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Tech feels an unsteady weight settle in his stomach when he and Hunter are ordered down to one of the training prep rooms. The Kaminoans have seen how they get along, and have decided to test their teamwork on the battlefield. But Tech’s never held a blaster before, much less shot anything.
“Hey, look, it’ll be fine, I promise.” Hunter tells him. “I’ve done a couple of these, and I know you’ll be fine if my improving senses are anything to do by. Just follow my lead, alright?”
The prep room isn’t as blindingly white as the rest of the facility. Tech can relax a bit now that he doesn’t have to strain his eyes against bright walls.
Hunter opens an unassigned locker, pulls out a set of plastoid training armor and lays it on a nearby bench before pulling out a blaster. Tech follows his example, wishing some of Nala Se’s lessons had included combat practices instead of medical ones. The blaster carbine feels heavy in his hand, and he adjusts his grip to match Hunter’s.
“Is this right?” He asks.
“Well, uh- whoa, don’t point it at me- slide your left hand further up the barrel.” Hunter corrects him, nodding in approval as he does it. “There you go. That’s it.”
Tech frowns, struggles to hold his arms up beneath the weight of the weapon. “Is there anything else that I could use?”
“There should be a couple of DC-17s in there.” His brother tells him. “You might like those.”
I hope so. Tech replaces the blaster back on its pegs, scans the inside of the locker for the DC-17s Hunter mentioned. He spots them, and is almost taken aback at how small they are- they’re hardly bigger than his hands. Nonetheless, when he grabs them, they sit comfortably within his grasp. It’s almost like holding his datapad, and he doesn’t even have to think about what he’ll be using in the arena.
“What do you think?” Hunter asks.
“They will do much better than the other one.” He replies.
“Well, I’m glad there’s something you like.”
Tech finds the armor to be a bit loose on his thinner frame. Though he supposes he’s luckier than Hunter, who’s struggling not to tear his with how tight it is around his broad shoulders and can’t do something as simple as tucking the ends of his shirt in to solve his problem.
“Why don’t you try a larger size?” He suggests, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t have time to look.” Hunter grunts in response. “We’re due in less than a quarter of an hour, you know that.”
“Who’s in here?” Someone calls, preventing any further conversation between the pair, who exchange glances. Footsteps sound, nearing them, and then a figure rounds the corner. "Hey, you- What are you doing in here?"
It’s a clone, that much is evident. But his back is hunched, and the skin of his face is wrinkled and drooping. He’s…old.
“What’s wrong with him?” Hunter whispers.
Tech gives the clone a good look before he replies, nonchalant and not at all as quiet as his brother had been. “It appears that he is also genetically defective.”
The old clone’s eyes widen. “I’m not the only one…?”
“You are not, though our differentiations are a little more…intentional.” Other than my eyes.
“Huh.” The clone shakes himself. “Aren’t you boys too young to go out on the training grounds?”
“You’d think.” Hunter scowls.
Tech merely shrugs, lifts up his helmet. “Apparently not.”
Hunter grabs his own helmet, turns to the older clone. He tries to be as polite as he can, though his authoritative reg-dealing tone is still there. “Look…sir, we’re stressed for time. We’d appreciate it if you moved on and let us gear up.”
Tech frowns distractedly after his helmet slides over his eyes, wobbling around. The visor does not line up at all. “This helmet does not fit.”
His brother sighs. “Neither does mine.”
“I could go grab some smaller ones for you.” The other clone offers them hopefully, perhaps even a bit excitedly. “I work maintenance around here, I know where everything is. It won’t take more than a minute.”
“Uh, sure.” Hunter hesitates. “Would it be too much to ask for you to grab some larger armor for me as well?”
“Not at all.” The older clone assures him, a new vigor of happiness within his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
He leaves faster than he came, a new air about his aged limbs.
“He’s got heart, I’ll give him that.” Hunter murmurs, smiling wistfully. “What do you think his mutations are?”
“His aging is clearly much quicker than even ours.”
“What about his back?”
Tech shrugs. “He likely grew too quickly in his pod, and the Kaminoans did not catch it until it was too late.”
“So, his back is their fault as much as your eyes are.” His brother’s face hardens.
“That is not exactly how I would put it.” He lightly objects.
“You know it’s true, Tech.”
He finds that he can’t argue.
True to his word, the old clone doesn’t take long to return. His thin arms carry the requested armor pieces of interest, and he sets them down on one of the nearby benches.
“Here.” He says, backing up a couple of steps so the younger pair can claim their gear. “Are those any better?”
Tech tries on the new helmet and almost smiles. It fits snuggly around his goggles, and the visor flawlessly lines up with his eyes. “Ah. Perfect. How do I look?”
“Like a soldier.” The eldest clone beams down at him.
Hunter nods his agreement, carefully shrugging out of the tight armor and beginning to don the larger size. “Thank you…”
“99. That’s what they call me.” He tells them.
“Thank you, 99.” Hunter says, his lips curling gratefully. “We appreciate the help.”
The skin around 99’s mouth tightly stretches into a smile. “I might be destined to die on this world, but I’ll do what I can to help those who’ll get out there.”
“You’re not going to leave Kamino?”
The clone shakes his head. “I’ve been told that these bones are too old to fight.”
“Anyone can fight.” Hunter insists, a closed fist pressing to his chest at those words.
99’s smile grows sad. “Not me.”
“One day, perhaps, you will be given the opportunity.” Tech suggests, trying to give the man a little bit of comfort.
Later on, during the war, Kamino is invaded by the Separatists. 99 dies that day, and they have no doubt that it was doing the heroics that their eldest brother had always been denied of.
Hunter names their squad after him, and they fight to show that being different doesn't mean that one is useless.