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hey y’all! i’ve been working on this for a hot minute — turns out i am incapable writing anything shorter than 5,000 words, so sorry in advance for how long this got. a huge thank you to @cosmicghostie for being the ultimate writer's cheerleader and to the rest of the lucky batch for giving me such amazing characters to work with! you all genuinely brighten my day, so i hope this brightens yours! ♥︎
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Lucky: a few days in the life of Clone Force 37’s unofficial therapist
content warnings: blood/injury, weapon use, lots of emotional distress (but also some fluff to make up for it!!)
Thumbs didn’t know when he had become Clone Force 37’s unofficial therapist. It just kinda happened.
His original role as the squad’s battle strategist shifted after he realized that his usual skill-set wouldn’t be helpful to a squad who typically threw strategy out the window.
Yet even without a set strategy, the unconventional group somehow had a relatively high success rate when it came to their missions. Thumbs had assumed it was their unpredictability that gave them an advantage. Or the fact that each of them had unique abilities, unlike any soldiers he had ever met.
However, the longer he was with Clone Force 37, the more he started to notice just how special his batch-mates were.
The twins, Foxy and Pepper, had caught his attention first. Both were skilled in their own ways, but what stood out to Thumbs was how each was fiercely protective of the other. He wasn’t sure what the pair had gone through to end up on the Clover, but he couldn’t help but notice the weight of Foxy’s quiet around strangers or the subtle promise behind each sticker that Pepper placed. Thumbs knew more than anyone, love was always accompanied by fear.
He saw this fear in Master Kenhla, every time she glanced towards the two padawans she had come to mentor. Despite her powerful posture, Thumbs could see how she carried the galaxy on her shoulders; not so that she could manage more, but so her brothers could bear less.
Brothers like Rane and Skip, who had lost everything, everyone, before finding their place with the Lucky Batch. Or Sparks and Ryder, both of whom blamed themselves for tragedies of the past.
They all had lost so much… Yet, by some miracle, they had found each other.
Thumbs would do anything to make sure it stayed that way.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
This particular day had started normally, which for Thumbs meant wincing as three screaming forms barreled towards where he sat knitting at the back of the ship. He set his needles down, knowing he would not be getting back to work anytime soon.
“Here we go,” he mumbled under his breath as his batchmates shouted from across the hull.
“THUMBS!!!”
The small stampede, which was revealed to be Sparks, Ballast, and Luna, raced towards him, each one attempting to outpace the other.
“Oh Maker, Ballast, what did you do?”
The batcher in question skidded to a stop, mock-offense written across his face. “I didn’t-”
Thumbs gave each of his batch-mates a once-over, scanning them for injuries. “Should I get Pepper? Is anyone hurt?”
“Not yet,” the two mechanics both mumbled under their breath.
Thumbs sighed in equal parts relief and exhaustion. Ballast and Sparks had been ‘friendly’ rivals for as long as he had known the pair. Unfortunately for him, their rivalry often extended outside the realm of mechanics and into the everyday affairs of the Lucky Batch, with Thumbs usually acting as the chosen mediator of these disagreements.
Sparks pointed at Ballast, pleading his case. “He ate all the cookies Jack made me!”
“You’re overreac-”
“And drank all my caf.”
Now Thumbs understood the near-murderous look on Sparks’ face.
His brother had always done so much for the batch and asked for very few things in return, one of those things being his morning cups of caf: a simple but necessary pleasure that allowed him to function throughout the day.
Thumbs brought his attention back to the pair in front of him, wondering whose word to trust more. Then he brought his gaze down, to a much more reliable source.
“Luna, what happened?”
The padawan looked up nervously, her eyes partially hidden behind choppy bangs. Thumbs smiled when he noticed she was wearing the mittens he had knit for her. He had originally made pairs for both her and Brisk while they were stationed on a colder planet, but now Luna liked to wear them for fun, claiming they made her look like an ewok.
The young girl shrunk from the attention that was suddenly on her, moving closer to Ballast’s side.
