Chapter Text
The Havoc Marauder's Landing Platform
Dantooine
7959 CRC
18 BBY
1 year after the foundation of the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine
...
Hunter wasn’t sure why the kid had taken to following them around at first. The first time he and the Batch saw her, they thought she was a Jedi sprog that got loose to wander the Dantooine Enclave.
The impression wasn’t helped by the fact that they didn’t actually meet the kid for a full month before she was introduced to them.
It was flashes of blond hair, at first, that Hunter caught, and the sound of a Cadet breathing, which was always distinct from the sound of Adults. Children’s breaths were smaller, sometimes quieter, and whistled differently in the smaller chest cavity. This child, judging by the breathing, seemed to be nervous, mostly, so Hunter didn’t approach. Best not to spook ‘em.
Little eyes, peering around corners, pale gold like the grass. Another reason Hunter thought the kid was natborn. Short snatches of a little voice with a definite feminine tone. Hunter thought he could be forgiven for drawing the conclusion he had.
It wasn’t until Colt happened to walk by while she was doing her little stalking routine that Hunter learned differently. The Commander grabbed her by the back of the collar of her tunic and hoisted her high, bringing her into full view of the Batch.
A part of Hunter’s brain that had once been a scared cadet noted how she curled into herself at the gesture. He didn’t know how to feel about that.
“What’re you doing here, kid?” Colt sighed, “Shouldn’t you be with your age mates?”
The kid looked down, and said nothing. The silence, somewhat predictably, was filled by Wrecker.
“That’s a Clone?” The enthusiastic giant exclaimed, stepping in for a closer look. The child curled up smaller, wrapping her arms around herself.
“This is Omega,” Colt introduced, when the child made no indication of trying to speak, “She’s a Clone, a nonstandard one, like you.”
Hunter blinked at the child. The child peered up, shyly, and waved her hand with a tentative smile.
Hunter couldn’t help but smile back. The kid noticed and brightened, like a star going supernova.
Another part of Hunter’s brain sat up and took notice at that. You saw it among the Regs sometimes, the kid hadn’t been given enough positive attention for a while.
That simply wouldn’t do.
“Where are you bunking, kid?” Hunter asked. Omega’s eyes went wide, and she looked to Colt in startlement. Colt nodded encouragingly.
“Wherever I can get a quiet space to sleep,” Omega mumbled. Colt’s reassuring smile turned down into a frown, worry wrinkling the space between his eyebrows.
“Everyone else sleeps with their Batch,” Omega explained quietly, “I don’t have one.”
Hunter made a snap decision.
“You can have the guest bunk,” he told the girl, reaching out his hand, “You won’t be alone anymore.”
The girl’s eyes shined as they found his- like stars in hyperspace. Hunter was expecting a handshake- he wasn’t expecting the hug.
That didn’t prevent him from hugging back.
...
Echo wasn’t sure what to make of Omega. The kid was sweet, and gentle, and didn’t stare at his prosthetics like some Cadets did. But, well, she was a girl, and didn’t really look overmuch like the Vode in Echo’s opinion.
There were... rumors... about X1 and X2, the spec ops boys that were created in great secrecy. The Kaminoans maintained that the two’s unusual appearance was simply the result of mutations in their pods. Echo didn’t buy it; the Kammies would have killed someone that mutated, or put them in with the Bad Batch. It didn’t help that he had met Jedi Master Falon Grey before, and noticed the uncanny similarity that the two shared with him.
He wondered if Omega was from a similar situation.
It didn’t change anything, he decided, he’d still love her the same. She was his vod’ika, shared genetics or not, that was all that mattered.
He met her for the first time on the Havoc Marauder, which had been landed near the Resolute and the Negotiator for the foreseeable future. Ever since he’d been rescued by the Batch and General Skywalker And Captain Rex, he’d stayed with the Batch.
His prosthetics were still unreliable, something that near drove him to insanity at first, considering how he got them. He couldn’t keep up with the 501st in the later part of the war, trucking from mission to mission and siege to siege with no breaks. The Bad Batch, while a very successful ops squad who did many missions, had a less taxing schedule; and he could help by staying with the ship if he couldn’t run the mission.
The downside of the posting was that Fives wasn’t there, but Hunter and Rex seemed to understand, and the Batch were assigned with the 501st as often as possible. It was... it was more than Echo had expected to get, honestly, when he was being held by the Seppies.
