Nearly a thousand years ago, Lord Hoth and his Army of Light were faced continually with formidable odds and recurring defeats. Supplies and equipment were lacking. Many said that the Republic's cause was hopeless, and that enemy would overcome. At the Ruusan campaign, every battle was crucial, ever last victory and last battleground a turning point in the war.

Hoth's conduct in those hard times has provided the model for all the Republic's citizens ever since – a model of moral stamina. He held to his course, as it had been charted in the Galactic Constitution. He and the brave men who served with him knew that no man's life or fortune was secure without peace and orderly institutions.

The present great struggle has taught us increasingly that safety of person and security of property anywhere in the galaxy depend upon the security of the rights and obligations of liberty and justice everywhere in the galaxy.

And I can say, after two years of war, that the Republic has preformed a miracle.

Our war machine has quadrupled our navy to succeeded any in the past. Our clone army fights with tenacity of blazing nova. And citizens toiled away on thousands of loyalist planets to produce millions upon millions of tanks, weapons, and munitions. A few of us are decorated with medals for heroic achievement, but all of us can have that deep and permanent inner satisfaction that comes from doing the best we know how - each of us playing an honorable part in the great struggle to save our democratic civilization. All three fighting as one Galactic Republic.

The strength of the Grand Army of the Republic is on the upgrade in this war. The Separatist leaders, on the other hand, know by now that they have already reached their full strength, and that their steadily mounting losses in fighting droids and material cannot be fully replaced. One of the principal weapons of our enemies in the past has been their use of what is called "The War of Nerves." They have spread falsehood and terror; they have started Clone Fifth Columns in our loyal army; they have duped the innocent; they have fomented suspicion and hate between neighbors; they have aided and abetted those people in criminal organizations whose words and deeds are advertised by Count Dooku as proof of our disunity.

The greatest defense against all such propaganda, of course, is the common sense of the common people - that the defense is prevailing.

And now we stand today, our enemies' back to the cliff. The objective of today is clear and realistic. It is to destroy completely the military power of the Confederation of Independant Systems and like minded government to such good purpose that their threat against us and all the Republic cannot be revived a generation hence.

We are united in seeking the kind of victory that will guarantee that our grandchildren can grow and, free from the constant threat of invasion, destruction, slavery and violent death.

At the end of Supreme Chancellor's speech, there was great uproar of cheers and applause that seemed to continue on and on for an hour. The entire Senate, Loyalists and Separatist sympathizers alike, all clapping in approval for one reason or another. The Republic was united in a war that was thought to be inevitable won by the Republic forces.

What a lot of people didn't know...we were losing the war.

We had the equipment, the ships, and the best warriors in universe fighting the Republic's cause, we could have been winning. But the question was, did the Senate have the guts. Every military strategist screamed to consolidate our forces, stop spreading the navy and army across the galaxy in a thin line in the sand against the Seps. Palpatine was afraid of alienating planets, though, and creating new allies for the tinnies. The Chancellor had the Senate united, but he was constantly walking the tight-rope between politics and war.

However, if the Republic was to survive it would have to decide whether they had the gall to play hard ball or not... ...

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"Absolutely not!" In the high reaches of the domed Republic Executive Building, Jedi Master Kota and Jedi Knight Skywalker sat before the Palptine's desk as the Chancellor voiced his disagreeances with the generals' plan, "I will not let the fate of an entire system hang in the balance of the trust of a fraction planet's people. A civil war might rang out between Dressel's nation-states that would only upset the Bothans even further than they alright are."

"Chancellor, please understand." Anakin desperately trying to make the Head of State see where whole scope of their proposal, "Our entire plan rests on have the Aegle Union help secure the Sanie command base."

"The Union's leaders have being sending low-band communication signals into space now for a year." The Senior Jedi joined in, "Ever since the Sanyassan Privateers launched their first raids into Bothan territory, the Aeglians have being begging for aid against the Sanyassans."

"Before, I was told that the Dressellian peoples welcomed the Sanyassans with open arms." Palptine looked to each of the Force-users in front of him, stoic in his features, "Now they see them as usurpers who are ruling over them with an iron fist. Gentlemen, I must take a skeptical stance point on this matter consider the lack of resources you wish to use..."

"Anything more and it would take up too much time."

"The Separatist are no doubt going to send supplies to Dressel" The young Knight related, "and reinforce the planet against an invasion. Their expecting an army, which takes a while to assemble, so they would also want to take some time to organize enough supplies."

"But if we send a few battalions and strike at the Sanies' head... ..." Kota let his words hang to full set in before continuing, "Their defenses will have no way to repeal us and with the Union's help, a major part of the battle will be won."

"Well, if it was only the Dressellians concerning me, I would concede" The Chancellor replied, "but the matter of use of the Protype... This is most displeasing... ..."