“I…”
“What happened is he drank all my caf.” Sparks stepped forward, jabbing another accusatory finger towards Ballast. “The caf that prevents me from strangling my brothers when they get on my nerves.”
Thumbs spoke up, attempting to diffuse the rising hostility. “I thought you didn’t even like caf, Ballast. I always see you drinking that tea Jackal likes.”
The mechanic shifted on his feet nervously. “Well, I…”
Thumbs looked towards his brother curiously, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Something about the whole dispute seemed off, almost like Ballast was covering for someb-
“Wait,” a small voice piped up from behind the three brothers. “B-Ballast didn’t take your caf, I did.”
“You-” Sparks spun towards the voice with an instinctive glower before recognizing its source. His features softened almost instantly. “What?”
Luna shrugged sheepishly. “I wanted to see if it was good… It was! And Master Ken said I was exceptionally energetic during our training afterwards.”
Thumbs fixed his gaze on Sparks expectantly, curious how he would react to the young batcher’s confession.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, wringing her mittened hands. “I know I should’ve asked.”
Sparks cleared his throat awkwardly as he waved off her apology. “No, it’s uh... It’s fine.”
Luna’s expression remained uncertain and Ballast elbowed Sparks in the side, urging him to reassure the young girl.
“Really, I mean... I shouldn’t even be drinking that much anyway,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily.
Ballast grinned at Sparks, eating up the moment.
Thumbs couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto his own face as well. For a squad of soldiers who had fought countless battles and overcome powerful enemies, they sure did surrender fast when it came to their padawans. No one onboard the Clover was immune to their effortless charm.
Luna eventually looked up at Thumbs, seeking his own approval, which he happily granted with an encouraging thumbs up.
There was a welcome moment of silence before Sparks’ head jerked upwards once more.
“Wait, what about my cookies?”
“Hmm...” Ballast looked to the floor dramatically, feigning deep thought. “You mean the chocolate chunk cookies with sea salt and a fine caramel drizzle?” He smirked before continuing. “I have no idea.”
Sparks took two threatening steps towards Ballast and within seconds the two of them were chasing each other throughout the Clover with Luna giggling in their wake.
For the clones, who quite literally were forced to grow up too fast, the padawans’ presence reminded them of what a childhood should be. It kept them grounded, desperate to preserve that feeling for the young girls for as long as they could. And if that meant that Luna could get away with stealing Spark’s caf, then so be it.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
That evening’s supply trip was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out operation to gather necessary materials for the coming weeks. But it had already been three hours since Ballast, Sparks, and Foxy’s expected return and no one on the Clover had received an update on their whereabouts.
Thumbs wasn’t someone who paced often. While the rest of the galaxy seemed to be in constant motion, Thumbs always tried his best to remain still at its center. But the longer he waited for his batchmates’ return, the more he felt like he was spinning off his axis, unable to stop the repetitive trajectory of his feet throughout the hull.
He wasn’t even aware of his own movements until they were interrupted by the sound of distant yelling. Strained shouts echoed from outside the Clover’s walls, nearly imperceptible amidst the intensifying wind. Their tone, panicked and desperate, was more bone-chilling than the rain that had started to fall around them.
Storms had always scared Thumbs. He hated seeing flashes of lightning, understanding that the explosion of thunder would follow, but never knowing when. Deep down he knew that thunder was harmless, that lightning posed the greater threat, but at least it was quick, unexpected, gone in a flash. Thunder was slow, deafening, inevitable.
When the Clover’s ramp finally lowered to reveal a bloodied Sparks cradled in Ballast’s arms, he knew that the lightning had passed.
This was the thunder.
Thumbs watched in silence as his brothers stumbled into the hull of the ship, a trail of mud and blood left in their wake. Ballast and Foxy eased Sparks onto the closest bunk, removing his armor to better assess the injury. Luna and Brisk dashed into the room, their eyes widening at the horrific sight. Luna’s breaths came in labored bursts as she called for Pepper, tears streaming down her face.