Hunter and Wrecker had ducked into the ship with the little blonde half-pint in tow. Echo had noticed the girl following them over the last few tendays, but he hadn’t said anything. She wasn’t a danger. Echo had actually thought she was one of the star-struck Cadets too shy to talk to their heroic older brothers. There were more than a few, especially for the Batch, who didn’t have the comforting familiarity of a homogenous appearance.
That was before he was looking at her straight on, taking in all the ways she would have been different from her brothers, and something in his heart hurt. He knew what it was to be different, now, so he welcomed her to their home with the rest. He couldn’t wait to introduce her to Fives.
Fives visited daily, now that they were on Dantooine. He’d struck up a friendship with Wrecker, and liked to hover as Tech helped Echo with readjusting his prosthetics. Hunter seemed to tolerate him, and Crosshair was grouchy at him, but Cross was grumpy with everybody. He seemed to fit in well enough.
What Echo did not anticipate was his shebs of a twin falling over laughing when he introduced Omega. The girl was confused, as were the Batch, and edging into offense quickly. Luckily- or perhaps not- Fives decided to explain himself.
“Oh, Force,” wheezed, “It’s contagious! First Skywalker, then Waxer and Boil, and now you!”
Echo hit him on the head with his scomp link prosthetic. Fives kept giggling, even as he gave Echo a reproachful look.
“What, precisely, are you talking about?” Echo sighed, rubbing his face with his flesh hand.
“Adoption!” Fives wheezed, “Do you just see a lonely child one day and turn into a dad? Is there a flash of light? Do you feel the Force or the Manda or something telling you to give them a hug?”
Echo registered that Hunter looked vaguely embarrassed, but wasn’t about to draw Fives’s attention to it. The other members of the Batch looked into the middle distance to try to preserve their aloof reputation.
The effect was not helped by Omega hiding behind Wrecker and peeking around Crosshair at Fives.
“Who, exactly, is this?” She asked, dubious. Echo mentally applauded her for her good judgement.
“I’m your Ba’vodu Fives!” Fives exclaimed, and held his arms out for a hug. Omega watched him warily, and did not return the hug, though she did step out slightly from behind Wrecker.
“You’re really Echo’s brother?” She questioned quietly, looking doubtfully between the two. Echo knew he looked different from Fives now, but it still hurt to be reminded.
That feeling was assuaged by her next words, though.
“You don’t look like someone who would cover Echo’s armor with sticky notes,” she continued, nose wrinkling adorably in confusion.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Echo muttered, as Fives recoiled in exaggerated offense. Omega relaxed a little more, and giggled. Fives gave her an exaggerated wink.
“Someone’s been telling you stories!” He grinned, “But yes, that was me. He deserved it though, he taped me to the ceiling.”
Omega gave Echo a wide-eyed look, and he shrugged. He had a misspent youth.
“But now,” Five grinned wider, “I can teach you these things! Do you know what this is?”
He was holding up a whoopee cushion. Echo regretted everything.
...
Wrecker liked Omega. She was nice, and tiny, and she helped him find Lula when Lula went missing.
Lula was a very adventurous tooka doll. Just the other day they’d found her in a turret on the Resolute! Wrecker had no clue how Lula moved around so much, but Omega was always up for some Lula-hunting, and Wrecker enjoyed the chance to spend time with his vod’ika.
He was a bit surprised, then, when he went to find her for another round of ‘Find my Lula’ and saw her curled up under the wing of the Havoc Marauder. It looked like she was trying to hide. Why was she hiding?
She looked sad. Wrecker stopped, and tried to be quiet as he figured out why she would be sad.
He knew he wasn’t the best at talking to others- sometimes when he tried to make Tech happy he actually made his brother sadder. He couldn’t do that to Omega. Tech was a grown-up, and he understood Wrecker didn’t do it on purpose. Omega was just a kid.
He stood paralyzed for a minute before a figure appeared out of the shadows.
“Is everything alright, child?” the girl in dark robes asked, kneeling to Omega’s height. Wrecker didn’t recognize her, but she looked near-human, with silvery skin and hair and hooded robes in a shade of dark red. She seemed a little older than Omega.
“Yes,” Omega sniffled, which didn’t really convince Wrecker. It didn’t seem to convince the girl either, as she shifted to sit beside Omega.