"I was equally against at first, too, Chancellor..." The Jedi Master glanced at Anakin with corner of his eye for moment, "After some time...discussing it, I came to an agreeance with my counterpart."

"The Protype was designed for maximum fire power in limited numbers." The Knight said, still as confident since he explained it first to Kota, "The cruiser only could give us the edge in the preemptive attack in space. With the Protype would increase our tactical abilities to over fifty precent than with conventional cruiser in it's place."

"Well, I see now why you needed to meet with me, personally, to approval such a operation. I would have denied it outright without a second look!" The two Jedi despaired. Anakin bowed his head, the grimace on his face plain to see. The Senior Jedi merely closed his eyes. The frustration of having to go back to the drawing board and probably miss any advantage of quick and low casualty battle... Kota took a deep breath and realized his emotions in an exhale. Palptine laced his fingers and went on, "I am not happy about this, but you did the right thing come directly to me. I am convinced."

"Chancellor, thank you." The young Knight related with a grin, standing up along with Kota. Palptine beamed up at both of them, neither Jedi sense more the cool look on his face, "I can assure you that shortly Dressel will be under our command and the Bothan Sector will be once again free of Separatist influences."

"Yes...and they will once again join the Council of Neutral Systems... ..."

"You are probably right, Chancellor" The Senior Jedi admitted, "but it is simply the Bothans way. They don't feel their apart of the greater fight."

"That appears to be so..." Palptine glanced over to the younger Jedi as he scowled in silence. Smile once again, he stood from his chair, "Gentlemen, I believe you have a battle to prepare for. I wish you the best of luck."

The Chancellor bowed to Anakin and Kota and the two quickly reciprocated the respective gestured. As the Senate's leader sank back down behind his desk, the Jedi left Palptine's office suite and hurried Republic government building halls. Quietly walking through the corridor, the two general did not speak a word to each other. They dare not glance over to one another as the passed office after office of senators and public servants. Soon, the pair reached the turolift...and as the doors closed, the they let the fur fly... ...

"Are you actually not worried about Bothan's continued neutrality, Master Kota?"

"It is not our place to question, boy." The Senior Jedi placed a bit more volume in his voice that he wanted, "Calm yourself. It could be worst."

"'It could be worst? That's your answer!" Anakin finally turned to his follow general, perturb and clearing frustrated at Koat's simple acceptance, "Aren't you concern that the Separatist would simply attack Bothawuri again if they don't join the war effert."

"*Sigh*...You don't understand, Skywalker. It's apart of there culture to watch out for their own. We should be glad at least that the Confederation doesn't have the Bothan Spynet. Then this war would turn into a massacre for the Republic."

With a anguish exhale of breath, the young Knight remain silent and glared at the Jedi Master as though it made up for a rebuttal. Kota ignored the sharp stare and try to waited for the turolift to finish moving without saying anything. They were five hundred meters above ground floor, he was in for a long wait. The Boy General kept shooting the Jedi with glares. Anakin knew his place in the Order's hierarchy, as well as GAR's, and both placed him lower then the Jedi Master. Lower, but not too low to object and speak to Kota with a little less... reverence. It was a long wait.

"Master Kota, do you view our roles as the Jedi as warriors for the Republic...?" The Senior Jedi turned a cocked an eyebrow to Skywalker, bemused and confused... ...

"I would say that we're defenders of democracy, of the rights of the people."

"But what if the people...didn't want democracy. What if they did want the Republic to exist at all?"

"Right, I understand. You see the neutral planets as unknown factors, potential allies and enemies."

"No, it's not that." Anakin replied, taking a moment to find the proper words, "We know that the Republic is the base for a peaceful and successful galaxy. The problems it has will be paved smooth down after time, but only if we all stand and protect it."

"Boy..." Kota twisted to face the young Knight with height tone, however a calming breath flowed through the general and he composed himself with serenity and folded hands, "Anakin...the Jedi do not fight for the Republic, but what it stands for. We fight for the people, to end there suffering with passionless judgment. Many times have I gone to enslaved worlds and wished to free them from bondage. I couldn't not, though...not without consequences. The same is true with forcing our neutral friends to fight."

"I don't want to force them to fight..." The Knight said with light amount shame, "I want to know that their loyal and still want peace for everyone. That's all."

"Be patient, boy." The general offered to his younger counterpart, "This war is trying. Put your trust in your men and the Force, you won't need worry about the politics." The turolift doors finally opened and two stepped out, "Come on. Lets hammer out the finer points of your idiotic and genius plan. I'd hate to get to the battlefield and found out that you wanted to wing the rest."

