Ner Vod, My Hero

Tales of Geonosis: Ner vod, My Hero

Genre: Tragedy/Family. Fixer/OC. AU Republic Commandos.

Summary: All Fixer wants is to be a hero. The Deltas' mission on Geonosis is riding on his shoulders, and now he finally gets his chance. But at what cost?

Soundtrack: Hero by Skillet, Who We Are by Red, My Hero by Paramore, Hymn for the Missing by Red

Fixer's heart hammered against the breastplate of his armor, heavy breathing made all the louder by the static in his helmet. The arid Geonosian air and sounds of battle only served to heighten his discomfort.

His panicked face was bathed in red light from the flashing HUD. The words 'PROXIMITY ALERT' flashed forebodingly, meaning several enemies were dangerously near. But all was still and quiet at the rendezvous point. Much too quiet.

Realization flashed across his features. Slowly, his eyes drifted toward the ceiling. Aw, fierfek.

A loud, inhuman shriek sounded from above. Fixer barely had time to roll out of the way before the two Geonosian warriors dropped from the ceiling. Acting on instinct, he backed into the corner and began firing his DC-17 pistol at the closest one. It took him several shots, but the insect dropped mere inches away. The other buzzed menacingly in the air, eying him like a predator sizing up its' prey.

Fixer gulped, gripping the handle of his blaster even harder.

A light clanging sounded from behind the door nearby, followed by muffled voices.

"He should be just behind there. Get me an explosive solution, Delta."

"Already on it. Now was it red-red-green or red-green-red?"

The familiar sounds bolstered Fixer's courage. His brothers were here. Although he could hold his own in a fight, it always made him feel much more confident to have his combat-savvy brothers at his back. But now, there was no time.

The Geonosian hissed and charged at Fixer. The commando sprinted forward and spun around, catching the giant insect by the back. It struggled and clawed at him, but he managed to get it into a headlock. Now all he had to do was get his DC aimed right...

BLAM!

Boss and Scorch charged into the room amidst a plume of smoke. Before Fixer could so much as look up, Boss' retractable vibrodagger had already arced through the air and incapacitated the Geonosian.

Fixer gladly dropped the monster, giving his brothers a casual salute. "Uploading and linking to your HUD, Delta lead."

Boss was much more informal. "Hey there, vod," the commando greeted, slapping his brother on the back. "Why don't you go ahead and deactivate that security shield, so we can kick some more Geonosian arse?"

Fixer laughed. "With pleasure, sir." He made his way over to the nearest control console. Boss and Scorch took cover behind either side of the door.

His fingers darted across the keypad like lightning, slicing into the heavily-encrypted security system in a matter of seconds. Data flashed rapidly across the screen, but his photographic memory absorbed it all with ease. He smiled behind his helmet. This world of screens and codes was his natural element, far more so than any battlefield.

With the touch of a button, the shields flickered and faded. The battle was on again.

Fixer tore himself away from the screen and switched out his pistol for his DC-15 rifle. With an earsplitting screech, another Geonosian swooped down from the next room and landed in the doorway. Boss swung out from behind the door panel and took it out, shouting, "Move, move! Four-oh, sniper position. Six-two, with me."

Fixer darted forward, bringing his gun up as he ducked behind the nearest crate. Several more Geonosians began to arc toward them from the other side of the room. Fixer concentrated his fire on one, effectively bringing it down before it could get to them. He only managed to clip the wing of the other, though.

Enraged, the giant insect veered toward Fixer. Just as it was about to snatch him up, Boss took a running leap off of the crate, spun around mid-air, and slashed the bug. He landed neatly and retracted his vibroblade with a flourish.

"All in a day's work, eh vod?" Boss joked, wiping off the visor of his helmet. He made a 'move out' gesture, "Form up, Deltas. Stealthy now."

They crept up a curving staircase, revealing a room in which two Geonosians were busily sorting through ammo. Boss gave a covert nod to Scorch. The yellow-armored commando stealthily crept forward, then chucked a thermal detonator into the center of the room. All three ducked as the explosion sent dust billowing into the stairwell.

Boss whispered, "I think it's clear." He crouched and moved sideways, so that he was standing in the doorway. Suddenly, a plated arm shot forth from the dust plume and seized Boss by the chest-plate. He gripped the forearm and spun, hurling the Geonosian into the stairwell. Fixer quickly downed the insect with burst fire.

"And that," Boss panted, pointing to the Geonosian, "Is why I always go first."