“I’m Merrin,” the girl introduced herself, “I’m Master Junda’s apprentice. What’s wrong?”
Omega sniffled again.
“There’s no one else like me,” she muttered, “Even the Batch aren’t as different as me.”
“Different isn’t necessarily bad,” the girl rebutted gently, “I’m different from all the Jedi, but I’m still one of them. Just because you’re different from everyone else doesn’t mean you don’t belong.”
“But I’m the only girl!” Omega wailed, “I don’t even know if I’m from the same donor!”
“What does that matter?” The girl replied, “I’m an ancestral enemy of the Jedi, or my people are anyway, but they took me in as their own. I can’t see how it would be different for your brothers.”
Omega turned wide eyes to the girl.
“You don’t look scary,” she said doubtfully.
“Oh, I have my moments,” the girl replied mildly, “Nightsisters are taught how to make people afraid from a young age.”
“What’s a Nightsister?” Omega asked curiously.
“A member of a Dark Force cult centered around the emotion of fear and its permutations,” the girl told her, “I was rescued from what was left of my settlement by Jedi, so I decided to be a Jedi instead.”
“Good idea,” Omega nodded, and swung her feet.
“I thought so. It’s hard, sometimes, being different, is all,” the girl said. Wrecker was a little sad. He knew how hard it was to be different.
“You should come meet the Batch,” Omega told her, “We’re all different too.”
Wrecker thought that was a great idea! He popped up from behind the wing and startled both Omega and the girl.
Oops.
...
Tech looked up at the boisterous sound of Wrecker’s voice, pitched even louder than the usual decibel level. He must be quite enthusiastic about something.
Wrecker burst into the shuttle, dragging Omega and another adolescent female with him. Tech blinked, and tilted his head.
The unknown female was humanoid, with pale skin and hair nearly the same color. She appeared to possess some vestigial traits; her fingernails were ever so slightly clawed, and her eyes a tad sharper than human norm. There had been Zabrak in her ancestry, probably, likely within the last three generations.
Human-zabrak mix. Hmmm. Humans and Zabrak rarely hybridized; viable offspring from such a pairing was rare, and were often infertile. Third-generation descendants were even rarer.
She was pale, and displayed slight signs of vitamin D deficiency in the keratin of her nails, at the very tips. She had likely grown up on a world with little sunlight or access to fish, and moved here within the last three to six months, depending on the rapidity of her nail growth and the immediacy of her remedying her nutritional deficit.
Iridonia was known for its sunlight, so likely she was not Iridonian. The other major population of Zabraks were from Dathomir.
Hmm. Dathomir. An insular planet with variable sunlight, a populace of humans and Zabraks, and a known force-tradition.
She was Dathomiri, an adolescent Nightsister by the looks of it.
The girl had started to make introductions while Tech was analyzing. Hunter was smiling at her, and Wrecker beaming cheerfully. Echo was extending his hand to shake while Crosshair glowered slightly less evilly than usual in the background.
However, Tech had a burning question.
“What is a witch doing on Dantooine?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.
The room’s inhabitants froze and he blinked.
“I’m a Jedi,” the girl said slowly, screwing up her face as Hunter tried to subtly usher Omega away from her.
“You are a Nightsister,” Tech said, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a Jedi! I’m not a Nightsister anymore!” The girl insisted, her lip wobbling, “How did you even know I was one?!”
Tech blinked again.
“I thought it was obvious,” he said, somewhat absently. Something was wrong. His brothers had all put hands to their sidearms and started to back away from the girl. They had been friendly just a moment ago.
Though it pained him to admit it, Tech wasn’t the best at social situations. He had a hard time understanding people. He blinked again, and tried to parse out the conversation.
His brothers were genial, and introducing themselves. Omega was standing next to the girl without problems. Tech had spoken, and his brothers were tense after.
“Why are you reaching for your weapons?” He asked his brothers. No sidearms had been drawn yet, but Omega was almost entirely behind Hunter.
Hunter gave him a look that suggested he was not all there. Rude.
“She’s a Nightsister,” his captain repeated at him slowly, “Like Ventress.”
Tech blinked.
“I was referring to her genetic makeup,” he said slowly, “Not her current religious practices. She is here, in Jedi robes, and being healed from malnutrition and vitamin deficiency. She’s not even an adult. She’s not an enemy, Hunter.”
