What Is Real
By Kudzu
"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly"
Langston Hughes, "Hold Fast to Dreams"
"This," Alpha said, jabbing a finger into his own chestplate, "is what we are. You and I. How are we the same? Well, that should be quite obvious. Now, how are we different? That's a bit tougher of a question to answer. Yes, trooper?" The ARC trainer pointed over towards a trainee whose hand was raised high in the air.
"Well, sir -" The commander-in-training was cut off by the class' instructor.
"Identify," Alpha ordered.
The clone nodded briskly, sweeping a hand through his thick black hair. "Unit 2249, sir."
"No," the ARC trooper said shortly. "Your number does not concern me." He aimed his finger straight at the clone commander-to-be. "Who are you, trooper?"
The question was deeper than it appeared. It was the type of question that brought a frown to Laan Shi's face as she observed the training session. Alpha was a fine combat instructor and had a brilliant performance record, but he had developed a streak of independency that surpassed that of any clone - save for, perhaps, A-02, who had deserted to take up the position of Mandalore and follow in the footsteps of his "father", Jango Fett - and that was troubling. The clone troopers created by the Kaminoans were made to serve and to fight and to die. Not to philosophize. Certainly not to teach their comrades to philosophize.
Alpha was more like Jango Fett than Laan Shi thought that even one of the bounty hunter's clones could be.
The trainee seemed to consider Alpha's words for a brief moment, then his eyes lit up with understanding. He straightened into a sharp salute that even the most professional of non-clone soldiers would envy for its sheer precision. "Clone Commander Raster at your command, sir!" he barked out.
Alpha returned the salute smartly. "At ease, trooper. Very good. Now," he paused, looking around over the group of attentive clone soldiers, all identical to one another, "what is the importance of us having differences in personality, taste, and feeling, if not in appearance, Commander Raster?"
Raster replied instantly as if by rote. "Having differences allows us to think of ourselves as independent units," he replied briskly. "That in turn allows us to act independently. That allows us to think and act outside the manual. It allows us to improvise, and decreases our dependency upon what we learned from our training. It allows us to change and adapt to new and unpredictable situations and then to pass our experiences on to the next generation of trainees."
"Very good, Commander." Alpha waited for a moment expectantly, as if he thought that Raster might say more. When it became clear that he would not, the ARC trooper continued, "However, you have forgotten one thing, and that is perhaps the most important thing of all." There was another pregnant pause, and Laan Shi felt one of her hearts skip a beat. "That is, Commander, the importance of being who you are, because then no other might impersonate you and become exactly as you are. Not even a clone can become you. You will always be you, and you must always be you, because that is important. That is damn important, Commander, and don't you forget it.
"Now," Alpha said, "I will give you each ten minutes to reflect upon yourselves. To explore your thoughts: your deepest desires, your ambitions, and your dreams. Your hopes and whims and fancies. What you look forward to, and what necessity is. There is a line," he added sternly, "between what you want to happen, and what needs to happen. Want follows need, and it must always be subservient. To prioritize your wants over the needs of the Republic is selfishness - and no one, least of all myself, will tolerate a selfish soldier. You must always be prepared to give your life for your brother, your General, your mission, and your Republic. That should be foremost among your desires, your ambitions, your dreams and hopes and whims and fancies. That is the one thing that I demand must be uniform, and if you can't cope with your duty - that you must willingly and gladly discard your life for our cause should the circumstances require it of you - I advise that you get up and go ask one of the technicians to give you a lethal injection right now." No one moved. Alpha nodded and said no more.
Commander Raster retreated inside himself. Blanking out his conscious self as no one without a clone trooper's discipline and focus could do, he thought.
He simply thought.
Who am I? Senior Clone Commander Raster, Unit 2249 in the Grand Army of the Republic, in training under Alpha, Unit A-17, on Kamino.
Why do I exist? To serve the Galactic Republic in peace and in war; to defend its citizens from harm; to uphold its principles against defilement; to obey its leaders and his commanders; to lead the armies of the Galactic Republic into battle.
Why do I persevere?
Clone Commander Raster considered. He persevered because he was Senior Clone Commander Raster, Unit 2249 in the Grand Army of the Republic, and clone though he might be, none might be as him. He was uniform and yet unique; one of millions and yet one of a kind. He wasn't just a clone: he was Raster.
Yes, a voice in his head seemed to tell him. I am Raster.