Anakin actually smiled and thought that perhaps working with Kota wouldn't be as hellish as he first reckoned when his old master made him aware of thus. The Senior Jedi sighed, though, as silently as he could. The young Knight valued his trust very highly, not a bad trait, but costly in the life of Jedi. A level of trust should be automatic, however Anakin was very black and white about everything. The boy either distrusted someone plain out or held the up most trust within them. Absolutes like those led to the Dark Side...Kota knew this all too well.

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"Maybe she's still at the Temple, washing her hair." The white job trooper on watch said with a grin his voice.

Carthar took another long drag from his cigarra and took a few steps to the right, then turned walked back to his original position. The young trooper was pacing on the south landing platform of Ion Barracks, one open to the public if that public was allowed entry to the base's airspace. The clone was on his fourth cigarra, it's tabac brothers spent and stomped flat on the ground along his pacing path. Billie was late for their agreed upon RV and the young trooper hoped that they didn't need to scrub the planned excursion through Corusant's "hotspots". That's how the blue girl described the places the two planned to visit. Carthar thought it was an odd way of talking, the female Jedi countered that using terms like rendezvous and sitrep were equally as uncharacteristic terms for most. Whatever the case, it seemed that Billie was coming...and after all the trouble of getting some leave for the clone. Carthar assumed that it caused some trouble, at least. The Jedi girl was so confused about command structure that Carthar was little puzzled as to her place in the army. A slight warmth touched the clone's finger, the smoldering ended of the tabac roll burned down to the flesh and Carthar moved the cigarra to his other before taking another puff.

"Ner vod, you should look at the bright side of this..." The sentry trooper spoke up again as Carthar fidget from foot to foot, "You won't have to pay for her dinner!"

"Could you do me a favor, Brother, and jump off the edge of the platform..."

The clone on watch braked a laugh through his helmet's speaker as the young trooper drop his cigarra to ground, grinding his black shined boot across the roll. Carthar was in the same red fatigues that Billie had met him in and that somehow didn't seem fitting. But what choose did the clone have? His armor? White plastroid plates did not seem to friendly of an impression. Reaching a hand into his pocket, Carthar started toying around with his lighter, knocking it against the row of credit chips also in the pocket. Sergeant Ram had actually gave the clone some credits and told younger clone to "live it up". The young trooper didn't ask where the ARC got them, surmising that they were apart of some private stash he assembled.

Suddenly the sound of repulsorcraft engine rang in the distance and Carthar looked up to see a speeder zooming closer in the day's fading light. The young trooper glance back to the sentry clone who remained relaxed, his head bobbing as he confirmed with the barracks' air-control. It appear that was no trouble as the airspeeder moved gentle, but swiftly nearer to the platform pad. Carthar could see the craft more clearly now as the setting sun limited rays shone against the speeder in a orange hue. Round and with large fin on the bottom, the airspeeder hadn't a closed cabin and was open to the wind. The young trooper made out two faces, a beige and a blue one.

"Spoke too soon, huh, Jump Boy?" The sentry related with a smile. The airspeeder made a quick arch and pull up next to the platform, letting Billie dash onto the pad and over to the young trooper.

"Carthar!" The blue girl exclaimed, stopping in front of the young trooper out as she panted. The clone blinked as he looked Billie up down, feeling a little overwhelmed. The Jedi was dressed in stiletto heeled boots, form-fitting black pants, and stylish looking short sleeved silver tunic. Billie smiled, "I'm so sorry. I had a ton more paperwork at the Temple's Infirmary then I expected and I had to run back to my quarters to get ready...*sigh*"

"Um, it's...It's fine, really." Carthar was grinning like idiot, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. The girl could have smacked him in the face and the clone wouldn't have mind at that moment.

"It does matter!" The cyan-skin girl looked to a crono strapped to her wrist, "We should have plently time to go to everything, but only if we go now! Come on!"

"Have fun, Jump Boy..." The young trooper looked over his shoulder to the sentry clone as Billie dragged him to the waiting airspeeder.

The Zabrak driver at the helm of craft waited, anxious to get going as a cigarra smoldered in his lips. Carthar gave the driver a once over as the Jedi girl pulled him into the speeder. The horned man was in his mid-40's, wearing a blue fatigue jacket and his face was covered in the traditional Zabrak tattoos of thin intersecting lines. Billie and the young trooper took a sit behind the driver, the blue female pulling up near the Zabrak pilot and telling him wear to go. The horned man took a drag from his cigarra and pulled it from his mouth as small columns of smoke poured from his nostrils. He gazed at the two, a scrutinizing eye on Carthar specifically. The Zabrak driver didn't say a word and turned back to helm, but the clone was unease by his short stare.

"Don't mind him, Carthar" Billie related in concern for the trooper, rubbing his arm gently, "People are just on use to clones. Their still surprised seeing face behind those helmets."

"Yeah..." The Jedi girl's touch sent warm chills -honest truth- up and down Carthar's arm.