Fixer and Scorch let out a good-natured laugh. Out of all four of them, Boss was certainly the natural leader; always outgoing, fearless, and naturally excellent at raising morale. The Delta in question crossed his arms and ordered, "All right, four-oh. Get to slicing that door, and let's see if we can't master stealth the second time around."

The door opened to a hangar chock full of Geonosians and battle droids. "Apparently not," Boss deadpanned.

Scorch ran into the room, whooping and throwing grenades onto the platform underneath. Boss followed next, sprinting down the ramp to clear the way. He took out Geonosians left and right as they charged at him. Fixer crouched behind the railing, content with systematically gunning down the enemies attempting to fire from the rafters.

He heard an explosion shake the hangar. On the platform below, Boss and Scorch were celebrating over the charred remnants of a Geonosian fighter.

"Subtlety, thy name sure as heck isn't Delta!" Scorch cheered.

"Amen!" Boss replied. "This, ner vode, is why I love vague orders."

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The voice of Clone Command was roaring through their helmet communicators, "Sun Fac's ship is leaving now! Get someone into that sniper position, Deltas!"

Boss brought a gauntleted hand forward, slashing the nearest droid before swiveling around to get the one behind him. In that moment's pause, he bellowed, "Delta oh-seven, sniper position!"

"I'm a little busy at the moment!" Sev hollered back. He was surrounded by four droids, who were quickly backing him into a corner. The commando removed the sniper attachment from his DC-17 and began to spray the droids with fire. Slowly, they fell one by one.

Fixer could already hear the turbines of Sun Fac's engines beginning to roar. They could not fail their ultimate objective! Not when they were so close!

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted up the ramp and set up his DC's sniper attachment. He anchored the blaster rifle to the nearest crate and fired at the cockpit. The first shot grazed the wing, and the second hit the nose of the spacecraft. Whoever was piloting the ship began to initiate takeoff procedures even more quickly.

The sounds of blaster fire ceased from the platform below. Boss, realizing his target was about to escape, ordered, "Four-oh, get off that sniper position and let oh-seven take over! Oh-seven, you've got one shot! Make it count."

Fixer rolled out of the way moments before Sev barreled in to take his place. With deadly accuracy, the commando lined up a shot for the rapidly disappearing cockpit and pulled the trigger. Sun Fac's ship burst into flames and spiraled toward the landing platform below. Fixer and Sev watched in unison as the explosion blossomed before their eyes. Eventually, it faded to reveal a smoking heap of twisted durasteel.

Scorch punched the air and cheered, "Now that's how it's done! Nothing like the smell of roasted Geonosian in the morning, eh?" Sev said nothing. He rose slowly, giving Fixer a pointed look. Fixer understood all too well. When you've spent your whole life alongside your brothers, you learn to communicate without words. He knew Sev had a thing about others taking his targets.

This felt worse than Sergeant Vau dealing out a full-blown reprimand in front of the entire GAR. To a clone, a brother's approval was what brought the most comfort; and a brother's scorn, the hardest hit. His failure to take out Sun Fac himself did nothing to lift his spirits. Taking the initiative and succeeding would have branded him a hero, but to fail like this – now that was just embarrassing.

Sev walked down the ramp without so much as a backward glance. Boss and Scorch both moved in to deal out congratulatory slaps on the back. Fixer joined them moments later, unable to resist reveling in the thrill of victory with his brothers. He was welcomed back into the fold without preamble. No mention was made of his blunder, for which he was immensely grateful.

Command radioed in a few seconds later, breaking the clones out of their post-mission camaraderie. Apparently, it would seem that their new objective was to infiltrate a nearby droid factory and slice the data console at its' very heart. Stored within this console was a set of crucial data that would incriminate the Separatists in commissioning the droid army.

Boss stood ramrod-straight and squared his shoulders. He knew the implications of this order. The Battle of Geonosis could be won by either side, but was ultimately useless unless they could find evidence that the Separatists were building an army of droids. It was, more or less, up to them now. Provided that they accepted the mission, of course.

A cool, confident female voice came over the comm system next. "Nice work, boys. Command has been watching the transmissions from your helmet-cams, and I must say, they are impressed. Wal'buir has trained you well. So, I trust you are up to the task?"

The commandos shouted in unison, "Ma'am, yes ma'am!"

The voice chuckled softly, "Good. And are we all squared away as far as the specs are concerned?"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!"

"Alrighty then, Deltas! Just remember, this was only your test run. You've got yourselves another chance to shine, so make us proud. Now move out!" The transmission ended.