The squad’s medic came running, following the worried gaze of the two young girls who stood near the bunks. He spared a brief glance at Foxy before quickly donning a pair of gloves and shouting orders to nearby batch-mates. Hearing the commotion, Master Kenhla arrived and immediately ushered her padawans out of the room, not wanting them to witness the sight of their brother in pain.
While before Thumbs had been unable to sit still, now he felt frozen, cold as the ice on Hoth. His brothers were right in front of him, yet he felt as if he were watching the scene unfold from millions of miles away.
He kept thinking back to that morning — Sparks had been fine, albeit cranky over his lack of caf, and now…
Thumbs hated it. He hated how things could change so quickly.
He watched as Ballast, usually explosive in his mannerisms, now held Sparks’ hand in his own, whispering words of comfort as his brother lay motionless on the cot.
Thumbs suddenly felt sick to his stomach, a shrill ringing filling the air around him. The echoes of a memory that had been stagnant for years, forced into the depths of his mind, suddenly emerged:
An argument, a battle, another brother gone. A hand desperately squeezing his own before going limp, devoid of all life.
Another hand, this one from the present, landed on his shoulder, dragging him out of one nightmare and into another. A voice was speaking, asking if he was alright, telling him to sit down.
Thumbs’ guilt only increased. Hands that should be helping his fallen brother were instead on his own shoulders, urging him towards the nearest seat. He shrugged them off with an uncharacteristic roughness, finally taking a few shaky steps towards Sparks.
He had almost made it to the bunk when the same pair of arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him back.
“Thumbs, stop,” the voice urged. “You need to let Pepper help him. There’s nothing you can do.”
He knew the words were supposed to be comforting. He had spoken the same ones to almost every soldier who had come to him burdened with the invisible weight of survivor’s guilt. Sometimes it was what they needed to hear; other times, it wasn’t.
The last thing Thumbs saw was an oxygen mask being lowered onto his brother’s face before eventually succumbing to the arms around him, letting himself be removed from the scene.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Thumbs woke up the next morning with a headache.
Foxy, who had been the one to escort him out of the room the night before, filled him in on what had happened during the supply run.
Apparently as the trio had made their way back to the ship, bandits had intercepted them. The ragtag group of thieves were lacking in both numbers and artillery and hadn’t been particularly difficult to subdue. Sparks had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the unforgiving crossfire of a supply trip gone wrong.
Thumbs wished he had been there. Maybe then he could’ve shouted to his brother in warning or pulled him out of harm’s way. Stars, he would’ve jumped in front of the deathly bolt himself if it meant Sparks was still standing at the end of the day.
The two of them had grown close over the past few months, especially after Thumbs learned the story behind Sparks’ name. He could tell that his brother’s outwardly gruff attitude was just a shield used to protect the sensitive, guilt-ridden soldier beneath. Even one offhand criticism of his work as a mechanic could bring him back to the accident and a past he wished desperately to forget.
Because of this, Sparks would often work through the night, losing himself in the wires and circuits of the ship to ensure he didn’t make the same mistake twice. Thumbs was always at his side reminding him to take breaks, to drink water when he was thirsty, to eat when pangs of hunger hit...
But there was little he could do for Sparks now as he lay unconscious in the hull of the Clover.
Pepper had done everything he could, luckily managing to stabilize their brother within a few hours of the incident. Sparks was slowly showing signs of improvement — he had even woke up briefly in the early hours, mumbling something about watering Percy, before slipping back into the depths of unconsciousness.
Percy was the name of one of Sparks’ plants, something Thumbs discovered after walking in on his brother affectionately repotting it in a moment of assumed privacy.
He smiled at the memory, shaking his head in disbelief. It was just like Sparks to be worried about keeping his plants alive while he was barely clinging to life himself.
With nothing to do but wait until his brother woke up, Thumbs made his way into the hull of the ship where he found most of the batch engaged in a lively game of Dejarik. It was a tradition, meant to keep the batches' spirit alive when faced with tough times.