Let the chakaar look and get an eye full, The young trooper thought with a slight smug, This girl is with me and we're going out. And we're... friends... ...

The clone could at least pretend to Billie was something a little more, and nobody really had to know the whole truth. As the airspeeder lifted away from the platform and into the darken skies, Carthar watch the girl at side from the corner of his eye. The wind blow her short green hair around her head as a smile crept up her face. A shiver ran down Billie's limbs and she pulled up close to the young trooper. Being near to the female Jedi was just enough for Carthar, the clone would think as he wrapped an arm around the blue girl, protecting her from the cold. Being friends was just enough... ...

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Staring to his foggy reflection, Ram whipped the mirror clear with his hand to find the image of his face with jaw drapped in foamy white. His tool in grasped, the ARC slid the razor attached end across his foam covered skin in quick succession, again and again, until half of his face was cleared of white. Retracting the razor and placing it into the water filled sink in front of him, Ram check his reflection of any stray stubble before attacking the other side of his face. Aasia suddenly strolled into the refresher as though she owned the place. In actuality, it was just her quarters in Kota's militia headquarters. The clone knew she had some place to call home on Kuat, the woman's homeworld, still living with her parents. Though that was almost three years ago, before the war and before their impromptu marriage. Impromptu divorce, as well. The ARC stopped his shaving and watched Aasia bent over in her underwear as she scoop up her scattered clothes across the refresher's floor. She wasn't in anything too exciting, boxer briefs and a sports bra, but it was worth the look as far as Ram was concerned.

"Are you just getting that gathered up?" The clone posed with amused, bemused smirk, "The laundry droid's being in the hall for near an hour now!"

"I've got it under control..." Aasia huffed her answer, pulling out damp towels from a hamper near the shower.

"How are you going to lead men into battle if you can't organize your refresher, huh?" The major rolled her eyes made for her main living area, but halted by sink something catch her eye.

"That's my shaving cream!" She cried, dropping the clothes and grasping a cylinder canister from atop the sink, "That better not be me razor, too!"

"Force, no. You never clean the damn thing." Ram swished his metallic tool into the pool of water before him and then reach up to scrap the remaining foam from his face, "Out in the field, your lucky to get hot water. I don't much care if the stuff meant for ladies' legs or chaps' chins, better then nothing."

"Missed a spot... ..."

The clone squinted at his reflection, turn his face about to scan for what the girl was talking about. Suddenly, Aasia pulled the canister up to the ARC's ear and let loose a torrent of foam. Ram yelped -in a soldierly way- knocked the major's weapon from her hand as she laugh, giggled, and nearly wept at the foam covered clone. Aasia beat over cackling, leaning her back against the wall in fear that she fall. The clone grabbed a towel and started whipping the foam off his ear, his neck, his chest...Ram surmised that he'd probably need to shower to get all the shaving cream from his hair and body. The woman was still laughing at him. The ARC hurled the towel at her, hitting Aasia squaring the cheek. She raised her arms in defense, but was still laughing.

"You still throw like a girl! Ha ha ha ha!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Ram walked over to the shower and turned on the spigot with a switch of a button, "I was trying to get ready to meet some people tonight. Thanks to you, I'm going to have wet hair when I see them."

"Who are you meeting?" The major inquired, her cackling quickly dying away.

"People."

"I don't want your cloak and dagger bit, Ram. Tell me." The elite clone glance back at Aasia now frowning expression. He turned back to the spraying water raining beside him, placing his fingers under his and adjust the shower temperature controls.

"I've got two men bed ridden and in need of major care. Their not dying, but you know what happens to clones who can't fight... ..."

Aasia knew full well what happened to comatose and severely disabled clone troopers and her face sank. They were cut off, no medical care, and let to die or be picked up by some under-fund charity group...or worst...Army Weapons Research Department for "testing" equipment. It seemed criminal, something that will hunt the Republic far into the future, it was the truth. There wasn't much one could do and it hurt Aasia, just like how it hurt that the war kept killing millions of innocents. But that was what war has become and they could do nothing but ride it out.

"It's a bad part of town where we're meeting..." Ram related, turning back to the female major, "I can't check my blaster from the quartermaster, so I'll need it. You still have it?"

"My footlocker...under my bed... ..."

Leaving the shower run, the ARC walked into the conjoining room and to the bed, kneeling at it's base. Reaching an arm under the mattress, Ram dragged a large plastroid box out until it's length, fully out from underneath. The elite pushed the box's lid up and started rummaging through the assortment of clothes, military kit, smaller containers. Finally he found the desired item and pulled it out of the footlocker, taking it over to the nearby table. The clone set the wooden box atop the table, flicking the locks up and lifting the lid. The smell of cut oak hit Ram's nostrils as the clone glanced over the contains of the box. A variety of weapon attaches and kit, along with cartons and cartons of ammunition, all positioned around a central piece: A Czerka Arms SPR100 Special. It was a double-barreled, break-action slugthrower rifle with a custom shorten barrels and sawed down stock. An overall length of just over 60 centimeters, it was hand held cannon. If that wasn't enough overkill, it sported an array of different slugs that ranged from blowing holes into tanks to marking organic targets with transponder beacons. The only problem the clone had was finding a big enough coat to conceal the weapon.

