled. He had put in hundreds of extra hours himself training on Kamino. His name reminded him of that. 

            “Don’t worry, just keep at it. The best payment is seeing a payoff.” 

Chapter 6 >>