Fixer smiled behind his helmet, knowing that the last statement had been for him. Mahalia Vau always had a knack for rallying troops and making everyone feel like a necessary part of the team. He switched to a private, long-distance comm channel.

Sure enough, her voice came over the speaker, "Four-oh, are you ever going to stop trying to be the knight in shining armor?" Her teasing tone took all of the sting out of her words.

"Not likely, ma'am," Fixer replied just as lightly. He and his brothers had already begun to make their way out of the base.

Mahalia's voice took on a more serious tone, "Fixer, you and I both know you're wired differently than the others. You don't have to try and be like them."

Fixer sighed loudly, grateful that no one but Mahalia could hear him from within the privacy of his helmet. She didn't understand what it was like, being born into the world with your legacy already set in stone. He could fight as well as any ordinary trooper and out-slice pretty much anyone in the GAR, but there lay the problem. Commandos weren't supposed to fight like ordinary troopers; they were intended to excel, to set the bar higher for the rest of the troops. There was no room for diversity outside of combat specializations.

But all he said in response was, "I know."

He could almost feel Mahalia's compassionate smile on the other end. He was moving through the canyons now, tailing behind the other Deltas. The battlefield was eerily quiet, and he was careful to keep an eye out for hidden threats.

Mahalia sighed, "Just…take care and don't underestimate yourself, four-oh. I should probably get back to monitoring the battle and stop distracting you from the mission." Her voice took on that teasing lilt again, "After all, I didn't invest all that time in additional training just to see you become cannon fodder."

Fixer laughed in agreement. "All right ma'am, see you back at base. Fixer out."

He closed the transmission just in time to see the first ambush.

Chaos. There was nothing but bright lights and chaos everywhere.

Fixer ducked behind the flimsy cover, rushing to reload before the training droids could come any closer. He spared a glance up at his brothers. All three were leant ever-so-slightly over the top of the barriers, firing at the targets the training simulation had provided. Fixer envied their fluid, sure movements and their natural sense of aim.

He brought his own DC-17 up and resumed firing. Each new target required him to concentrate anew just to hit it. He worked slowly but steadily, picking off the droids one by one.

Mentally, he berated himself. He was a clone of the galaxy's best bounty hunter, for crying out loud! Surely he could do better than this.

Fixer blocked out logical reasoning, trying to rely on instinct as his brothers seemed to be doing. He pulled the trigger, releasing a sudden bout of random burst fire. It flew over the heads of most droids and only nicked the chassis of others.

Fixer sighed and went back to his previous tactic.

On the observation platform, Sergeant Walon Vau turned to his adopted daughter. As usual, Mahalia was gazing out at the training sim with a dispassionate air. Her arms were crossed and her long train of black hair barely veiled the bored scowl she wore.

He sighed in frustration. How any blood relation of his could show such disdain for the life of a GAR officer, he could never fathom. Sure, Mahalia was the orphaned daughter of a very distant blood relation, but the girl could still afford to show some respect for his tutelage. The only time she ever showed any interest in training clones was to protest against his rather…intense…methods.

"Wal'buir, what's up with that one?" she asked, pointing at the trainee with green markings on his armor.

Walon's face fell even further as he turned back to the room's monitors. He brushed off the query, disappointed that Mahalia did not have anything more substantive to say. "It appears that this commando lacks the automatic reflexes and instincts present in Jango Fett's original makeup," he explained brusquely. "It's surprising, though, that he seems to be struggling with combat training."

"How so?" Mahalia asked, genuinely curious.

"He showed a remarkable ability for retaining data during flash training. Surpassed the other members of Delta Squad by far. Not to mention, he showed a higher than usual amount of dexterity in both hands."

Mahalia made an acquiescent 'hmm' noise. She looked again at the training simulator, propping up her chin with her hand.

Walon looked back at her over his shoulder. She appeared to be lost deep in thought, jade green eyes following the movement of the same trooper. Suddenly, it was as if a light came on behind her eyes. Her face lit up and she spun around to face Walon.

He knew what she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth. "No," he said firmly. "No, there is absolutely no way-"

"Come on, Wal'buir, let me train him!" Mahalia begged, "I think he could make a great slicer! He has all the characteristics – logistical, grounded mind, retains data easily, dextrous-"

"You're still in training yourself! You are much too young to assume responsibility for equipping a commando for life-and-death situations!"

