"It's little Bob'ika. Last time we met, my brother was shoving your head down the 'freshers to teach you some manners."

-Jaing Skirata

Jaing pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, breathing hard.

"Good work, boys." Kal Skirata moved among the six clones, slapping a back here and ruffling hair here. Jaing beamed as Kal'buir patted his shoulder affectionately, basking in the glow of his approval. "Now, take a break and be back here at 1500."

The six Null-class ARC troopers snapped to attention and saluted in one movement, their chanted "Yes sir!" like the voice of a single man. Kal's weathered face broke into a grin. "Get out of here," he said, leading the way to the door with its single transparisteel viewport.

Jaing fell in step beside Mereel at the end of the line as the clones filed out of the training room. As they passed through the antechamber in which the trainer would sit and observe the sim, Mereel elbowed his brother. "I think we've got company, ner vod," he said.

Jaing glanced over and raised an eyebrow. "Looks like it." Sitting at the table, watching his fellow clones pass with wide, wary eyes, was little Boba Fett.

Mereel grinned. "Let's see if he remembers his last Mando'a lesson." Jaing shrugged and followed his brothers out as Mereel advanced on the younger boy. "Su'cuy, vod'ika," he said conversationally, propping one arm on the tabletop. "Me'vaar ti gar?"

Boba stared sullenly up at a mirror of his older self. "Dad said I didn't have to listen to you."

Mereel's expression was the picture of shocked innocence. "What? You don't want to be Mandalorian?"

Boba scowled. "I'm gonna be the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, just like my dad."

"You're going to be dar'manda if you don't learn Mando'a," Mereel said. "No soul. Just like an aruetii. That how you want to spend your life?"

Boba's scowl deepened, but he kept his mouth shut. Mereel raised an eyebrow. "Have it your way then, dar'manda." As he turned to go, Boba spoke.

"I know at least one word, hut'uun."

Mereel's back stiffened, and he turned slowly back to the boy. "I don't think I heard you correctly," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Would you care to repeat what you just said?"

Boba glared defiantly up at him. "Yeah, I would. Hut'uun."

Jaing looked up, startled, as Mereel burst through the refresher door, dragging a furiously fighting Boba behind him. Grabbing a handful of curly black hair, Mereel shoved the younger boy's head down into the 'fresher. Pulling it out, he snarled, "Apologize."

Boba gasped and sputtered, but didn't reply. Mereel growled and pushed him back under.

"CHECK!" a voice thundered, and both Jaing and Mereel froze. Kal Skirata stood in the doorway, furious. Mereel released his grip on Boba's hair, and the boy struggled to his feet, coughing, his black curls plastered to his forehead and murder in his eyes. He glared up at Mereel, looking as if he'd like nothing more than to attack the older boy, but didn't dare try it with Kal standing there.

Mereel stood at attention, scowling blackly. "He called me a hut'uun, Kal'buir. Twice. I was being nice. I didn't kill him immediately."

Kal's expression flickered slightly. "Did he? I think we need to have a talk with your father, Bob'ika." He took a firm grip on the boy's shoulder, the tunic under his hand wet from Boba's dripping hair. "I'll deal with you when I get back," he added, giving Mereel a stern glare before escorting Boba out.

Mereel's shoulders slumped. "Little chakaar deserved it," he muttered, staring disconsolately after the retreating pair.

Jaing clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It was funny, though," he said. "Someday we'll look back on this and laugh about it."

Mereel snorted mirthlessly. "Yeah, maybe in about sixty years…"