The clone smiled, eyes still closed peacefully. Now…
What are my deepest desires? To serve the Galactic Republic in peace and in war; to defend its citizens from harm; to uphold its principles against defilement; to obey its leaders and his commanders; to lead the armies of the Galactic Republic into battle.
And also, to visit Naboo and to roll in its fields. To luxuriate in the unknown and alien taste of rich Chandrilan wines and creamy Agamarian frost whip. To meet Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and to sit down with him to discuss the history and the future of the Republic and to share his views with him, and have him nod his head and listen with interest and regard him as an equal. To be everything that he was and more: to be a man, not just a faceless clone. To watch the sunrise on Alderaan from the highest pinnacles of Aldera City.
The look of dreamy bliss on Clone Commander Raster's face separated him from the looks on the faces of his meditative brothers: they, too, looked calm, peaceful, and contented, but somehow their expressions were so much different - so different, that they might as well have not been clones of the same man at all. And yet somehow, they were also all the same…
What are my ambitions? To serve the Galactic Republic in peace and in war; to defend its citizens from harm; to uphold its principles against defilement; to obey its leaders and his commanders; to lead the armies of the Galactic Republic into battle.
But he also wanted more. He wanted to maybe run for Chancellor one day after the Clone Wars had ended, and Palpatine's term of office had expired. He'd also maybe like to purchase a shockball team. It might also be nice to be rich, and to own private retreats on Hesperidium, Byss, Mon Calamari, and a hundred other worlds. To have his own swimming pool to swim in every day. And to have friends…
What are your dreams? To serve the Galactic Republic in peace and in war; to defend its citizens from harm; to uphold its principles against defilement; to obey its leaders and his commanders; to lead the armies of the Galactic Republic into battle.
And then all these….all of this, life and what came after. More than what any man could hope to have, and certainly more than any clone. He dreamed of the impossible: what he would never know and would die wishing for. And what a fanciful grave he would go to! For he dreamed of a glorious death in the line of duty, dying to save his brothers - his General - his mission - his Republic. All of what was his, and all of what could have been his had he been born a different man. All of what he could dream for and did, for without dreams life was like an aiwha with no wings to fly on. And with a sudden passionate fervor, he wanted them, more than almost anything -
But to serve. For he wished that and hoped that and dreamed that more than anything else, and yet not all of these wishes and hopes and dreams were for service and death and duty. They were foremost, and had he only three things to choose for his life, it would be that soldierly trio. Without them, he was selfish - and no one would tolerate a selfish soldier.
But what about a selfish man?
The tiny thought, that rebellious little notion, gave him a moment's pause. And so he considered that, too.
Did he want to just be a man? Did he wish that he was simply free of all of this - of all his responsibility, and of being born to fight and die?
Raster could choose who he was. And even with this, he knew that he would be nothing without service and death and duty. Without being a soldier of the Republic, and its most loyal servant unto death, be it heroic and glorious or ignoble and isolated. No death was meaningless when it was in the line of duty. And his death would be in the line of duty for as long as he served the Grand Army of the Republic. After that was the time to wish for a peaceful and quiet death in a peaceful and quiet time. If it did not ever come, then his death was in the line of duty, and he would not be Raster if he complained about that. Death was part of life, and it was not for him to shy away from this ultimate act of sacrifice.
Raster was to think.
"Time's up!" A voice nearly identical to his own burned through his mind, instantly clearing the clutter of his thoughts and returning him to this crèche on stormy Kamino, in one of the wings of Tipoca City. Alpha still stood there, in the same place that he was when Raster had left him and his awareness what seemed like a lifetime ago…
All that it took was a shake of his head to clear it, and the world returned to normal. Ten minutes had passed. Raster's training class was in session, and his attention was focused on Alpha, his instructor, veteran of Kamino, Ohma-D'un, and Jabiim, and one of the deadliest soldiers alive.
An observer might have found Alpha's deliberate change of tack and his ignoring of the thinking session that he had outlined for them ten minutes earlier to be peculiar. Raster found it to be quite normal. That part of the lesson was over; it was time to move on to new subjects of learning. And also, of course, the ten minutes of retreat into oneself was a highly personal and individual activity, one that would be entirely inappropriate to discuss. The training program emphasized individuality. That individuality had to be kept individual. In Alpha's class session, one's thoughts could remain his own should the thinker wish it. And that, whatever else Alpha's teaching methods might have been, should not at all have been considered unusual.
