sekkritaus | Familiar Faces: Any time post-prequels AU

Familiar Faces: Any time post-prequels AU

An AU where the clones actually get a few happy endings godammit.

None of them remembered the Republic anymore, but all of them had heard the stories from those who'd escaped its fall. Not all of them had agreed about it, whether it had been good or bad, but they all were certain: better than the Empire, and better than the cloners.

That generation had joined them in pieces, filtering in from outside. They'd all been out and seen the galaxy, and told the youngest stories that made them want to go see it, no matter how much it had taken from their elders.

They were gone now, and so were the ones that had come after them, those made too young to see the war, but had been trained to fight against their own when the cloners soured on the Empire. Only a few of them had remained on Kamino, hidden away in windowless domes so far beneath the waves that the only sound on the outer walls was the occasional tapping of some large abyssal creature walking with slow deliberation across its surface.

That generation was the one that rebelled. The shift in indoctrination didn't take, they suspected. The cloners had pushed their luck too hard.

They'd used their training. Reached out to the clones in other domes. Planned out everything they'd need. Then one day, all at once, they rebelled. Took over the security systems, captured every Kaminoan they could find. Kept them penned up, uncomfortable, but alive. They were hostages to keep the rest of them quiet, and a vital part of what they did next.

No clones were made on Kamino that next five years. More were produced on other worlds, trained for the Empire. So many of them that some eventually found their way out, despite what had been done to them. Their training had been harder on them, made them slow to trust anyone, including themselves.

But on Kamino, they were waiting for results. The youngest cohorts aged up old enough to prove to their elders they'd be able to make this new life work. They were learning what they needed to, how to do the jobs that some had thought impossible for them.

Then, finally, the first new batch. They were healthy, they were so very young, and they stayed young longer than any of them had before.

For the next ten years, that's where they all stayed. The older generations made an uneasy armistice with the Kaminoans after several more skirmishes and careful prisoner exchanges. The clones sent topside reported back there was a new war on. But with only a few thousand of them, they had to be careful. Keep their work quiet. Lead escaped Imperial clones and old Republic-loyal men back to them, make contact with the few who'd hidden among the Mandalorians. They all took a good hard swipe at the Empire whenever they got the chance, but they had to be careful and quiet, or they'd be destroyed like the Jedi were.

The Emperor eventually died, within the lifetimes of most clones who'd seen him rise. It hadn't seemed possible until one day it just suddenly was. An era was ending, and they were ready to go meet it.

[Prompt 1]

He'd been in one of the first batches to get made after that. He'd grown up hearing stories about the clones that helped make it possible, like Rex and Wolffe and the long-dead but still remembered Fives who'd warned them what was coming. Everyone knew their names, and those who'd given all so that one day they could become a new people, with everything that made them unique.

They'd left Kamino then, when he was still young enough that he didn't remember. They'd gone to H'ratth, a forgotten Inner Rim planet that had held secret Republic strongholds. It was habitable, it was abandoned, and it was now theirs. They dug in, installed the cloning chambers in the deep vaults, and from there started to make the planet home.

By the time he was old enough to remember things, the walls were starting to be lost under waves of color. Each sector had its own shade, matching the armor of the eldest regiments. He knew what each of them meant, who the knotwork and abstract lines depicted, memorials for soldiers most of the artists had never met. He'd grown up under the pale blue-grey of 99, one of the defenders of their first home on Kamino who'd died defending cadets against invaders, and who'd proved clones could do anything they set their mind to, regardless of how they were formed.

He grew up at little more, and said very confidently one day to his teachers that he was going to join the infantry and be a sergeant. He liked the word, and some of the best stories on the walls were about sergeants. That was what he thought, anyway. They still had need of soldiers, to defend against the people who saw them as escaped slaves, weapons out of control, lost and feral pets. They youngest bristled at the assumptions that the eldest had been forced to bear. No one had to anymore, and they refused to let it hurt them all again. They'd protect their own.

Their armor was shaped differently from what the eldest remembered, shaped to clone specification on H'ratth to fit them better than the old mass-produced models, but still evoking their lines. And everybody painted up, just like the eldest had. Either you did it yourself or made a deal with an artist. A lot were getting something avant garde, soft gradients or realism were popular and daring now. Every regiment was a riot of individuality.

He'd gone with something in between the traditional and the new. The black plate of his special ops group, layered on with blue-grey paint depicting things he'd done. Spiraling cable patterns down the right arm, left side broken and cracked by geometric flashes of lightning.

And he'd earned a sergeant's pauldron. His name was Taiko, and life was the way it should be.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"That's right. Get in and we'll take you to central."

"Looking good from here," Flo murmured over the comms. "Should we take a look in the ship?"

"No, 's not lying," Zero chimed in. "He's the one from the posters."

"Not all of us are as good with other faces as you are, Zip," Dirty said reproachfully, the slight motion of his jaw under the helmet the only indication he was talking to anyone not in the squad channel.

"The one with the hair."

"Oh yeah, him!"

They'd gone out once or twice in merc armor to assist their operatives out there, far out into 'civilized' space. Every time was confusing, but memorable in some way.

