Chapter Text
When the postmortem briefing on the Christophsis campaign concluded and the command staff allowed to disperse, Appo did not leave with the others, but stayed behind to talk to Rex.
“Captain, do you have a moment?” he asked, standing at attention and waiting until Rex nodded to continue. “I noticed an error in the flimsiwork and I’d appreciate your assistance in fixing it.”
Rex huffed a half-laugh. “You and your flimsiwork, Sergeant Appo,” he said, although his relatively light-hearted tone suggested that what could have been a censure was in fact a commendation, or at minimum a neutral observation. “I should’ve known. Given my little time and General Skywalker’s little interest, I think the 501st would fall apart if we didn’t have you.”
Rex paused at that point, as if he expected Appo to say something, but Appo remained silent, unsure of what aspect of Rex’s statement called for a response.
Possibly he was expected to issue some sort of expression of gratitude (“Much appreciated, sir”) or denial (“I’m sure it’s not that bad, sir”)? Both responses seemed inadequate, since Rex’s statement was fundamentally accurate: Appo’s immediate promotion, upon the 501st’s official deployment, to Master Sergeant (in addition to his existing duties as a regular sergeant) had been based on his patience for filling out flimsiwork, a task detested by General Skywalker and Captain Rex alike, and the 501st would have fallen apart if Appo didn’t regularly submit operations reports or procurement requests.
They might only be half a year into the war, but battlefields were costly, and the fact remained that replacement starship fuel and ammunition did not appear from thin air.
When Appo did not respond, Rex shook his head in a seemingly self-directed gesture, as if asking himself what he had been expecting. “Never mind. Permission to speak granted.”
“Thank you, sir. I identified an inconsistency in the personnel record following the campaign. Specifically, it relates to Sergeant Slick –”
Rex’s shoulders twitched. This was an anomalous gesture for him, something Appo would have expected to see in a more stressful situation than a casual conversation with a subordinate.
“Slick isn’t listed on either KIA or MIA lists,” Appo continued, filing the body language detail away as irrelevant. “But he also hasn’t reported in, which suggests –”
“Don’t worry about Slick,” Rex said, interrupting, and Appo paused.
This, too, was anomalous.
“Sir, you don’t understand,” he said. “There are only three categorizations for a trooper after a battle: killed in action, missing in action, or at their post. Slick isn’t listed in any of those.”
“I know that,” Rex said, which suggested a greater mastery of the art of flimsiwork than he had hitherto ever displayed. He was more a warrior than an administrator, though the same could be said for most clones, following their template’s model. “However, in this instance, I’m telling you that it’s not a problem.”
Appo was baffled. Had he somehow failed to adequately communicate his concern?
Not talking right as usual, Appo. Acting like you’re actually some sort of droid in there under the muscle. Maybe you should dig your knife into your arm to see if there are wires –
Intrusive thought. Rejected.
(Appo had a problem with intrusive thoughts, which had haunted him for as long as he could remember. According to the medical staff back on Kamino, it was not entirely uncommon, even in genetically enhanced and supposedly psychological resilient troopers. One of the medics had described it as being a reaction to trauma, although Appo had developed it unusually early and without the battle that usually preceded post-battle shock. Regardless, the recommended treatment was the same, which was to learn to ignore them.)
“Sir, there are different procedures that need to be followed in each situation,” Appo said, and decided to start with the least unsavory option. “If Slick’s dead, we need to know so that we can add him to the remembrance wall –”
“Do not put him on the remembrance wall!”
Appo blinked.
Rex gritted his teeth and purposefully released a breath, as if attempting to regulate himself. “Listen, Sergeant,” he said. “Slick’s not dead, so you don’t need to add him to the wall or anything like that.”
“But –”
“I know you mean well. But I’m telling you, you really don’t need to worry about him.”
“But –”
“Is there a reason you keep asking about this?” Rex demanded. A moment later, his expression changed, softening with an expression of something like sympathy or empathy. “Is that it, Appo? I know you and Slick shared quarters. Were you and him – close?”