He almost started towards them when he felt a presence to his left, distanced from the laughter of the others.
Thumbs’ gaze landed on Ryder as he stared out of the cockpit window absent-mindedly, though he knew from his expression that his mind was anything but absent.
Thumbs approached slowly, not wanting to startle the squad’s weapons specialist.
“Hey Ry, you alright?”
Ryder glanced up, a flash of surprise illuminating his expression, before looking back down, his face once again shrouded in darkness.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” A barrage of laughter sounded from the other side of the room, where everyone was still gathered. “Think I’m gonna go for a ride though.”
“Oh, okay…” Thumbs replied, wanting to say more to his obviously-distracted brother. “Mind if I tag along?”
“You always do,” Ryder said, shooting him a small smirk.
“Hey!” Thumbs laughed, punching his shoulder lightly.
Ryder chuckled, nodding for Thumbs to follow him to the far corner of the hull. Once there, he opened the weapons cabinet, extracting a couple blasters and holstering them on his form.
Thumbs looked at his brother questioningly.
“Just in case,” Ryder said, carefully checking over his chosen artillery.
Thumbs nodded quickly, admonishing himself for not thinking more practically, especially after what happened with Sparks. It was a dangerous thing to give the galaxy the benefit of the doubt.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The planet they were currently docked on was beautiful. The hues of its rolling hills were softened by the dying light, the gentle breeze transforming the tall grasses into golden waves. The sky’s colors evolved with each passing minute, all evidence of the previous night’s storm lost to its changing shades.
It was Thumb’s favorite time of day. At dusk the light never seemed harsh; it was sympathetic, understanding. It hovered, never fully settling, like a cloud. But dusky light was also ephemeral. Thumbs wished he could freeze it, trap it in a jar and release it when he needed its soft companionship.
He knew too many people like dusk: perfect, until they were gone.
“It’s pretty here,” Thumbs eventually broke the silence, a welcome distraction from his own thoughts.
“Yeah,” Ryder replied as his eyes traced the horizon, “It is.”
“That why you’ve been coming out here so often?”
Thumbs knew his brother liked to take his speeder out on rides whenever he needed a break from the confines of the Clover. He would even accompany him from time to time. But recently he had been escaping much more frequently and Thumbs couldn’t help but worry that something else was going on.
“Hey, you’re kinda hard not to notice.” Thumbs smirked, gesturing a hand towards his brother’s head: “Ya know, cause of the hair.”
Ryder grinned, blowing a stray strand out of his face. “Yeah, sure thing curly.”
Thumbs ran a hand through his own coily locks with a shy shrug.
The two brothers fell into a comfortable silence as fireflies blinked to life around them. Thumbs pretended they were shooting stars, closing his eyes and wishing for the speedy recovery of Sparks back onboard the Clover.
After a while, the air seemed to become heavy and Thumbs could tell that Ryder needed to get something off of his chest.
His suspicion was confirmed when he heard his brother sigh deeply, preparing to speak.
“Lately…” he started, tugging on the end of his turquoise braid. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”
Thumbs nodded and moved to sit beside him in a subtle gesture of comfort.
“About them?”
Ryder nodded, knowing Thumbs was referencing his past squad.
“I’ve been having the dreams again.”
Thumbs’ face fell. He remembered the night he found out about Ryder’s nightmares as if it were yesterday.
He had been awake in the hull of the ship, too afraid that something bad might happen if he allowed himself the privilege of closing his eyes. Ryder had started tossing in his sleep, muttering the names and numbers of unfamiliar clones. Thumbs shook his brother awake, eventually guiding him outside of the ship when he struggled to regain his breath. The two of them had sat on the Clover’s ramp until long after the sun rose, each finding comfort in the other’s presence.
Since then, the nightmares had decreased, but every now and again they would return. The guilt would return.
“In the dream, I’m back on the venator,” Ryder described, his voice hoarse. “First there’s the flashing lights. Then voices, their voices, but they eventually fade away and then there’s just static. For a moment, everything is quiet, just a faint buzzing...”