"Have you been messing with this?" Ram asked as he picked up the SPR Special, opening the breech and looking down the barrels.

"So, you want me to clean my razor and not your gun." The girl glared at the ARC, but with a smile on her lips, "When you left that with me...I really did thing you weren't coming back."

"Ha...I'm surprised you didn't sale it."

Satisfied with the gun, Ram closed the beech and replaced it in between attachments in the box. He walking up to Aasia, the clone glided his hand to the back of her neck and gave the major a little kov'nyn, a head-butt or Keldabe kiss. The two kept their foreheads together for a few spare seconds longer, eyes closed as they too in the moment. They separated and looked to each other, eyes locked as they touched one another's arms. Aasia would break the silence... ...

"You stink. Take a shower."

Ram smirked and slipped past her, to the refesher. The girl was stood, limp, in the conjoining room as she listen to sounds of raining water was interrupted and the shower door slid closed. Aasia had the sinking feeling she had before, when her clone ex had disappeared without a trace a month ago. Was he planning something like that again? Would he try to take those two bed ridden troopers with him? Was he going to leave Aasia behind and not even tell her...again... ...for good... ...

She didn't want to think about it.

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Flashing in a diversity of colored lights and holographic letters, the Uscru Entertainment Distict was a beam beacon that separated the fairer parts of Coruscant from the planet's vice filled Underworld. The Galaxies Opera House beamed in Uscru as an shining example of where crime empires ended and the cultural, Senate-loving Republic began on the capital world. That isn't to say that there wasn't any sin in the district and it was equally as dangerous as the lower levels of Nar Shaddaa. Slythmongers pushing drugs, gangsters bargaining deals, lonely man making not-so-legal arranges with alien and human females for some...recreation. The Uscru Distict was far from being pure.

There was hundreds of night clubs in Uscru, but only one was packed every night. The Breakdown, a dancing club and bar that brought in a crowd close to a thousand, mostly youths. Where the Outlander Club provided a gambler his games and buzzing drinks, Breakdown was all about the blasting Core Drive, Glimmik, and fast beat Leap-jump for young Coruscanti ears. The entire club's focus was on dancing. Giant dance floors that cast bright colored shapes and symbols across their surfaces where placed on different levels of the club. A central DJ was placed heart of the dance floors, sitting in a grand control-hub that projected performance lasers, gleaming colored lights, and dancing holo-characters. Hundreds twisted, bend, and hopped to the DJ's beat on every floor, decked out in wilded fashions that ranged to over the top to bordering public-nudity laws. Overhanging balconies offered sitting and tables, allowing dance-tried youths to relex, watch the massive crowds, and order watered down, over priced beverages to thirst club-goers.

Jos Vondar was overwhelmed by it all, sitting by one the overhangs as sipping a Sonic Servodriver from a tall glass. Alone at the several chaired table, Vondar had insisted that he had the sitting privately to himself. That wasn't a easy task in the Breakdown -a thousand people have to sit somewhere- but great thing about going to a place in the Uscru Distict was if you had enough credits you basically got whatever you wanted. Vondar wouldn't have normally mind the company, though. The man eyed a couple of Togruta girls that he definitely wouldn't mind sharing the table with. Unfortunately though, Vondar was on business meeting...as far backhanded deals could be called business meetings.

"Vondar" Someone touched the man's shoulder and he turned to meet them. Vondar grinned as he stood up to meet the mandalorian clone Ram, grasping the elite warrior's hand between his palms as he gave a good shake. The clone was out of his usual armor and in long khaki brown jacket that reached to his knees, with dark plain clothes underneath. A navy blue scarf was bunched around his neck, but what put Vondar off was his wet hair.

"What happened to you, Ram?" Vondar posed over the Glimmik music, "Meet a cute looking Mon Calamari along the way!"

"Your always the funny man, Vondar."

"So where's our dates?" The clone pointed across the table and up above the adjacent balcony. There, a long series of windows sectioned off another higher overhang that looked down on the rest of the club. Most, however, had their blinds closed.

"VIP" Ram replied, dropping his arm back to his side, "They wanted a look at us before we talked."

"Well that's a good idea..." A hint cynicism could be felt in Vondar's words, "Why didn't we have that good idea, again?"