"Now," Alpha stated, "it is time to discuss the recent battles of the Clone Wars." He pointed at a system on a holographic map of the galaxy that had suddenly appeared behind him as the lights in the room dimmed. The map vanished at his touch and zoomed in on the system that he had struck with his armored finger. Raster recognized it immediately.
"Kubindi," Alpha said. There were no murmurs of surprise; in fact, Alpha's identification of the system was entirely unnecessary, as everybody in the room knew what system was now slowly revolving next to their instructor's helmeted head. "Recently the target of a Republic assault led by General Bant Eerin against a Separatist base there. One of my brothers, Captain Alpha-51, was among her personal squad.
"Now, here's how the battle went." Alpha touched the holographic image of the planet Kubindi and the display zoomed in on it. "Kubindi has three moons. In a situation similar to the attack on Thule before my reawakening, one of the moons housed a shield generator that protected the planet. However, rather than staging a full-out assault of the shield generator as was done at Thule, a four-man squad of clone commandoes infiltrated the shield generator to destroy it from the inside out."
He touched the moon orbiting nearest to Kubindi and again the image zoomed in. The shield generator building visible on the moon's surface shone red, and Alpha touched it and the hologram switched to show the blueprint schematics for the generator building. "I ask you now, troopers, what should the clone commandoes, entering here -" he pointed at the back entrance door into the building "- have done right away?"
A trainee raised his hand. Alpha pointed at him, and he saluted. "Clone Marshal Commander Thire at your command, sir," he said, and Alpha returned the salute. "Sir, the commandoes should have immediately attempted to disable all security holocams and other defensive measures before proceeding, and then with extreme caution, keeping their weapon arsenals close at hand and ready to fire at a moment's notice."
"Very good, Commander," Alpha said, and Raster got the distinct impression that behind his visor, a grim smile was on his face. That suspicion was more or less compounded when Alpha continued, "Of course, had the commandoes done that, we could not have had this," and with a tiny wave of his hand, a new holographic image appeared: one of a squad of clone commandoes firing recklessly to take down B-1 series battle droids that were rushing towards them down a metallic corridor. Raster dropped his forehead into his hand, disbelieving of the sheer idiocy of the commando team.
"As you can see," Alpha pressed on, "the commandoes did not in fact disable the security holocams and other defensive systems, nor did they proceed with caution. It is believed that one of the troopers succumbed to blasterfire from the battle droids stationed in the shield generator before the rest of the squad fell victim to a laser trap that they failed to disable when they forced entry into a room containing a security console and a computer terminal. This stupidity," he said, placing contemptuous emphasis on every word, "will not be tolerated by me in my trainees. We will reenact situations such as this one, and certainly including this one, and anyone who shows the level of sheer sloppiness and idiocy displayed here will no longer train in my class. In fact, they will spend the rest of their days scrubbing floors and doing dishes here in Tipoca City. Now, would you rather be clone commanders, or clone janitors?"
There was no answer. There didn't need to be one. Alpha spoke again. "Good. Now -"
"Sir?" It was Thire again. Alpha turned his head over to look directly at him. Thire quickly snapped off a salute, which Alpha returned without comment. Thire went on. "Sir, what did General Eerin's forces do to eliminate the shield generator after the commandoes' failure?"
Alpha nodded slowly. "An excellent question, and one that I was going to address myself in a matter of mere seconds. Either way, I will address it. General Eerin, with great reluctance (or so I have heard), ordered her fleet to enact a Base Delta Zero bombardment of the shielding moon. The generator was slagged, along with the rocky crust of much of the rest of the moon. General Eerin landed her forces on Kubindi, and immediately targeted the nearest Separatist outpost…"
The lesson continued for some number of hours more. The Battle of Kubindi was covered, along with several less recent but still relevant engagements, including the Battles of Sarapin and Muunilist, and a number of Clone Wars personalities, both alive and dead were profiled: Cin Drallig, Alto Stratus, Sev'Rance Tann, Tholme, and Sagoro Autem. Shadowed holographic figures representing Jedi with lit lightsabers, the Confederacy's new advanced dwarf spider droid model, the prototype ARC-170 starfighter, and many others appeared and disappeared, Alpha explaining the properties and attributes of each one in turn. He talked about planets and systems that could rise to sudden significance in the Clone Wars, including Felucia, Saleucami, and Mustafar. The class of trainees paid rapt attention for the lesson's entire duration, and it wasn't until he was dismissed that Raster realized just how hungry and tired he was. It had been a long lesson, and it had been a long day. However, he wanted a word with his instructor, just one-on-one, man-to-man…
Clone-to-clone.
