Cadets

A clone waiting outside walks them to their bunks, down a couple floors. The room is small, with a bunk bed built into one wall. A table with two chairs is pushed against the wall opposite the door, beneath a window.

Unlike in Fox's office, Dia can only see Coruscant's towering spires by craning his neck and pressing his face against the transparisteel. The grey walls of the compound take up most of the view, with a gate to the left.

Dia sits at the table and watches as the gate opens and closes occasionally, giving glimpses of glowing buildings and swarming speeders. The grey uniform itches around his neck.

Boba, sprawled on the lower bunk and glaring holes in the upper bunk, sighs heavily.

"It might not be so bad," Dia offers half-heartedly.

Boba doesn't reply. His uniform is still folded on the table.

At eighteen-hundred hours, he finally tugs on his uniform, scowling. Dia fixes Boba's collar, and they make their way towards the cafeteria, following the stream of yawning clones.

The cafeteria sprawls, filled with metal tables and benches. Droids serve food at the counter. Dia and Boba join the queue, taking trays. One droid upends ladle-fulls of grey mush into their bowls, while another sets dry-looking wafers on their plates.

"Let's sit here," Boba mumbles, leading Dia to a quiet table in the corner.

Dia doubts it'll help. The clones have been staring at Boba since he walked in. Even now, some whisper to each other, unsubtly peering over their shoulders.

Boba stares at his bowl, stirring the grey mush.

Never one to turn down food, Dia begins eating. The wafers leave Dia's mouth as dry as the Dune Sea, but the cafeteria has as much water as he could want. He eats a spoonful of the mush.

"It's not the worst," he whispers to Boba. "Just kind of plain."

Sighing, Boba shovels a spoonful into his mouth. He swallows with a grimace.

Thorn arrives a few minutes later, to the warm greetings of the roomful of clones. He takes his food, scans the room, and spots Dia and Boba.

The other clones watch curiously as Thorn makes his way to their table.

"How was your first day?" he asks, sitting down.

"Not bad," Dia replies, glancing at Boba. He doesn't look up. "How was your day?"

Thorn waves him off. "I just want to make sure you're both settling in okay. If you need anything, or anybody bothers you, let me know right away."

Dia nods, and gives a slight smile. "We will. Thanks." 

A few more clones drop into the seats around Thorn, striking up conversation. They greet Dia warmly enough, and eye Boba, though he firmly remains glaring at his food.

As much as Dia thinks they really should try and befriend the clones, it is Boba's decision. He politely answers a few questions from the clones, mostly about Kamino, and finishes his meal.

The moment Boba finishes eating, he stands and puts away his tray. Dia follows with a brief goodbye to Thorn, and the entire cafeteria watches them leave.

When they arrive back at their bunks, Boba immediately tears off his uniform shirt and drops into the lower bunk again.

Dia stands in the middle of the room, hesitating. Is this how the next five years will be? Only hidden from over-curious stares in this grey room, beneath the shadow of the walls that lock them in?

Five years. They'll be fifteen when they're let out.

Fifteen, Dia thinks, stunned. He can hardly imagine it.

A knock at the door startles him.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Boba reach for a weapon only to remember with annoyance.

Dia tentatively pushes the button beside the door. It hisses open to reveal two clones.

"Sorry to bother you," one says, his sheepishness clear even beneath his helmet, "but we were told to bring you these." He holds out a set of white plastoid armour. The other clone holds a second set.

"Uh… thank you." Dia takes the first set of armour and sets it next to Boba on the bed.

Boba raises an eyebrow, leaning over to look at the clones. "We're meant to wear this?"

"Only on patrols," the other clone says as Dia takes the second set of armour.

"You're also allowed to paint it," the first adds, producing two cans of red paint. "Only Guard red, though."

Dia tilts his head. "Does it have to be in the same pattern? I've only seen the commanders wear different designs."

"Ah, that's just so we're harder to recognize," the second clone explains, waving his hand dismissively. "You can paint whatever you like."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you," Dia says, taking the paint and brushes as well.

"You got it. Goodnight." The clones turn and leave, and Dia closes the door.

Boba stares at the armour beside him. His father's was confiscated, Dia knows, and is being held somewhere until they're released.

He's not sure where Jango's Legacy ended up. Probably gathering dust in a Jedi hangar. The thought pains him; he worked hard on that ship. Not to mention it's the most important thing in the galaxy to Boba, besides maybe his father's armour.

