Chapter Text
CC-6454 was a good soldier. He followed commands, he knew the rules, he played the game the way the trainers wanted him to. He knew when to bend and when to push, what to say to convince annoyed batchmates to focus forwards. He could delegate, could compromise, could convey his plans in a way that made sense even if they were complicated.
It was because of this that he caught the eye of a Mandalorian trainer. Sir, as they addressed him. Arud Wiyrem to the other trainers and on the rare occasion they needed to differentiate them.
He had noticed CC-6454’s perpetual consideration. Whenever he thought the trainers were not looking, the cadet would still and watch watch watch. The clone would mentally retreat during recreational times and plot, turning what-ifs over in his mind to enact later. He held himself apart from his batch due to it. He was always in his head, always…thinking.
Wiyrem gave him a name because of it.
Ponds, a diminutive of Pondering. The nickname was a pale imitation of comfort, like how the harsh kicks and punches were done to ensure he survived. Like how the older man would look away when a cadet cried after training. It was a small act of niceties, never kindness or gentleness, done because he may care but not enough to hug or comfort or say he was proud.
CC-6454 was a good soldier, but as he watched Wiyrem dance around any real attachment and make up for brutal training with antiseptic and white bacta patches, Ponds resolved that he wouldn't be like that if he grew up. If he grew up, and cared for an actual person, he’d find a way to show and say it.
Words were one of the few things a clone could own, that each of the carbon copies of Prime could create themselves, and he’d figure out how to use them. He was good at learning, good at thinking, how hard could it be to verbalize the galaxy within himself? If and when he met someone that could carry the care he had, he’d let them know.
The clones weren’t meant for that, though. They could pretend but Ponds knew they were not truly people in the way that mattered. They were given names in the same way the trainers named their blasters or the Kaminoans named their projects; it was easier to differentiate items and copies when they had different titles.
(One day, ‘Ponds’ would be spoken about differently than a pet name. It would be a person’s name, eventually.)
…
Ponds’ first opinion of his ‘Living Squad’ was that they were going to be a mess. He had worked with enough batches and squads in the sims to recognize the signs.
‘Fox’ and ‘Wolffe’ were from separate batches yet both trained under the same man. Maybe if they were someone else they would have been comrades. Instead, they were often pitted against each other with stakes no one remaining could remember. Ponds had heard of Fox’s cunning in the sims room, seen its results high up on the record lists the Kaminoans projected as motivation. He had seen the way he’d mutter and snark at any and everyone if they tried to get too friendly with him. It was just subtle enough that the Kaminoans couldn't decommission him, but every one knew he could make a vod cry in just one conversation.
Wolffe, on the other hand, dominated the mats. He picked up katas and maneuvers fast, and was always desperate to work them into longer sequences. Ponds had first hand experience of the clone's brutal efficiency. His back ached for the next few days afterwards. Wolffe more than earned his moniker with his brutal, head first approach. But Ponds had also seen the other sneak out after hours to help a younger cadet with sparring. He only did it once for each fellow cadet, and expected them to pick up everything he told them after being corrected, but it was still an unnecessary risk he took due to something.
Bly was unsure of himself. Since Fox and Wolffe were more aggressive in attack, Ponds assumed Bly had more defense or technological training. It would make their “Living Community” more varied in specialization, then. Ponds hadn't heard much of anything about the other besides his simple introduction. Bly held himself with perfect posture but an anxiousness the others could sniff out. Fox and Wolffe were already eyeing him. Predators, they were, so they were already sniffing out the weakest link.
Neither said or did anything due to the last member of their squad.
Kote, he called himself. A proper mandalorian name. Trainer Wiyrem had scoffed and let him search the meaning on the holonet when Ponds had been told the numbers and heard the rumors. Glory. Noun. Three possible meanings.
- Great honor, praise, or distinction accorded by common consent; renown.
- Something conferring honor or renown.
- A highly praiseworthy asset.
In a sentence: "Your pride is your crowning glory."
The name had a lot that came with it. Ponds decided he liked it, but he didn't like the CC yet. He didn't know him. Kote was well liked by his peers, someone stable and determined. He moved throughout the halls and sims with a confidence no one knew what to make of. He was self assured. He was used to others respecting him, and embodied it.
Ponds, in conclusion, knew they were absolutely karked.
Wolffe and Fox were not gifted their names because of affection, it was through their cunning and ferocity that they were named after canids. Predators. Hunters. Their names meant they were dangerous and usually went solo. They could be ferocious on and off training hours, and because of that they were given fierce names.
Bly was a bit of a mystery, since the name was undoubtedly a Person name like Kote. Someone had taken him under their wing and watched him closer. Maybe he was more adjusted in groups due to that, but as CCs they needed independence and no hesitance. Someone gentle wouldn't last long.