"We're the ones who need there trust, so just stay frosty and come on." The mando clone lead the why and man followed loyally, Servodriver drink in hand.

"Oh, I'm frosty. I'm a ice berg. I'm a Rhen Var with a head and legs."

"... I really forgot how annoying you are... ..." Vondar almost didn't hear the elite's comment under the blasting music.

Ram and company soon reached a turbolift on the other balancy, one that lead up to VIPs above. A brown-furred wookiee blocked the lift entrance as she held bright colored drink in her paw. Vondar could tell that it was a female by the wookiee's body shape and smaller size...for the species, that is. That didn't stop the man from swallowing a lump down his throat as nerviously watched the looming wookiee roar something at Ram in that animal cry-type lanuage. The neon pink drink really did not look right in her giant hairy hands. The clone didn't seem in the slightest uneased, though, as he casually try to alight to meeting the people up in the VIP without outrightly saying it. The wookiee's noise seemed to sniff as she scowled at Ram, unwilling to budge.

"Look...We're here to make a deal." The elite clone saying it straight, poking the furry wall in the chest. Vondar was starting to get that bad feeling as he watched, agape, as Ram continued agitate the wookiee, "We trusted you this far, now I want some back."

"Roooaaaaaaaaarrr!" The mass of hair and muscle barked, Vondar swallowed another lump. Suddenly her head tilted to the side, as though listen to someone beside that didn't exist, and then the female wookiee stepped aside. The man was astonished and was so caught up in that moment that he almost didn't get into the turolift in time before the doors closed.

"By the Force, Ram!" Vondar exclaimed to clone as the lift rose, "I thought she was going to tear our heads off!"

"Wouldn't be the first time you met a girl who didn't like you."

"Yeah, but I don't think giving her a pearl necklace and buy her drink would better her mood."

"Someone has a scanner up there and told the wookiee to take our blasters. They must have been listen because they then told her to let us pass."

"Hopefully they can scan to tell that I'm not caring anything deadly, other than my charm."

"Vondar, your charm is deadlier than a Star Destroyer. So can up there, well ya."

The turolift stopped and the doors slipped apart, revealing a long soft purple-walled room with dark leather couches. As the two entered, Vondar could see that all the couches were facing the blind covered window that looked out onto the club floors. They were empty. Against the corner of the room, a mini-bar was positioned, bending with the sharp angle with glasses and bottles placed behind it. A young man was stand, also, behind the mini-bar. He was definitely not club staff. It's long blond hair was gathering a ponytail at the back of his head, with a shortly trimed beard and a distant look in his eyes. The scowl on his lips meant business, though.

"Are you our esteemed host?" Vondar asked with a smirked, the clone beside him tapping his elbow into his side.

"No." The voice came seemingly out of nowhere. Vondar twisted his head around the room before caught site another person sitting in the conjoining corner. With graying hair and a polished tan bantha leather jacket, the man had remained one of no one in particular. He was a non-descript, nothing jumped out truly, and it seemed as though he had just random wondered into the VIP and sat down. The older man went on, "I'm the man with credits your looking for. So I'm left with question of why you need hefty cash flow."

"I have a few friends in need of operation." Ram said carefully, take a few steps to the middle of the room. Vondar just realized that the older man was sitting on purpose in the corner he took up, having dragged one the mini-bar stools to the position. There, the man was totally invisible to the to anyone looking through the VIP's large window, hadn't it the blinds that covered it.

"I can only imagine an clone having fellow clones as friends." The older man folded his arms in front of him and gave the mando elite a cold stare.

"One would imagine... ..."

"So this here most be your medical advisor" The man nodded a glance to Vondar as he walked up beside Ram, "Jos Vondar. Formally a surgent of RMSU-Seven, resigned back to Corellia and got married to Tolk le Trene a former nurse. Your uncle is an Admiral and you were praised a hero at the Battle of Dronger for killing an enemy spy."

"Do you also have my blood-type?" Vondar retorted with a snicker.

"Type Oh Positive." The blond youth joined in.

"Well, let it also be on the record that I my favorite color is teal and that I voted for Garm Bel Iblis in the last election."

"Cute." The older man proclaimed dryly. Vondar could see the clone beside him clench his jaw in an effort not to sigh as his eyes rolled back for a moment, "But now I like to get to the specifics of little get to gather. You no doubtingly bring the technical specs for the job."

The older man rose up and made over to the mini-bar. Vondar cocked an eyebrow as he noted just how short the man was. He wasn't dwarf by any means, but he was at least half a head shorter than anyone in the room. The air around the older man still unease Vondar, projecting an atmosphere with his stride that told everyone that he meant business...in more ways than one. Walking behind the counter, the man reached down behind the bar.

"Can I care anyone for a drink?" He asked, "This VIP and the drinks my treat, so don't worry about going all out."