“No,” Appo said honestly. Slick was quick-witted, clever, and sociable, popular with his men, appreciated by his peers and superiors alike, while Appo was quiet and awkward, not the sort of person others would pick to spend off-time with. He was generally valued more for his skillset than any aspect of his personality, and he was fine with that, preferring to spend his time with the rare people he genuinely liked or else alone. He and Slick had never meshed especially well, though Appo wouldn’t consider their relationship bad, either; merely collegial and professional. The fact that they shared a bunkroom on account of their matching ranks (troopers were always at least four to a room except for high command, and sergeants were no exception) had minimal relevance.
It certainly wasn’t relevant to the inaccurate scenario that Rex had constructed for himself. Rex, himself, was known to occasionally get close with other troopers, a fact that everyone knew but politely did not say. This had already been well known back on Kamino, but following deployment Rex’s overly social tendencies had only intensified, extending beyond the clone ranks and encompassing even natborns like General Kenobi and previously-Commander now-General Skywalker. Lower-level staff gossip rampantly speculated that before the war was done they would see Rex run the whole gamut of emotional relationships, ranging from friendships, romantic entanglements, and even favoritism, though hopefully not enough to affect mission completion. Appo assumed that it was that tendency of Rex’s that had generated the misunderstanding, rather than any indications Appo had provided from his own conduct.
(Appo, notably, was not one of the troopers Rex had grown close to.)
(Prior to today, he would have said that Slick was.)
“No?” Rex asked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. Quite sure.”
“I see. Then…why the insistence…?”
“Things must be in their proper place, sir. If Slick isn’t dead, then he’s missing. That means we need to revoke his permissions and put him on a watchlist for a minimum period of –”
“Enough, Sergeant.” Rex reached up and rubbed his forehead with his palm, as if he had started to develop a headache. “If this is just about the flimsiwork, then I’m officially telling you to drop it. The matter’s above your paygrade – and mine, too, for that matter. So just stop asking. Is that clear?”
“No, sir,” Appo said, meaning I don’t understand at all. When Rex glared, though, he grimaced and amended his words to “Yes, sir,” meaning I will put an end to this conversation as ordered.
“Good. Dismissed.”
Appo left.
He was no less puzzled, though. There simply was no categorization that fit the situation or explained Rex's bizarre instruction. A trooper was either at their post, dead, or missing, a category which covered both unidentified bodies left on the battlefield (the majority), those captured by the enemy (deemed dead), or potential deserters. In each case, the appropriate forms needed to be filed and appropriate actions needed to be taken: memorials for the dead, a watchlist for the living, instructions for those at their post. One could not simply “forget about” those processes, not even on the orders of a superior officer.
Under normal circumstances, Appo would always choose to obey orders. That was what clone troopers were made for, and it was trained into them from before they could even remember.
A clone trooper who did not obey orders was not worth anything.
On the other hand, if he’d listened every time either Rex or General Skywalker had said “don’t worry about it, we’ll get to it later”, the 501st would have run out of just about everything within months, if not weeks. They were a highly active battalion, alternating between joint and solo missions and regularly being redirected to new areas of high concern. Someone needed to stay on top of everything: not just replacing fuel and ammunition, but making sure there was enough food and water for all the men aboard, sourcing their clothing and armor and bedding, managing the euphemistic personnel shortage issues (everything from transfers to funerals to ordering replacement soldiers), ensuring critical spaceship repairs got done, resupplying with medicine and life-support units, making sure they got upgrades and new tech and sufficient pieces to keep their droids in working order…though they probably would’ve still had plenty of extra R2-line replacement parts, since General Skywalker always took meticulous care of his personal astromech unit.
Actually, that was a thought. Rex had said that the matter was “above his paygrade”, hadn’t he?
That meant it must have been marked as confidential at the Jedi General level.
Well, that was simple enough to solve.
Appo went to talk to General Skywalker.