Before they could extend anything past an awkward introduction, groups were formed. Fox and Wolffe, paired up due to familiarity and a common stranger. Kote, watching them with barely restrained excitement. Bly, hunching more in on himself by the second. And Ponds…
Ponds wondered, for a moment, what they saw when looking at him. They all had the same face but he was struck once again with awe in just how different they each were. Even in one meeting, it was obvious.
None of them said anything to each other, all awkwardly staying put. It wasn't quite a formal stance but the tension was palpable in the cafeteria. The other scrambled groups had already ben picked up and escorted to their new reality.
At that moment they were finally approached by the Alpha that had been assigned to them. Tall, much taller than them but still not as big as the trainers. He wore armor with the blue paint pattern reserved for their model.
“CC-1010, 2224, 3636, 5052, and 6454?” the older clone asked. Ponds nodded, along with the others of his new squad, and tried to guess how old in standard the other was. If his squad was some of the first CCs to reach standard age 5, then he’d be around age 7. Making them physically around…14? 17 years nat-standard? The biology lessons they'd been given had said the natural process of puberty often kicked in differently for Humans in the teen standard range.
“I’m Alpha-17, and your new Hall Commander. Address me as Alpha or 17 or sir. Nothing else.” the guy said gruffly. Ponds nodded along and was already breaking down the meaning of his words. He could be of the semi-popular opinion that the clones werent people and didn't need names, since names indicated personhood and personhood was unattainable. Maybe he just never received a name before. Maybe his batchmates knew his name and he kept it tucked between his heart and breastplate. Maybe he simply didnt care either way.
“From now on we’ll be seeing each other a lot. You five will eat together, train together, sleep together. You’ll learn to lean on and depend on one another on and off the field. Youre brothers from now on, not competitors or challengers. We don’t need anymore CCs killing themselves and all.”
The last sentence was said so casually Ponds could have missed it, if not or Bly’s squeaked what?
Alpha-17 had the grace to look slightly off put.
“You weren't debriefed? Of-kriffing-course not…”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance while the group stared at him. Wolffe and Fox were rigid, leaning into each other, while Bly radiated anxiety. Kote stood firm, and Ponds….
Ponds felt a familiar coldness spreading through his body.
“CC-2222 and a little troop of CTs killed themselves together a few days ago. It’s why your classes were being more closely monitored. These new living arrangements are meant to discourage that whole thing from repeating.”
Ponds could see Fox shooting Kote an odd look, and quickly caught on. CCs were numbered by batch release. CC-2222 and CC-2224 were close, close enough that they’d be batched together. Close enough to know and see and train together. Close enough to have a relationship imitating family. Clones didn’t get family, though. They’d have to be people for that. Instead, they had comradery and cold congratulations and hands tugging you up from spars. That’s all they were meant to get…
Ponds flicked his eyes towards Wolffe, who was still tense and staring at 17. He seemed to sense the other’s gaze however and turned with a snarl on his face.
“What're you looking at me for?”
He startled, realizing how odd it must seem to someone who couldnt see his thoughts, and tried to explain.
“Just was looking at everyone. Didnt know it was illegal to look at you.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Wolffe immediately tried to swing. Fox wisely stepped back while 17 stepped up, intercepting and picking up the other by the scruff of his tunic. Bly let out a yelp and fell off the cafeteria bench in his haste to get back. Kote rose as well, to do… something.
There was something in his tense frame that Ponds could see, sense, calling him worried or prepared wasnt right. He’d find a word later. Right now, he needed to find other words and platitudes to-
“Suicide or homicide, I’d prefer to not have any dead cadets! Stand down and act kriffing civilized, or else I’m putting someone in solitude.”
Ponds had more of a reaction to that threat than to Wolffe lunging at him.
Solitude…no clone wanted that. Being raised side-by-side with little space and no privacy meant that cutting contact was like cutting of a sense or a limb. Contact was the only thing they had.
Ponds raised his hand placidly, flicking his eyes down in a dual gesture of retreat and demureness. It got Wolffe to huff and calm down at least.
Okay. Okay, so he had fumbled his words again. Big deal. He'd... fix it. Somehow.
Ponds considered the other clone's immediate attempt to fight him again.
Yeah, no, he was a bit karked. Clones with strong personalities tended to stick to their kind or adopt a shy one, and Ponds wasn't shy, he was just-
Cautious. With people, and experimental with words, but no clone liked an experiment so of course no clone liked Ponds off the field.
Alpha-17 made a motion to get them to follow him, and like the little toy soldier they were growing to be, they fell in line.
Ponds would figure this out. After all, the new assignment was indefinite. He would have to remake the situation into something better, something legible to his brain and different than this weird situation of blurred lines and miss-mashed fonts. The clones were never strangers to one another. Ponds would- he would get this right.
Sir had data pads full of the same words over and over and over again, all tactically positioned to create something new and different. Ponds would just do that with these new strange squadmates. They had skills and following that Ponds could figure out their roles.
It was all about the proper angle.
With that thought, Ponds fell into step with Bly, right behind their Crowning Glory and dancing out of reach of the beasts stalking their steps.