And now 'memorable' had turned up on their front porch. He didn't know what to make of it yet, but it was so much stranger to see the man from the poster in motion. Always was. Outsiders were hypnotically distracting, and you had to try and tune it out to get anything done.

Edited 2018-05-26 03:47 (UTC)

"Alright, one second." He pulled up his comm. "Hey, buddy, gonna take a trip, so don't wait up, alright?"

A faint sound of droid binary could be heard by the closest of the clones, then Poe put it away and climbed into the speeder as he was told, trying not to look as curious as he felt.

"So how long till central?"

If they hadn't have confirmed who it was, Flo would have been right to check. There was an astromech somewhere on board, might even have full flight control. It was lucky they'd recognized him. Almost ridiculously lucky, actually.

"Not long." He knew the ETA, but they might still get diverted if something happened.

"Command, are we cleared to proceed?" Flo took over while Taiko was otherwise occupied.

"You're cleared, Corporal, bring him in."

"Yes sir, coming home." The speeders took off in near unison, bikes keeping a loose formation beside and behind the largest one.

He gave Dameron an appraising look. Pilot's jumpsuit hadn't been a prop for the picture, obviously. But there'd been no name on the poster, so they hadn't even realized until just now that it might be a picture of a real person. "Command wants to talk to you."

It was either ridiculous luck, or Leia's shrewdness. She'd chosen Poe for a reason, after all. Not that Poe ever really clued into it.

He waited - patient but curious - as everyone bustled and murmured around him, and finally they were off. He looked back at the sergeant, offering a bemused smile.

He'd been half expecting to be in binders, right now, so really everything was going surprisingly well.

"Good, because I want to talk to Command." He wished he was bearing information that was friendly, welcoming - but instead he carried tracked movements of the First Order, slowly approaching the planet, system by system.

"There may be a delay. They may not be availble on short notice like this."

They passed by a couple of ground crew doing maintenance on some of the landing lights, who paused to look up as they flew by.

"Do you think he knows where he is?" Dirty asked.

"Probably not, they usually don't wait this long to mention it," Bubbles replied.

"I love this part! Can we--"

"No," he shut that down.

"Come on sarge, we just have to take them off for a second--"

"Let him be the one to swallow all the bugs," Flo cut Dirty off.

"It was only the one time!"

"We're not doing it," and they weren't relitigating the Bug Incident, as funny as it was in hindsight. "But we're not telling him either. Let him figure it out if he hasn't already."

"That's fine," Poe was saying, completely oblivious to both the conversation about him and where he was. The armour was vaguely reminiscent of something, but he was more distracted by the different paint jobs than he was able to notice the similarity.

"Much as I hope we can figure something out as quickly as possible, I'm cleared to be here as long as it takes."

"I can't give you an estimate on that, Commander, but we'll get you there."

They slowed as they left the service roads and began entering the outskirts of Torrent's Rise.

Much like the other settlements on H'ratth, Torrent had begun as an entirely self-contained colony within the mountain base. In the years since, they'd carefully expanded, almost every building and neighborhood defined by the logic of army engineers. It might have made for boring architecture, and the roofs were still bare and unadorned, giving the impression of boring regularity from overhead.

But as soon as a good, solid building was put in, any wall that could be painted was covered in color, and any that couldn't were etched with designs or plastered with holograms. It was an ecclectic mix, from the minimalist orange and pink sign over New 79's to the literal but deliberate splashes of paint covering the Saleucami Co-op. Hundreds of different styles, all packed together.

That ethos was reflected in the looks of the clones who lived there too: Tattoos, dye, piercings, long hair in complex braids or cut close to make better display for crisp lines cut with a razor. While there were still more traditional, plain looks on display, they blended in just as easily into the crowd as all the rest. The colony was still young, but they were all finding a place for themselves.

"Eyes on the road, Dirty, I'm recording him. You won't miss it."

"You're the best, sarge."

For someone who was used to the white, crisp Mon Calamari designs, or the dark grey covered with buttons tech of the rebellion and New Republic, the amount of colour was an assault on the senses. It was also pretty distracting. So he found himself watching the world go by rather than talking - the Sergeant seemed pretty terse and no-nonsense, anyway, and Poe couldn't say much more about himself or the mission before talking to Command.

So he tried to follow the brilliant displays and colours, the fashion, the people--

The first thing he noticed was there was no women. That was almost disconcerting, and didn't bode well for the culture as a whole. If they didn't even allow women in public, how were they going to treat General Organa? But he tried to set that uneasy thought aside.

It took a surprisingly long time for him to start noticing that despite the hair and the clothes, everyone looked very similar. Same height, same build, same--

He did a bit of a double take, one finger rising into the air to point at someone as they flew by.

No.

It couldn't be, could it?

"Was that - were they--"

"Yeah. He didn't know." Realization was visibly dawning, and it was fascinating to watch. Usually when they had the Surprise Clones reveal, it was just the squad, out in the wider galaxy and surrounded by the naturals. He couldn't think of anyone who had gotten this far without knowing what they were getting into.

"Where they what?" Dirty couldn't keep the note of glee out of his voice.