Thumbs gave his brother’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, letting him know he was still there, still listening.
“And then I’m in the escape pod. As I’m drifting away, I look back towards the ship, but it’s not the venator anymore. It’s the Clover.”
He paused, swallowing thickly.
“And then it’s just gone. Swallowed by fire.”
The unsettling images unearthed feelings that Thumbs never had the courage to voice out loud, but the anxious thrumming of Ryder’s fingers on the side of the speeder reminded him of his current task: to show his brother that he was there for him now, regardless of what happened in the past.
“Ry, I know there’s not a lot I can say. But know that they would’ve been so proud of you, of the soldier and brother you’ve become,” Thumbs reassured gently. “We all are.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ryder mumbled.
Thumbs frowned, knowing his brother wasn’t convinced.
“Well, this was supposed to be a surprise, but it looks like you need it now.”
Thumbs pulled out the pack he had brought with him, rifling through it until he found a small bundle. He nervously presented it to Ryder, who observed the way it had been carefully packaged in colorful gift wrap and adorned with stickers, most likely donated by Pepper.
“I made this for you,” Thumbs spoke as Ryder opened the parcel. “It’s a blanket, obviously, but it’s… Well, it’s got a little more to it than that. Each row of stitches is made of yarn from all the different places we’ve been to as a batch. Thought it could be cool to see how far we’ve all come. But I also know how important it is to you that we honor our pasts, so down here,” Thumbs pointed at the bottom left corner, “I stitched in the names of CT-2019 and CT-1882. And over here is General Lyle’s.”
Thumbs looked up at Ryder, trying to gauge his reaction.
“I know it doesn’t change anything, not really, but I thought maybe it could help you sleep at night.”
There was a long moment of silence as Thumbs began to doubt the impact of his gift. The whole idea was starting to sound stupid now. Maybe if he had-
Thumbs grinned, glad to see the glimmer of hope return to his brother’s eyes. “Of course, anything for my vod.”
Ryder held the blanket close, tracing his finger over the carefully stitched names of his old squad. His eyes scanned over the various colors and textures that Thumbs had incorporated, recognizing yarn from planets they hadn’t been to in years. How long had his brother been working on this?
He was just about to ask when a subtle movement drew his own gaze downwards. Thumbs was quietly bouncing his right leg, a nervous habit that Ryder had picked up on throughout their time together. He doubted that Thumbs was even aware of his own anxious mannerism, but Ryder could tell that something was on his mind.
“Hey, vod?” Ryder placed the blanket down, his focus now on his brother.
“Yeah?” Thumbs replied, still staring straight ahead.
Ryder thought back to something his companion had told him just moments ago, something that had made him feel important, valuable, seen.
“People notice you too.”
 Thumbs chuckled, thinking back to when he invited himself to join Ryder on his impromptu speeder trip just hours before. “Yeah, I guess my constant pestering makes it hard not to.”
“Yeah...” Ryder continued, almost hesitantly. It would be harder getting through to his brother than he thought. “But we also notice why you do that.”
“And why’s that?” Thumbs asked casually, not quite sure where Ryder was guiding the conversation.
“Because you care.”
At this, Thumbs finally met his brother’s eyes, confusion painting his features. The words were simple, yet something about them did not fully compute.
“No matter how many idiotic things we pull, you’re always there for us.”
Thumbs held his brother’s gaze, considering his words intently, before looking down to his feet. He frowned before mumbling something, barely audible above the light breeze:
“Not when it counts.”
The words sliced through the air, contrary to the soft tone in which they were spoken. Ryder couldn’t help the immediate snap of his head towards his brother.
“What do you-”
“Yesterday, with Sparks,” Thumbs interjected, his voice gaining strength. “No amount of pestering could’ve helped him.”
There was something about the way Thumbs was speaking — something that Ryder had missed before, something familiar — that was unravelling with each passing moment.