The girl’s lip wobbled more, and her eyes started to fill. Tech tried to step closer and pat her shoulder in comfort, as none of his brothers seemed inclined to, but was startled when the girl all but threw herself at him and hugged him, starting to sob.
Tech would never understand people.
...
Crosshair had been a bit taken aback when the witch started crying. He snorted and returned to cleaning his sniper rifle. Emotion served no purpose in the field.
Tech watched them all, wide eyes made wider than ever by his gimmicky magnification goggles, as the girl sniffled into his arms. Crosshair almost felt sorry for him. Tech didn’t understand emotion sometimes.
Crosshair, on the other hand, did understand it. He just didn’t care.
Omega stepped forward after a minute and gently hugged the girl, who was winding down from crying to merely sniffling every once in a while. Tech would probably have to clean his armor. Crosshair didn’t envy him.
Hunter seemed torn, but took his hand off his sidearm and stepped forward. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, but reached out to pat the girl’s shoulder anyway.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said, a little unsure, “I’m sorry. I’m Sgt. Hunter, what’s your name?”
“Merrin,” The girl sniffled, “I’m not a Nightsister anymore. I’m Master Junda’s Padawan.”
“Nice to meet you, Merrin,” Hunter said, “I’m sorry we overreacted. We’re friends with Rex and Cody, and they had a lot of bad memories with Ventress.”
Merrin nodded, a little subdued.
“It’s alright,” she murmured, “Normally my Master is with me when I meet new people. A lot of Jedi had bad run ins with Nightsisters during the War.”
“It was wrong of us to make assumptions,” Hunter said firmly, “You’re one of us. You should be treated like it. Who’s your Commander, kid?”
Merrin shrugged.
“My Master did diplomatic and espionage work during the war,” she said, “She was never assigned a legion. I spend some time with the Iron Battalion though.”
Crosshair grimaced. Kestis was a menace and Commander was far too soft on him and his minions. Merrin needed a steadier environment than that.
Hunter tilted his head in thought.
“I’d like to train you a little, to make up for our misunderstanding,” he said evenly, “Want to learn to shoot a blaster?”
Merrin’s eyes lit up. Crosshair went to get the blasters, and if he was smiling a little, no one pointed it out.
...
Eight Months Later
...
Echo smiled softly as he watched Crosshair gently adjust Merrin’s grip on her blaster. Omega bounced next to her eagerly, waiting her turn to shoot. Merrin let off several shots in slow but steady cadence, and then put the blaster on the table in front of her. Hunter called the range safe (1), and Wrecker charged forward to retrieve the target.
“Three bullseyes!” He roared, carrying it back to the group, “Good job!”
“My turn!” Omega bounced, after Merrin had suffered through Wrecker’s enthusiasm and Crosshair’s somewhat more subdued praise.
Merrin still had difficulty accepting positive attention. Her Master, Master Junda, and the Batch were working with her, and the Iron Battalion and their troublemakers were an invaluable source of advice. Wrecker especially was always up for giving her a hug and a word of encouragement.
Omega was readying to take her place at the firing line when a voice startled them.
“... Arla?”
It was Prime, standing with his son at the edge of the range, looking like he’d seen a ghost.
They all blinked at him.
“Do you know anyone named Arla?” Prime asked, more urgently, stepping toward Omega. Hunter drew back to stand next to her, and the rest of the Batch gathered around in a protective stance.
Prime stopped, a wounded look flashing across his face so briefly that Echo wouldn’t have caught it without his enhancements. He drew himself up, took a breath, and then knelt some distance away from Omega, though he was looking right at her.
“What is your name?” He asked her, keeping his hands in sight. Echo tilted his head in curiosity. It was still novel to see Prime taking an interest in clones. More novel still for him to take such pains to be nonthreatening about it.
“I’m Omega,” the girl was still hiding behind Hunter’s leg, “I’m a member of the Bad Batch.”
Another odd flicker of dismay crossed Prime’s face.
“Bad Batch?” He repeated, voice carefully controlled.
“We have beneficial mutations, so the Kammies didn’t decommission us,” Hunter said bluntly.
Prime... flinched, but nodded.
“You look a great deal like my sister did, when she died,” Prime told Omega, who was still pressed against Hunter’s side.
Omega tilted her head.