"Uh-" Poe replied, eloquently, trying to train his eyes on faces that they passed for long enough to confirm his suspicion.

No natural human race was this genetically controlled. It wasn't possible. Between that, and the lack of women, with a stupid look on Poe's face, he said:

"Clones. They're all clones."

"You got it in one, sir, they are definitely clones." Dirty might be a little erratic when it came to the proper application of brakes, but he was doing an admirable job flying in a straight line while fighting down the urge to laugh.

"So, I take it this wasn't in your briefing," Taiko said, and Dirty cut his mic just in time to burst into silent giggles.

"My briefing wasn't exactly thorough..." Poe said, a look of wonder on his face as he kept watching the world go by.

"We don't exactly have a lot in the way of reconnaissance resources, right now, and I wouldn't be here if we thought you guys were already in league with the First Order, so--" He trailed off as he watched the people, and yeah - every single one of them was a clone. Finally he had a thought and turned back to his companions in the speeder.

"Are, uh - are you guys...?"

Zero made a derisive snort at mention of the First Order. Even the old Imperial-made troopers who felt nostalgia for that kind of life looked down on them. 'They wouldn't know order if it brained them with the reg manual', 884 had said.

"Are we what, sir?" Dirty and 'innocence' were not well-acquainted but he was going to give it a go anyway. Taiko was going to let him have this moment. He couldn't squash their fun all the time.

Okay, he was starting to pick up that he was the butt end of a joke, and a bemused look crossed his face.

"Maybe I should save my questions for Command," He said drily.

Actually, he would be the fun police. "Alright, that's enough."

"Right right, sorry sir," Dirty still sounded gleeful, but he'd leave off. "Naturals just usually don't get this far without knowing." It was cute, really!

"Welcome to the only free human clone society in the galaxy," Taiko said, as the mountain loomed closer. "Given our people's past experiences, we don't tend to advertise our existence." Which made him wonder who had given Dameron codes that command had recognized.

"Yeah, I mean, that's understandable." All that Poe knew about Clones was tied up with the Clone Wars, and everything he'd heard about that made it sound like they were basically treated like battle droids. Or worse.

And with someone that already had a greater respect for droids than most, that thought made him a little queasy.

"Damn. Sorry. I wasn't trying to be rude, or anything, I've just - never actually met any." He was still watching the city as they travelled deeper into it.

"No offense taken." Maybe given, but not taken. They pretty much expected that kind of reaction.

Which is why he was going to help the poor bugger out. "When you meet command, you'll be seeing a lot more variation in faces and ages. We've got some people who came in off of different templates and growth rates. Don't assume you know who's most senior by looking at them."

Different templates? Made sense, actually, though that meant it made less sense that everyone else was from the same one----- Poe? This was over your pay grade. Stop thinking about it, and just roll with it.

"Alright, heard and noted. Not that you could tell who's most senior in the Resistance just looking at them, either."

Or maybe he wouldn't have been so taken aback by Admiral Holdo.

If you looked closely enough, there were other templates in the crowds, too. Not many, but there were some. None of them looked younger than sixty by average human standards.

"I'm guessing the others don't have so many posters?" Dirty asked. They were coming up on a series of massive blast doors set into the mountainside. Out of direct sunlight in the mountain's shadow, it was now possible to see the lights of buildings that had been constructed inside it. Those were the oldest that they'd constructed once they arrived, to hab more people than the barracks could hold, especially for the elderly. They were the ones who'd most needed the safe feeling of a dome over their heads, and a good defensible position where they could help protect the youngest.

"Those were supposed to be a jo-- Wait, what? You've seen them?"

He leaned forward a bit on his seat as he watched the base come into view, and now that they mentioned it he was starting to be able to pick out a few different ones out of the crowd, though their age made it harder to notice the differences anyway.

"I should never have let them send those out..."

They passed through the doors, gliding gently towards one of the inner parking bays. "They've gotten around," Taiko said as tactfully as he could. He wasn't going to mention that one of them was probably still on the wall of pin-ups in Dorn Barracks.

"We brought one home with us," Dirty said, not getting the memo.

A look of bemusement crossed his face as he glanced to the Sergeant, but the mask didn't offer anything in the way of continued explanation or confirmation.

"Well, at least that means the word's already getting out," Poe said, the amusement still in his voice.

"It's a nice one," Dirty assures him. "Tasteful."

"Are you here to try and sign us up?" Taiko asked, as they came in for a landing with a slight hitch of brakes. He didn't quite know what else Dameron does besides fly things and look pretty on recruitment posters. Was that what this was about?

He didn't even know there were non-tasteful ones. He didn't even want to know.

"Sorry, buddy, that's classified." He did honestly look regretful, at that. "But let's uh - let's just say that I'm not here for a tourist visit, no."

Not public recruitment, then. "Understood."

"No reason not to make it both."

"Dirty."

"I'm just saying, 79's accepts credits."

He sighed. He knew that tone of voice, but he was never quite sure why Dirty thought these suggestions would be good for them. "If you have time, we can show you around a little." They were probably going to get assigned to stick with him, anyway.

The speeder powered down, and he clambered out, the rest of the squad touching down nearby. "But business comes first."

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