“But he’s okay now, he’s fine,” Ryder tried to console, his brow furrowed.
Thumbs scoffed. “That was just luck. I heard what Pepper said: If his injury had been just an inch to the left…” He ran a hand through his hair frustratedly.
“Well, luck is kinda our thing,” Ryder said, repeating words that Pepper had spoken to him when he first joined the batch.
“But I don’t want it to be!”
Ryder looked up in shock. In the entire time he had known Thumbs, he had never once heard him raise his voice. But shock soon turned to concern when he noticed the tears streaming down his brother’s face.
“I don’t want to rely on luck,” Thumbs choked out, his voice softening. “Not… not when it comes to the people I care about.”
Helplessness.
Ryder was well-acquainted with the feeling — the image of his former general on the other side, the wrong side, of an escape pod window, forever etched into his memory. He tried to think of something to say that could comfort his brother, but the only words that came to mind were the ones Thumbs had already spoken to him moments before.
The whole batch knew that Thumbs had always struggled to take his own advice and that reminding him to do so never seemed to have an effect. It was unusual to see him in such a vulnerable state, something the former-strategist was well aware of as he avoided his brother’s gaze, shame written across his tear-stained features.
Ryder cringed at the sight, knowing he would need to take a more unconventional approach to offer his brother reassurance, one that would hopefully provide him with a fragment of control in a galaxy that seemed to feed on chaos.
Ryder nodded once, steeling himself, before reaching down and pulling his twin blasters out of their respective holsters.
“You know,” he started, attempting to keep his voice level, “I got these from CT-2019 and CT-1882. They were graduation gifts.”
Thumbs turned his head curiously, wiping away a stray tear in the process. A small part of him fought back the urge to smile: unlike his brother, he had been given craft supplies and a book for graduation.
“I could teach you how to shoot ‘em, if you want.”
Thumbs looked towards his brother incredulously.
“Ry, I’ve shot a blaster before...”
Ryder exhaled breathily, a playful grin gracing his features. “Ah, not ones like these. These here are DC-17 hand blasters.” He held his weapons in front of himself reverently. “They’re more powerful than your standard blaster, more efficient too.”
Thumbs hesitated, his confusion at the sudden shift in topic still evident, before nodding slowly.
“Alright, sure.”
Ryder spent the next few minutes guiding Thumbs through the best way to handle the blasters — helping him correct his stance, improve aim, and prepare for recoil. The process was strangely reassuring, giving Thumbs something tangible to hold onto, something he could control.
“Hey, Ryder?” Thumbs asked, looking down at the weapon in his hands, the echoes of its former owners serving as a comforting reminder that those who were gone could still protect their brothers who lived to fight another day. Maybe when Thumbs was gone, he could do the same.
“Thank you.”
Ryder had just begun to respond when a noise sounded from behind them.
Thumbs startled and spun on his heel, impulsively throwing the first thing he could think of towards the nearby bushes: Ryder’s blaster.
He mentally facepalmed as his brother jumped off of the speeder, aiming his remaining blaster towards the sound. He held out a hand as he crept closer to the bushes, silently telling Thumbs to stay back.
A tense moment passed, before a tooka revealed itself from behind the bush.
Thumbs sighed in relief before looking up at Ryder guiltily.
“Probably not the best use of the blaster,” he said with a cringe.
“What, you wanted to shoot it?” Ryder questioned breathlessly, a smirk growing across his features.
“No, of course not!” Thumbs smiled, relieved that his brother didn’t seem upset over his moment of panic. The tooka sauntered up to him, rubbing its head against his legs.
Ryder retrieved the discarded blaster and walked back towards the speeder, the remnants of a smirk still visible on his face. “Well, looks like good things can come from bad luck.”
“Yeah,” Thumbs huffed, looking down at the small animal by his feet. “Guess so.”
And maybe that’s what Clone Force 37 was: a group of outcasts who were all in the process of turning their histories with bad luck into good things — good luck.
“C’mon, hop up,” Ryder said as held out an arm. “Let’s get back to the ship.”