Brother-to-brother.
"Sir, a moment of your time?" Raster asked after offering up a salute.
Alpha nodded. "What's on your mind, trooper?"
"Well -" Raster fidgeted. He wasn't quite sure how to put this, but he needed to say something. "Sir, how do you separate your pertinent dreams and ambitions from the fanciful ones that do nothing but clutter your mind with nonsense?"
"What motivates you, Commander?" The question took Raster by surprise. He thought for a long moment.
"My eagerness to carry out my duty, sir," Raster said finally. "My wish to serve the Republic -"
"- in peace and in war," Alpha finished, and Raster felt that he might be smiling again behind that blank helmet visor. "To defend its citizens from harm -"
"- and to uphold its principles against defilement," Raster said, smiling a little himself. "To obey its leaders and commanders…" His voice trailed off, then he found it again, stronger and with maybe a little more confidence than before. "And to lead the armies of the Galactic Republic into battle."
"That is your function," Alpha completed the mantra. "What are these, trooper?"
Raster responded without hesitation. "The vows that I have taken as a clone trooper of the Grand Army of the Republic, sir. The oath that binds me to its will."
Alpha smiled again: Raster just knew, because he was also Jango Fett, just as Alpha was. "Am I smiling, Commander?"
Raster jumped slightly. He wasn't expecting that as a question. "I would expect so, sir," he replied cautiously.
"No," Alpha said sharply. "I'm not. Would you have smiled in my place, Commander, if you knew what I knew and had seen what I'd seen?"
"I don't know, sir," Raster replied truthfully, slightly bewildered. "I would think so; but I'm not sure how I would be different with your experiences, not knowing what they all have been."
Then Alpha did something that was quite possibly the most surprising action he had taken yet: he grabbed Raster's shoulder pauldrons and pulled the commander-in-training to him in a brotherly hug. He laughed before releasing him.
"You'll do all right, Commander," he said in a satisfied tone of voice. "You'll do all right."
Raster inclined his head in a short bow and then saluted. Alpha returned the salute, and Raster relaxed again. "Thank you, sir," he replied.
Alpha spoke again. "Commander, you asked me how to separate your dreams between the relevant and the irrelevant. Think for a moment. What do those dreams have in common?"
Raster thought. What did they have in common? They were -
"More than I could ever expect to have, sir," he decided aloud.
"Wrong," Alpha boomed. "Did you not say that what motivated you was your creed? Is that not a dream for you? It certainly is not yet reality for you."
He's right, Raster thought. Suddenly he saw his dreams in a new light, and recognized their worth. And with that, everything fell into place, and Raster understood fully who he was and why he persevered.
"They motivate me, sir," he said, with utter conviction in his heart and his voice. Alpha clapped him on the shoulder.
"Indeed," the ARC trooper said. "Well said, Commander. Well said.
"Your dreams motivate you," he went on, "and that is what makes them important. Without something to look forward to in life, you are nothing."
All of what I can dream for, and what I will dream: for without dreams, life is like an aiwha with no wings to fly on.
"Yes," Raster said slowly. "Without dreams, I am nothing."
"All you have to do -" Alpha crossed the room, bending down to turn off the holoprojector "- is understand what is real. Your dreams are not real. Can they become real? Perhaps some of them can. Can all of them? No. But they are still important, because they keep you going, Commander. Without them, you are nothing. But dreams should compliment life - what is real - and not supplant them. When that happens, you are -"
"- selfish," Raster finished, nodding. "I understand, sir."
"Good." Alpha walked towards the door, holoprojector tucked beneath his arm. "I think, Commander, that you do understand; perhaps more than you know." And with those cryptic words, he left the room, leaving Raster to his own thoughts.
He stood there for a long time, just thinking about what Alpha had said.
Above the room, in a skywalk crossing this wing of Tipoca City, Laan Shi gazed down at Unit 2249, standing there alone in the darkened room. She, too, was thinking.
Although Alpha's training was no doubt effective, and it might serve to keep his trainees alive out on the battlefield to fight at least one more campaign than they might have otherwise, what would it do to order? 2249 was a perfect example. He should be off in the mess hall eating, Laan Shi thought scornfully, not thinking about some pointless philosophical subject.
And yet she paused for a moment before she turned to stride away along the skywalk to report on the status of Alpha's training session. All you have to do is understand what is real.
As she walked away along the tube-like skywalk, a voice followed after her from the training room that she had just vacated her observation of, soft but firm as it declared simply, "My life is what is real."