I hope I get to fly it again one day, he thinks to himself, sitting at the table and spreading out the armour.

There's a chest piece, shoulder plates, vambraces, and greaves. No helmet, Dia notes. 

He glances at Boba, who fiddles with the paintbrush thoughtfully.

Turning back to his own armour, Dia cracks the paint can open. He doubts he'll sleep well tonight anyway; he might as well do something to distract himself.

He dips his brush and begins to paint.

---

They meet Hound outside the next morning. Grizzer sits at his feet, and another ARF trooper stands stiffly beside him. Hound stands, relaxed and gesturing, chatting with the other trooper.

Grizzer notices them first, hopping to his feet. Hound looks over.

"Hey, welcome back!" Hound greets them warmly.

"Hound!" Dia hurries forward, waving, as Grizzer bounds across to them. Dia crouches to pet the massiff, laughing. "Hey, Grizzer. Did ya miss me?"

"I like your armour," Hound says. "Glad you had a chance to customize it a bit."

"Thanks!" Dia holds out his arms, showing off the ray-of-sun pattern of the vambraces. His greaves match, and a linked triangle pattern curves along his shoulder guards and half of his chest piece, with the rest left bare white. It's all a little messy and uneven, but Dia likes it.

"So we're patrolling with you?" Boba asks, crossing his arms. His armour is bare, except for a thin outline of red at the edge of each piece.

"Me and Coil, here." Hound pats the other trooper's shoulder. "Just a regular perimeter patrol of the compound. We'll be done in time for lunch. Let's go!"

They set off, Hound humming cheerfully as Grizzer snuffles the ground.

Coil walks beside Dia. He opens his mouth to speak several times before finally saying, "The new child-interaction protocol says we should monitor your mood through conversation." He clears his throat. "How are you feeling today, cadet Diaro?"

Dia tilts his head. "Sorry, there's a child-interaction protocol?"

"Implemented when you and cadet Boba arrived," Coil confirms.

"Commander Fox insisted we memorize it," Hound adds, slowing his pace to join the conversation. "He thinks we don't know how to act around children."

"I am sure very few of us do," Coil says bluntly. "After all, we were never properly children."

Hound's posture shifts. Dia and Boba exchange a glance. 

They met many young cadets on Kamino, made friends of them, in some ways. They were unruly and immature; they were children. But within a year, most will be on the front lines.

Dia shivers thinking of it. Jax, and Whiplash, and 1151… suddenly as grown-up as Hound and Thorn, and fighting for the Republic. Like they've trained for their whole lives. Like they've had no choice but to train for.

No one speaks for a few minutes. 

Following the inner wall of the compound, they pass several groups of clones – shocktroopers carrying heavy blasters, and other ARF troopers patrolling with their own massiffs.

Dia notices the troopers along the walls, too, their helmets following Boba and Dia. They're already under strict surveillance, he's sure. He doesn't doubt trackers have been hidden in their armour, too.

At least they aren't bomb chips, he thinks, returning his attention to the task at hand.

They find nothing interesting on their patrol, but Dia makes sure to memorize the layout of the facility as best he can.

As Hound had said, they're finished in time for lunch – tasteless ration bars.

After they've finished eating, they're directed to the office rooms, where they deliver coffee and datapads between harried clones. Crime reports and complaints come in, orders are sent to squads, and senate matters are coordinated with the troopers stationed at the Senate Building.

Eventually, the day winds down. The day-shift clones trade places with night-shift, and Dia and Boba follow the crowd once again to the cafeteria.

Like the day before, they get their food and sit on their own. Thorn doesn't make an appearance, but three clones sit at the other end of the table. They glance at Dia and Boba, and start their own conversation.

When they've finished eating, they return to their room and sit in contemplative silence until lights-out.

Dia can feel the routine beginning, and dreads it. Years of monotonous work on Tatooine bubble up in his mind that night as he struggles to sleep, tossing and turning. He tugs his blanket up to his chin, shivering against the cold air of the room.

Boba groans from the lower bunk. "You're making too much noise."

"Sorry." Dia stills. But his shivering persists.

"Just get down here," Boba says, tone softening.

Dia clambers down the short ladder. Boba lifts up the blanket, yawning, and Dia curls up beside him, relaxing as he warms up. In minutes, Boba's snoring, and Dia soon joins him.