Thumbs let himself be pulled into the speeder, the firm grip of his brother’s hand a silent reassurance: I’m here for you.
He leaned back, his eyes reflecting the stars that had started to appear above. He wondered how many of them he couldn’t see, how many millions of lives were being lived just out of his view.
Thumbs glanced over to the brother at his side, thinking about how lucky he was to have crossed paths with him, with all of them, in a universe of infinite proportions.
“We should probably pick up some caf for Sparks on the way back… I know he’ll want some when he wakes up,” Thumbs spoke, laying all the way back in the speeder.
Ryder nodded in agreement as they lurched forward. The sun had finally disappeared from view and the two soldiers soon became mere silhouettes against the dimming night sky.
But anyone familiar with Clone Force 37 knew that they were so much more than two small blips on the horizon:
They were brothers.
And Thumbs was positive that nothing in the galaxy could ever change that.
the weight down in the deep of you: a lucky batch fic ☘️
(guys!! i finally wrote a thing!!! feat. why ballast's name is ballast and why jackal loves throwing his prosthetic arms so much. hope you enjoy!!!)
A ballast is the secret, vital core of a ship: the weight down in the deep of you that keeps a vessel upright in dark water. - Catherynne M. Valente, The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon in Two
The sun hung low and hazy in the sky and most of the clones of the 37th battalion were still sleeping in their camp when a terrifyingly loud, terrifyingly explosive sound erupted from nearby the ship.
“What the kriff--” Jackal moaned, jolting awake. He held his head. He hated loud noises at the best of times; and it was even worse to be rudely awoken by one.
“Was that an attack?” another voice sounded. It was Ryder.
“I don’t know, di’kut,” Cypher responded groggily. “Why don’t you go out and look?”
Several of the Lucksters stumbled out of their tents into the cool morning air and looked around. It didn’t look like they were in immediate danger, but there was some smoking coming from Ballast’s workstation.
On closer inspection, the entire workstation--as well as much of the dark, sandy ground--was covered in soot and ash. The greatest amount was collected on Ballast’s face. At least he’d had the sense to wear goggles.
“Oh, hey boys,” Ballast greeted his batchmates cheerily as they came over. “Just a faulty wire. Sorry if I woke you. I’m going to see if there’s any replacement parts on the ship.”
He walked off, whistling a sprightly tune as he went. His brothers shared glances between them, shaking their heads.
“Does anything rattle that guy?” Rane wondered aloud. Jackal glanced toward Ballast’s retreating frame, a small smile gracing his features.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied, a faraway look gracing his features as a memory overtook him.
The air was so thick with blaster fire, it was nearly impossible to see. This was not ideal for the clones of the 37th Battalion, who wound their way through a massive and labyrinthine Separatist facility. They were on mission from the Jedi council to retrieve a particular set of data for the Republic. The security around the facility was so great that they needed all hands on deck to help keep them at bay while others infiltrated the facility, which was why Cypher and Ballast found themselves winding their way through the dark hallways along with Jackal and Ryder. Jackal and Ryder were used to the front lines, but Ballast and Cypher were not usually in the thick of things like this. They’d been raised and trained for battle, but their talents typically had them supporting the other soldiers in other ways.
Now, they found themselves hunkered down in a side hallway while droids bore down on them from either side and they wouldn’t have time to retreat back the way they came before the droids caught up to them. Jackal held his head, struggling with the noise of the blasters. Ryder pat himself down wildly, trying to find which of his weapons still had any fuel left.
The familiar clicking of empty blasters sounded from Cypher’s pistols. “This is bad. This is terrible, disastrous, catastrophic!” he shouted over the noise as he hunkered down in the hallway.
