Life went on as usual until an unpleasant development disrupted it.
Clone squads started sweeping the planet.
Small groups of fifteen, hauling unfamiliar equipment, began showing up among the hills more and more often.
We found out about it by accident.
I’d gone out to get some fresh air and soak up some sun, and a passing clone patrol nearly ran me over.
The tall grass hid me well enough that they never even noticed.
Next time, I deliberately staked out a hilltop with binoculars to figure out what was going on.
The clones were clearly searching for something.
Every group carried gear that looked scientific in origin.
Hutt’s sake, too little information to go on.
But something inside me said this wasn’t a coincidence.
I’d have to take the risk.
It took a few days of waiting for the right moment.
Finally, one clone squad decided to make camp fairly close to my observation post.
Slipping past their sentries wasn’t hard.
Snap a branch somewhere with the Force, wait for the soldiers to get distracted, then slide quietly into the makeshift camp.
I couldn’t get too close, though — the clones had trampled down a clearing about sixty meters across and ringed it with speeder bikes.
Lucky for me, I was still small, and the tall grass hid me completely from view.
But I had to listen hard to catch anything — the crackle of the campfire or some random noise kept drowning out the voices.
I sat almost perfectly still for hours just trying to catch something worthwhile.
They talked about the war, about girls, about what life would look like after it was all over, what would happen to the Republic, when the fighting would finally end.
If you didn’t know who was talking, you’d have thought it was just an ordinary group of people, not the “meatcan droids” the Separatists liked to call them.
Which, honestly, some Republic sympathizers did too.
The steady murmur of conversation, the crackling fire, the low voices — it all lulled me into a half-asleep state, and I caught myself nodding off.
I probably would have actually dozed off if it hadn’t been for the squad commander’s next line.
The conversation finally turned to exactly what I wanted to hear: why the hell these soldiers kept riding so close to my home.
“—Blast, how many times do I have to say it.
We can’t shirk this duty.” If it weren’t for the different armor markings and haircuts, I’d have had a hard time telling them apart.
The Force hinted that they were distinct individuals, but it was such a faint sense that I clearly didn’t have much control over it yet.
This one wore armor with orange stripes across the chest plate — if it weren’t for how the others deferred to him, it would’ve been almost impossible to tell he was in command.
“Orders are orders.
Command knows better than we do.”
“With respect, Commander, this is insane.” A clone with a scar running across his whole face was practically shouting at his superior officer.
Through the Force, I could feel the rest of the squad silently backing him up.
“Our unit’s fought through more battles than I can count.
We’ve been deployed for over two years straight.
And they’re making us rot in some dump on the edge of the galaxy!”
“After this planet was liberated, the plan was to leave a small garrison and move the rest of us out to other fronts.
We were built for war.
Instead, half of us are stuck here for no reason anyone can explain.”
“I understand how you feel, and I feel it too.” The clone commander looked hard at his men.
“But orders are orders.
We can’t disobey them.”
“What if the order’s wrong?” The clone named Blast spoke up again.
“They sent us out here hunting for underground shelters where droids might be hiding, waiting for a chance to hit us.
But that’s insane.
All we’ve found are refugee dugouts.
Nothing else.
Not one droid this whole time.
Not even a hint of one.”
“Agreed.” Yet another clone, one who’d been holding a datapad, joined in.
“The Separatists never had the resources for that.
They only started massing forces here after we arrived.
My calculations say this whole operation makes no sense.
And yet, here we are.”
“Orders aren’t up for discussion.
You’re not thinking about deserting, are you—”
The crackle of the fire drowned out the rest of the commander’s words, but I’d caught the important part already.
A search for underground shelters — and my home fell squarely into that category.
Did someone in Republic command actually know about the lab?
Or labs, plural?
What if there were several, and mine was just one of them?
What if that tunnel wasn’t built for ships at all, but was some kind of underground transit line connecting different points?
Not good.
Not good at all.
I’d need to do something about this.
Sooner or later, a proper scan of the area would turn up my hideout, even if I took out the more overeager clones — they’d almost certainly notice an entire squad going missing.
I slipped through the tall grass like a quiet shadow and vanished into the night.
I needed to work out an emergency evacuation plan.
Unfortunately, the unpleasant surprises didn’t stop there.
A week later, early in the morning, Han burst into my room.
He was so worked up he practically looked like he was about to start venting steam from every joint.
Honestly, this tin can had grown a lot more human since the day I’d built him.
He’d been running nonstop for over a year now without any proper maintenance — some of his fellow droids didn’t last that long across their entire service life.
By the book, that meant he was due for either decommissioning or a full memory wipe.
I had no intention of doing either.
The more human he became, the more effective he got.
A slightly obnoxious, crooked, but fiercely loyal personality had settled in comfortably alongside my friend’s mechanical brain.
Yes — friend.
Without my quite noticing it, this tin can had somehow become dear to me.
Though sometimes he still drove me up the wall.
Like right now.
“Master, I believe I’ve won our argument!”
“What argument?
It’s the crack of dawn — go terrorize Mosya and Bosya and leave me in peace.”
I said that and rolled onto my other side, pulling the blanket over myself for dramatic effect.
“The cleaning droids are already terrorized down to their last screw.
The war appears to be ending soon!!!”
That shot me upright like I’d been scalded.
Already?
I’d figured I still had a year, maybe more, to properly prepare.
“What makes you say that?”
“Every news outlet is reporting it.
General Grievous and Count Dooku have broken through to the Republic’s capital with a massive Separatist fleet — Coruscant itself!
Fighting has raged across the entire planet for hours now.
Coruscant is completely blockaded by Separatist forces.
The CIS is broadcasting a detailed account of their triumph on every open frequency.”
I threw on the first thing within reach and all but ran after the Bodyguard.
A reporter’s image hung over the holotable, her voice trembling with fear and excitement as she broadcast live from Coruscant itself.
“—the exact casualty count from this treacherous Separatist attack remains impossible to determine.
Ship debris is tearing through buildings.
Droids have flooded the streets.
Jedi and clone forces are struggling to hold the line.
General Grievous is personally commanding the operation.
We can only hope our reserves are enough to withstand the assault…”
A muffled explosion on the other side of the screen cut the broadcast dead.
I sat there, stunned.
This was happening too soon.
Far too soon.
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