"I'm twenty-one; older than he is," Mahalia pointed at the clone, "and I've got to start somewhere if I'm gonna follow in your footsteps like you wanted. I won't even interfere with his day training. I'll teach him to slice during after-hours, if he's willing."

Walon debated back and forth in his mind for a few moments. Finally, he decided that if it would get his errant spawn interested in being a clone trainer, it probably wouldn't hurt to indulge her wishes. "All right," he gritted out reluctantly.

Mahalia's face lit up with an uncharacteristic glow. She voiced her thanks before striding out the door, trying to mask the eagerness in her gait. Normally, there wasn't much use for a slicer around the Kaminoan facility; she gladly welcomed any break in the monotony.

In the privacy of the observation room, Walon Vau allowed himself the tiniest of proud smiles. He'd make a decent commanding officer out of her yet.

The Deltas finally stood up from behind their cramped cover and stretched their limbs. In the background, the blessed sound of powering-down training droids marked the end of yet another grueling day. They proceeded to the corridor at the end of the simulation chamber, exchanging the usual wise-cracks, compliments, and slaps on the back.

Fixer trailed behind with Boss, both taking in the amusing sight of Scorch teasing Sev yet again. This was his favorite part of the day; no more endless training sessions, no more mind-numbing flash training, just him and his brothers. Except, something was different about today...

"Hey hotshot, come here for a second," the harsh voice rang through the corridor, startling Fixer. He looked to the side, confused.

In an alcove stood the most intense-looking woman he'd ever seen. Long, straight black hair was tied away from an angular face. Her clothes were unremarkable – a simple pilot's jacket and black pants – but her piercing eyes glinted coldly in the light. The intimidating stare and cocky smirk were a dead giveaway – this was none other than Sergeant Vau's own daughter.

The very thought of the formidable sergeant had him rooted where he stood. His mind reeled, willing himself not to say or do anything to insult Vau's pride and joy.

She stepped into the light and stood in front of Fixer, "Yes, you. How would you feel about specializing in slicing operations, with me as your tutor? Your reports show a lot of potential."

Fixer's uneasy gaze drifted from Mahalia to his brothers. They'd halted and turned around, staring at him in frozen surprise. Must not insult her, must not insult her, must not insult her, rang the mantra in Fixer's head.

"Ma'am yes ma'am!" he replied automatically, careful to give her a crisp salute. "I thank you for this opportunity, ma'am, and will train to the best of my ability, ma'am!"

Mahalia raised a thin eyebrow. "All right, well, someone's off to a good start. Report to my quarters as soon as possible. I've got a computer terminal in there with enough programs to adequately train you." She nodded to the other commandos, "As you were." And with that, she crossed her arms behind her back and strode away.

Fixer paused and followed his brothers, unable to shake the feeling of having been hit by a tidal wave.

Not twenty minutes later, he sat in military fatigues, bathed in the iridescent glow of Mahalia's computer terminal. She stood next to him and showed him a code written down on a datapad.

"Enter that into the terminal," she commanded, pulling the datapad away after a few seconds. The code was five lines long and made up of a myriad of numbers and letters. She was testing his aptitude, seeing how much of it he could recall. The code itself was near-impossible to memorize; she herself had only managed a couple lines at first.

In only one minute, he'd flawlessly hammered out the entire code. He looked up at her expectantly, waiting for a reaction. Mahalia slouched back and let out a low whistle, visibly impressed.

"You know, I definitely think we can make this work." Mahalia smirked, "I know a good slicer when one comes along."

Fixer nodded politely, "Thank you, ma'am."

Mahalia looked down at the commando with a smile, "No. When you're around Daddy dearest, I'm 'ma'am.' Here, I'm just Mahalia."

Fixer nodded again, "Alright...Mahalia."

Over the next few months, he spent his time after combat training under her watchful tutelage. Slowly, amidst a world of screens and letters and codes, a bond of friendship formed between the two.

Fixer had not known friendship outside of his brothers. Mahalia had not made a true friend ever since coming to Kamino at eighteen. As the weeks rolled by, the two began to look forward to their tutoring sessions. Mahalia began to walk out early on her father's training sessions, and Fixer took to skipping the mess hall after training ended.

Of course, when Mahalia had found out about this, she'd insisted that he grab a bite of supper with her before she began to train him. Every day, across the dinner table, Mahalia would find herself grateful for his sharp wit and companionship while she ate. Fixer took her dry humor and sunny sarcasm as a welcome change from the drabness of the facility's barracks.