“Keep it together, Cypher,” Ballast said, his voice steady despite the hammering in his chest. He’d never been in a position like this before, but he knew they all needed to stay calm if they were going to make it out alive. Still, he was painfully aware that they were outnumbered and outgunned. Glancing around, he noticed a control panel on the opposite wall. They could use that to short the circuits and get the doors shut to cover their retreat. But they didn’t have enough ammo left to cover him while he worked on it. His heart pounded furiously, his stomach was in his throat, but he forced himself to take a breath and clear his mind. There was a solution. There had to be, and he would find it.
A blaster bolt came frighteningly close to their position of cover and Jackal threw his arms up over his head, his metal prosthetic hitting Ballast in the process. Wait….there it was! The solution!
“Jackal!” Ballast hissed to his brother. “Your prosthetic. We can use it to short that panel and get the doors closed!”
“You want to use my arm?”
“I’ll make you a new one!”
Jackal’s eyes went wild for a moment before settling with a fierce determination. “All right,” he said, tugging on his prosthetic with his other arm. It came free in his hand and he passed it over to his brother. “But this had better work!”
“Yeah, I hope you know what you’re doing, Ballast!” Ryder cried, firing off a couple more of his few remaining shots. It wouldn’t be enough to last them if it didn't.
“So do I,” Ballast replied through gritted teeth as he whipped out a couple of tools from his pockets, opened the sockets of the prosthetic, and set furiously to work.
What felt like an eternity but was really only a few moments later, Ballast handed the prosthetic to Ryder. The fist was closed except for the pointer finger, which was extended. “You’ll have to be precise with this shot!”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Jackal cried, reaching for the prosthetic. Ballast was worried he’d changed his mind about using it, but he merely folded down the pointer finger and extended the middle finger.
“Really? Right now?” Cypher cried, but before anyone could say anything else, Ryder sucked in a breath and launched the prosthetic at the control panel.
The metal of the prosthetic alighted with sizzling electricity as it interacted with the panel. The boys held their breath for those agonizing seconds; the last thing they saw was the control panel fizzling and Jackal’s prosthetic dropping to the floor before the doors before them shut.
“It was the middle finger that did it,” Jackal voiced before they retreated back the way they had come.
Later that night, Ballast sat with a cluster of parts in his lap, working by the light of their campfire. He was determined to make Jackal’s new prosthetic even better than the last. Before long, he heard approaching footsteps and looked up to see Jackal coming over to join him by the fire. He sat down next to Ballast, who in turn shielded his project from Jackal’s eyes with his arm.
“Hey, let me see!” Jackal protested, craning his neck to try and sneak a look.
“It’s going to be a surprise!” Ballast replied, playfully knocking his brother in the shoulder.
“Alright, keep your secrets.” The two of them grew quiet as they gazed into the gently flickering flames.
“What a day, huh?” Jackal finally voiced. “You know, we managed to draw enough of the droids’ attention that the others were able to get the data we needed.”
“So I heard. Glad your sacrifice turned out to be worth it,” Ballast grinned. Jackal just shook his head, growing serious.
“How did you do it?”
“Oh, well, I had to recalibrate some of the motor functions so that when it hit the panel--”
“No,” Jackal interrupted Ballast before he was subjected to a long-winded explanation of mechanics. “How did you stay so calm? How weren’t you scared out of your mind like the rest of us?”
Ballast looked back at the fire. “I was,” he said after a long moment.
“Wait, really?” Jackal looked at him incredulously. “Didn’t seem like it.”
“When I’m working, there’s always a chance that something is going to break, misfire, explode….like a ship on rough water,” Ballast began to explain, his voice soft. “You can’t always predict the way the weather will turn, can’t control the wind or the waves, but you can control the way you carry yourself through it.” He allowed himself a small smile as he looked over at his brother. “Giving in to that fear wasn’t going to help any of us. I just wanted to be strong for us.”
Jackal smiled broadly back at Ballast, placing his remaining hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Well, thank you. For always being the weight to carry us through. And hey,” he added, “maybe you should make a few more of those prosthetic arms. I kind of like that tactic.”
“I think I can do that,” Ballast grinned. Jackal chuckled.
“Just try not to let them explode, yeah? At least, not on purpose.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?”
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