"We do have juice, too." The blond youth added, looking to Ram.

"No, I'm fine." The clone stepped up to a stool and plopped down at the mini-bar, Vondar moved to sit next to him. The elite reached into his coat and fiddle around in it with his, prompting the blond man to tense up and move his grip to his belt. Ram produced a small carton of cigarras, "Do you mind if I smoke?" The youth relaxed, but blinked at the clone as though he asked for permission to put the cigarra rolls up his noise.

"No, son... ... Go ahead." The older man frowned as he watched Ram pull out a lighter and flick a flame up, kindling a tabac roll between his lips. With a quick drag, the clone puffed out a cloud from the side his mouth and away from the others, a small consideration for the other three. Their elder host, though, continued to watch and frown as he ranged his hands running around a bottle he held. It was not disgust or anger, Vondar noted, but sadden disapproval, "There isn't a lot who take up that unhealthy habit. It's odd that a GAR boy would pick it up."

"... ..." The elite stared back at the older man with that emotionless gaze Vondar was very familiar with. Ram never like it when people commented on his smoking.

"So, what exactly to you have back there?" Vondar asked with a grin, hoping to break the awkward silence that was settling between the two, "If you got some Sullustan gin, that would ease this pour soul."

"No, I don't think we do..." The blond youth related, kneeling down and looking thoroughly through the mini-bar. He seemed to had speedily catch on to Vondar's attempt to smooth out the mood, "Ah! Here. Tihaar...I've always liked this."

"Tih-ar?" The younger host place a translucent bottle with a syrupy toned, clear liquid inside onto the counter. It wasn't often that Vondar met a drink that he hadn't met previously, so his interest was picked, "Is it a good year?"

"Every year is a good year for Tihaar." The old man retorted with a smirk. The blond poured a glass half full of the Tih-whatever and slid it over. Picking it up and examine it once over, Vondar hesitated...before downing the whole glass. His thoat screamed with fire, and as the alcohol hit his stomach Vondar could his head start to spin.

"... Very smooth... ... Another?..." The two hosts both laughed, the blond more a sympathetic snicker as the elder man barked at Vondar's raspy voice and watering eyes.

"Tihaar. Mandalorian liquor." Ram alighted as he blow a trail of smoke from his mouth, "Some say it has all the characteristics of Mandos. I'll never touch the stuff myself, though."

"It's slashes and burns at you!" Related their very amused elder host, "Plus it knows you out in a instant. That's definitely a Mando'ad! I only use it to get to sleep."

The blond smirked at Vondar and refilled his glass, then poured one from himself. The clone reaffirmed his statement when he was offered the spirit, waving his and taking another long drag on his cigarra. Vondar resolved himself to carefully nurse the Tih-drink as he revealed a datapad from his person and dropped it on the bar. A hologram jumped up from the pad, forming a blue image with a roundish shape and a wrinkled surface. A human brain... ...

"From what Ram was able to send to me, the damage on the two is focused around here" Vondar pointed to an area on the holo right above the brain stem. Drink in grasp, he positioned his hands either side of the indicated location, "in the cerbral and primary motor cortexes. To put it simply, the two clones can think and...dream but can't wake up. One of them, I'm told, isn't breathing on his own."

"Downs... ..." Ram whispered aloud, rubbing his forehead into his wrist as he held his tabac roll aloft. The older man watched him.

"Well even that won't be a problem...if this idea of mine works."

"I was under the impression that an injury like that was untreatable." Vondar looked at the blond youth, starting to get frustrated with all the interruptions.

"Well, I say it isn't. With right surgeon, equipment, and a deep pocketed sponsor, we can save these boys."

"By equipment, you mean standard cybernetics, right?"

"And by standard, you mean legal cybernetics...yes." The medical expert took a sip from his Tib-yeah and went on, "Standard for clones...no..."

"As odd as that may sound, I do have people who keep up on the medical sources." The elder host related, leaning a little to Vondar, "I've never heard of this before."

"I would say that the procedure is rather new, considering I just invented it." Vondar answered as honest and serious as he could. The last thing he wanted was to come off as con-man pulling one over on a mark, "The Borg Construct Aj-Six was originally designed to translate and sort out the communications between a computer mainframe and the brain. I want to use it to reconnect the areas of the clones' brains that their injuries cut off." The medical expert tapped a few controls on his datapad and the basic out line of a humaniod's head appeared around the holo brain. Then a horseshoe shaped device fading into place around the head covering most the back and the ears the humaniod, "The Aj-Six is already designed to link with human neural networks in the brain. It's just matter of retooling it for basic inter-networking, if you will."

"From what I know, this technology has been here for a while" The younger host started, "Why hasn't an similar procedure been tried before?"