She saw the little changes in him that set him apart from all the other clones. The subtlety, manners, intelligence, technical aptitude...he was definitely not your average gun-toting commando. He watched as the demeanor of his friend slowly became less and less imposing, and the sharp lines of her face seemed to melt amidst soft smiles. Their companionship became an aspect of everyday life, as much as eating and breathing and hacking was.

Eventually, though, the day had come when he was scheduled to ship out. The impending Battle of Geonosis had sent the entire facility into a frenzy, as trainers and Kaminoans alike strove to get the several million clones ready for transport.

They'd stood at the loading dock that last day, shuffling their feet in awkward silence. Neither wished to say goodbye, but the gunships would be taking off soon. They had to part now or never.

Fixer held out his hand. Mahalia did so as well. Shyly, they clasped forearms in the traditional Mandalorian way.

"I know you can do this," Mahalia said boldly, still not letting go. "Promise me you'll come back, alright?"

"Don't worry, I'll be getting back off that gunship soon enough," Fixer replied, smiling under his helmet. Trying to allay the fear bubbling up behind her pretty green eyes, he added, "I promise you."

He stepped forward and, after a moment of indecision, gently tapped his forehead against hers. Her eyes widened and she backed away slightly, face turning bright red.

"For good luck," he quipped. The happiness in his voice shone through, and she couldn't help but smile back.

Peeking over his shoulder, she grinned, "Uh-oh. Wal'buir is glaring daggers at us. Best get on that gunship, soldier, before he comes over here and assigns you to perpetual latrine duty."

Fixer released her hand and gave her a mock salute. "Ma'am yes ma'am." He turned and ran toward his ship, pausing to turn and shout an excited greeting to Delta lead.

Boss swiveled around to look at her. Mahalia only sent the Delta an innocent shrug and a goofy grin in reply. She could've sworn he was grinning too, under his helmet.

As Fixer's gunship took off, he imprinted that smile into his mind. He had a feeling that he would need every happy memory he could get, especially in the days to come...

The din of battle was constant, all-encompassing, almost hypnotizing. Fixer struggled to remember a time when the air was not filled with the acrid smell of plasma burns, and his ears were not constantly assaulted by blaster fire and the sounds of clanging metal.

Two last super battle droids fell, leaving the room in silence. Boss spoke up quickly, "This door should lead to the room that houses the central hub. We've only got two minutes, at the most, to do this. Fixer, you're the only one who can slice fast enough. We'll provide cover fire, but it's all up to you now."

Fixer nodded determinedly, trying to still his pounding heart. Scorch set the charges and the rest of Delta Squad took their positions behind the doorframe. It was now or never.

The door blew open and a volley of blaster fire rained forth. Screaming war-cries, the Deltas charged forth. Sev took out the turrets with his sniper rifle, which allowed Boss to charge forward and hack through the squad of droids guarding the central hub. Scorch let the thermal detonators fly, distracting the super battle droids and droidekas on either side of the room.

Fixer bolted for the computer terminal. With shaking hands and stiff fingers, he began to slice through the system's firewalls and encrypted safeguards. He vaguely heard Scorch and Sev setting up sniper positions behind him. In his peripheral vision, he saw Boss vault down to the platform below and grab some heavy ordnance.

With a whoop and a massive explosion, the Delta lead charged forward and rained down anti-droid rounds on the sea of clanking metal closing in around them. Fixer struggled to work faster. His brothers were counting on him.

The codes were coming by pure instinct now. His mind was but a blank sheet, overridden by the survival instincts screaming at him to fight, run, do anything but stand at a terminal like a sitting duck.

"You got those codes yet, four-oh?" Boss hollered. The rest of Delta Squad had nearly been driven back to the terminal, barely holding their own against the literal army of droids.

"Almost...got it," Fixer ground out, willing the machine to move faster, "Just a few more files." The screen flashed and the computer spit out a datachip. "Done!" Fixer screamed.

Without a moment's hesitation, Delta Squad broke formation and simultaneously sprinted for the exit behind the terminal. Like a floodgate breaking loose, the droid army poured into the corridor after them. Fixer was allowed to take point. He needed to be the first one on the gunship, since he was the one holding the prized data.

The other three Deltas flanked him, laying out bursts of cover fire behind them as they sprinted for the gunship. A few droids fell, but still the miniature army pressed forth. Fixer looked back and noticed that the others were trailing behind, down to just their pistols. Fixer stopped right there in the middle of the corridor.