“But I’m a clone of you,” she said, “Aren’t I?”
Tech adjusted his glasses and cut in.
“Not necessarily,” he mused thoughtfully, “The X project has a different donor. Omega is likely a full copy of a genome, a non-modified Clone kept as a living backup, not necessarily of Fett.”
Echo blinked, and frowned.
“Right,” he sighed, “Tech, I’m going to have to access the Kaminoan files. I’ll need you to help me translate.”
Tech nodded, and turned to Hunter.
“We should have Omega’s files within the day,” he reassured their Sergeant.
Hunter nodded.
“See to it,” he ordered, and turned to Prime.
“We’ll let you know the results if we deem it necessary,” Hunter continued, and gestured for them to leave in unison.
Echo watched Prime, mostly. Boba wasn’t as much of a threat. Prime didn’t try to go after them, though. It mostly looked like he was trying not to cry.
Odd.
...
Tech looked up from the records that Echo had pulled up on Omega. Echo could find nearly anything in the Kaminoan database with his scomp link, but couldn’t translate the records, which were written in Kaminoan code.
That was where Tech came in; Tech was one of the only people on Dantooine conversant in Kaminoan enough to translate and decode at the same time. It was an arduous process; Echo would pull up a document on the terminal, Tech would verify it and then manually convert the information to Basic.
It was tedious, but doable. After all they were doing it to help Omega.
“I’ve retrieved Omega’s records,” Tech informed Hunter, “You will want to get Fett for this.”
Hunter nodded, and Tech quietly treasured that his commanding officer didn’t question his assessment of the situation. His old commanders never trusted his judgement like Hunter did.
The rest of the Batch were sitting around the room badly pretending not to be interested in the records when Hunter led Jango and Boba in. They sat quietly and turned their attention to Tech.
“Omega’s donor is one Arla Fett,” Tech said bluntly, “Your sister, Prime.”
“How?” Prime said, voice flat but hopeful, “She died when I was nine.”
“When the Kaminoans created Boba, they didn’t take DNA directly from you,” Tech read off the pad, “They found a blood sample from when you contracted Foltentian Flu at age five on Concord Dawn, and used that.”
Prime nodded cautiously.
“The reason for this being children possess more stem cells in their blood stream and less mutations in their DNA, thus increasing the chances for a viable product when genetic engineering is not a factor,” Tech continued, “But the Kaminoans also acquired a sample from Arla Fett taken during the same pandemic, when she was nine.
“At age two, Boba became very sick. The Kaminoans were concerned that you would break their contract if he died, and created Omega as a replacement. Your childhood DNA was entirely harvested for the cloning process, so they used Arla’s.”
Hunter raised his eyebrow.
“The scientists were somewhat bemused by the genetic variation in human siblings,” Tech continued, “And when Boba recovered from his illness, they kept Omega as a sample.”
Omega shuddered a bit and leaned closer to Hunter. Hunter ran his hand through her hair to comfort her. Merrin, on her other side, leaned in too.
“After your supposed death, Omega was also retained as a backup copy of your DNA. Between your clones and the genes Omega shared with you, as she is genetically your full-blooded sister, the Kaminoans would theoretically have been able to fully recreate your genetic code and then Clone more more product. However, we escaped before any experiments were past the hypothesis stage,” Tech finished.
Prime nodded, grimly, and turned to Omega.
“You are my niece, I know your name as my family,” he told her, and then swept his gaze around to the rest of the Batch, “You are all my family. I should have treated you as such long ago, and for that I am sorry. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will.”
Hunter looked thoughtful.
“What tips do you have for bedtime?” He asked. Omega and Wrecker both looked betrayed.
...
Three years later...
...
Hunter looked up as he heard a knock at the door of the Havoc Marauder. He opened it to find Jango standing outside, looking a little awkward.
Jango had made a point of visiting them regularly, and trying to build a relationship with each of the Batch. Hunter liked him well enough, the way he imagined you would like an odd cousin.
“You know the peace summit for Mandalore that was held here?” Jango asked, carefully not fidgeting.
Hunter nodded. He’d been directed to keep Wrecker away from the talks, for the sake of not causing diplomatic incident or food fight or both. It had been more than six months previous, though.
“Well, someone came for the summit that I think Omega should meet,” Jango said, “And the rest of you too. Her name is Arla.”
To be continued...