"Well, really it comes down to mapping out bare minimum of neural connections needed to reroute processing paths. If one had a subject's full-mind scan, pre-injury, it would be rather simple turn that into workable information."

"But not every gets a full-mind scan, do they..." The older man retorted.

"Right, so the next logical place to start mapping is the next-of-kin, direct family members of the victim."

"Or their clone." Vondar smile and nodded. Their elder host seemed have a limit knowledge in the medical field, but was extreme intelligent and wasn't at all hampered with the amount of information to get a firm grip on the overall concept. Though, that tid-bit did not at all clarify the man's profession.

"There's a catch." The two hosts looked to Ram and then to Vondar, each an eyebrow cocked in similar inquisition. Glancing to the elite clone for a nod to continue, Vondar took big burn sip from the Tih-drink... ...

"Fifty-Fifty survivability... ..."

"Fifty-Fifty? As in one will live and one will die?" Vondar took another long sip from his glass.

"I"m saying one might live, both might live, or both might die..." Silence washed over the room as all of them let the realize of what was being said sink in. This procedure was more than just risky, it was liturally life-threatening. Vondar had the best appreciation of them all. No one had every tried it, save the spar animal experimentation, and those had been sketch in themselves.

"We all know their died if we do nothing." Ram, breaking the spell of silence, slowly blow another cloud from his lungs, "Clones don't get to live in beds for the rest there lifes, despite how short. If they can't fight, they get made up on the cheap to be able to fight. If they can't then...well way waste tax-payers money... ..."

"It's not right." The blond youth said abruptly, restraining his voice as best he could, "How could the Jedi Order allow things like this happen. And their the ones leading the Army!"

"I don't care about politics. I'm here to get my man fixed so they can stay alive!" The elder host raised his hands up to stop the elite's yelling... ...

"Now calm down, son. We're here to save your boys, too."

"Stop calling me 'son', old man." Ram spat in low growl, "I had a father once, I'm not looking for a new one..."

The comment surprised the elder host and the shock was plain on the his face. The elite clone paid him no mind, puffing away on his cigarra and not taking the tact to blow the smoke way from their hosts, bluntly letting it fly into their nostrils. Vondar swallowed another stinging sip of his drink and silently wished that Ram shut up before he crashed their party and got them kicked out. For the boys in the infirmary, at least, Ram... ...

"Let me tell you something I'm sure your thinking" Damnit! You stubborn clone bastard! The elite went on, "I know that you've been keeping your little private army on me, and I don't just mean Three-Twelve or what his name really is."

"I wondered if someone like yourself would notice being tailed" The old man actually smiled, so Vondar relaxed, "but my boys must be slipping if you figured out that it was them."

"Actually, if I hadn't known that someone was tracking my movements, I would never have caught on that I had one of yours on me. When I saw no trace of anyone checking in on my records, knew it was your boys. Only Null ARCs are that through and masterful slicers."

"I had Jaing on you. Better knowc to you as Three-Twelve. He's more of artist with slicing than a hacker."

"Well, tell him to use a different cover of when a transfers out of a unit in the next opt. Fett was teaching us that one when I was still in the army."

"Ok, wait!" Vondar mind swiled. The two had lost him several comments ago. He looked to Ram and pointed a thumb to their elder host, "Are you say that he's black ops! Unless the Senate's giving special forces soldiers pay checks with a whole lot more zeros on the end, I think we might be barking up the wrong tree."

"Son, if your fretting over the expenses, you've got nothing to worry about." The old man and his younger comrade smirked and snickered at some private joke. Ram even turned a sly smile.

"Vondar, meet Kal Skirata." Ram said, presenting his hand towards their gray haired host.

"Stars above... the Kal Skirata?"

"You've heard of me?" Skirata cocked an eyebrow at Vondar.

"I was a field surgent and treated my occasional Republic Commando. The way they talked, I thought you were some kind of myth!"

"Yes, I've gotten that reaction before." The old man laughed, but suddenly after his features became serious and thoughtful, "I guess it's fair to tell you now that I'm not truly doing this for your men, Ramikadu." Skirata pronounced Ram's full Mandalorian name with ease. Not too surprising from the legendary Mandie drill sergeant.

"Please." The blond youth popped in, "It's not that we don't care about the two in intensive care. We just can't ignore the chance to get some information on the people your working for."

"Other than Palpatine." Skirata added.

"*Sigh*... ...there's a lot I do and don't know..." The elite snuffed out his rolling into a dish on the bar counter, "What did your want to know?"

"Everything you know, Ramikadu" Skirata picked up the bottle of Mandalorian liquar and poured Vondar's glass full of the amber alcohol. The medical expert surmised that they were going to be here for a while. Ram watched their elder host with a thoughtful gaze and the two exchanged a long stare. Finally, the clone spoke... ...

"They call themselves the Hands... ..."