He would not let his brothers shield him like this, not when his own DC-17 was unused and full of ammo. As Boss passed by, Fixer pressed the datachip into his gloved hand and ran to the back of the group. In a rare show of insubordination, he shouted, "Delta lead, make sure that chip – and our brothers – get onto that gunship! I'll hold them off!"

"Four-oh-"

"Just go!" Fixer jogged slowly, letting out a vicious volley of fire behind him. He aimlessly threw every grenade he could get his hands on. They would hit a target no matter where they landed; the approaching droids were that thickly numbered. Adrenaline surged through his veins. You wanted to be a hero, now here's your chance. Don't give up. Fight. Fight!!!

He could see the light shining through the opening ahead. The rest of Delta Squad was already jumping on to the waiting gunship. Fixer's comlink was filled with the shouts of his brothers, urging him to run faster.

A series of blaster bolts threatened to overload his armor's shielding. Desperate, he grabbed the first grenade he could get and chucked it behind him. It wasn't until it went off that he realized – it was a flash-bang.

The droids marched ahead, unaffected. Fixer, however, had been temporarily stunned by the close proximity of the detonation. The world rocked back and forth as he staggered down the corridor. All he could think of was the light. He had to get to the light, to the ship, to his brothers.

The inside of his helmet began to flash red again. This time, he was faced with the text 'SHIELDS OVERLOADED. HEALTH CRITICAL' cast across his vision. Vaguely, he could hear a new voice added to the cacophony coming over his comlink.

"No! No no no no no no no!" Fixer hardly recognized Mahalia's normally calm and collected voice. She sounded like she was going into an absolute frenzy. For the first time that day, a pang of regret shot across his mind.

This once – just this once – he dared to admit what he'd never again get a chance to say. Over the open comm frequency, for everyone to hear. One last act of bravery and comfort, just for her.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika."

Mahalia Vau gripped the console, on the verge of tears. She could only watch the live feed from his HUD, helpless, as he fought for his life. Thoughts raced through her mind. He'd just been the oddball, the one-in-a-million clone she'd decided to set in front of a computer terminal. When had he started to care? More importantly, when had she?

Sergeant Walon Vau was glaring daggers at her again – a phenomenon that would have made any ordinary being shake in their boots – but she didn't care. Fixer was so close to the gunship now!

She heard Delta lead order, "Fixer, jump now!" The screen panned up, showing a clearly distressed commando standing in the gunship. One arm was outstretched, just out of reach from the corridor's edge.

The walls of the droid factory disappeared from view, replaced by the red sky of Geonosis. He'd jumped.

A gauntleted hand reached out toward the gunship, ready to pull its' owner to safety. It edged ever-closer. The entire staff of the command center leaned forward as one, simultaneously holding their breath...

The tips of Fixer's fingers barely brushed his brother's hand.

He began to plummet toward the dusty orange canyon below.

The command center burst into a frenzy of activity. A nearby clone pressed a button on his communications console and shouted, "We've lost Delta four-oh! I repeat, we have lost Delta four-oh!"

A tear slipped down Mahalia's cheek and her hand flew to her mouth. No, she began the mantra in her head, no no no. This can't be happening. It can't be. No, no, oh kriff, no....

Fixer stared up at the gunship wryly, barely registering the rocky cliffs zooming by. He could still see the faint outline of his brother, arm still reached out towards him as if he could bring Fixer back by sheer will alone. That ship represented everything for him – his life, his escape, his brothers, his future...

And now it was flying away. Fleeing the gunfire he had so bravely held off.

He closed his eyes, the red Geonosian sky and the anguished cries of his name forever imprinted in his mind.

One last time, he sent a transmission to his brothers.

"Don't forget me."

The line went dead.

As the sun set on that fateful day, and the Battle of Geonosis drew to a close, no one on Coruscant would honor his sacrifice. Caught up in the news of newly-forged war, the HoloNet channels wouldn't give so much as a passing glance to the story of a lone fallen trooper. Even the valiant trooper who made it possible to condemn the Separatists in the first place.

Sergeant Vau would forgive him. In the old sergeant's mind, the memory of Fixer's face would blend with that of a million others, until Delta-40 would be just another commando.

Even Mahalia would forget. She would grieve for a time, and for that Fixer had been truly sorry. But eventually, she would meet someone else, live happily ever after, and finally allow the memories of a certain techie commando to fade away.

But his brothers – the Deltas – would never be the same after Geonosis. They alone would remember. They alone understood. They alone saw him not as an expendable unit, but a brother lost.

To Fixer, it had been worth it.

Today, in their eyes...he was a hero.