You're violating protocol. They'll decomm you for this. They've just been waiting on an excuse -
Intrusive thought. Rejected.
Protocol said that flimsiwork had to be filed promptly and accurately, which required an answer regarding the present status of Sergeant Slick (confirmed not dead, but not listed as missing). Protocol also said that unusual or uncharacteristic orders from a superior that violated SOP had to be reported to command, in case the superior in question had been compromised. Appo would strongly prefer that not to be the case. A simple chat with the General would achieve both objectives while avoiding hitting Rex with the stigma of a formally filed complaint.
It was clearly the optimal solution.
Appo's nervous anxiety at the idea of talking one-on-one with his general, who usually limited his communications to Rex and whoever Rex had picked to be his immediate support squadron (typically a team composed of available troopers or relevant specialists, which had to date never included Appo in his Master Sergeant role), was purely his own issue. It was therefore his responsibility to ignore his discomfort and proceed.
He knocked at the General's door and waited until he heard a garbled "Come in!" before proceeding. "General?"
"Oh, hey!" General Skywalker lurched to his feet from where he'd been sitting at his tinkering desk. He seemed to be trying to stand in front of it, as if to conceal the R2 upgrades he was working on (a technically illegal upgraded flamethrower mod). Appo wasn't sure why he was bothering, both because Appo, as the General's subordinate, had no standing to criticize him regardless of what he was doing and because Appo had been the one to process the parts requests and oversee their delivery to the General's quarters. "Sorry, I thought you were Rex - probably should've checked first - anyway, yeah. It's, uh, Appo, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right. Good. Rex’s mentioned you a couple of times. What can I do for you?"
"I'm hoping you can assist me with a flimsiwork issue -" The General's enthusiastic expression faltered. "- relating to the status of Sergeant Slick."
General Skywalker’s expression shifted once more. Appo was not particularly familiar with non-clone facial movements, but most human or humanoid species tended towards similar forms, which suggested to him that General Skywalker’s expression had moved from dread-imminent-boredom to dread-immediate-panic. However, there was no logical reason for an emotional reaction of that type, and no additional evidence to correlate or support Appo’s conclusion. It was entirely possible that he was mistaken regarding the nature of General Skywalker’s feelings at the moment.
He didn’t think he was, though.
“I spoke with Captain Rex about it –”
“You did? Oh, good –”
“– and he said the matter was confidential at a level higher than his,” Appo concluded. “That’s why I’ve come to ask you about it, sir.”
“Gee, thanks, Rex,” General Skywalker muttered under his breath. “Uh, listen, Appo…about Slick…”
He trailed off. Appo politely waited for him to continue, but the General seemed to have lost steam. Instead, he was glancing around the room as if seeking an answer somewhere in the mess of tools, parts, and miscellanea.
Alternatively, he was possibly waiting for Appo to be the first to break the silence, but that would have been a tactical error on his part. Appo was fairly notorious for what his trainers liked to call his “imperturbable even keel” and what his peers preferred to call his “stone face with dead eyes” – even the training sim droids lost patience faster than he did.
It wasn’t that Appo didn’t feel the awkwardness of standing there and staring blankly at his General while his General shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat repeatedly. It was just that he was so lost as to what to do about it that it seemed safer to stay in position and wait.
“…listen,” General Skywalker finally said. “Listen, Appo. Slick’s – uh – that is – what did you say that Rex said about it, again?”
“He said that it was confidential at a level above his,” Appo repeated obediently. “Specifically, that it was ‘above his pay grade’. He requested that I forget about it, but that would be contrary to protocol.”
And would require a formal report of malfeasance that would go on the Captain’s permanent record, so it would be great if the General would countermand that order at once, please.
General Skywalker brightened. “Yeah, no, actually, that sounds right? You should forget about it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Post-battle personnel records must be updated with accurate information,” Appo said, starting to wonder if it was them that had all lost their minds or if it was just him. “If we don’t supply a status, we can’t take appropriate steps. The record will not be accurate.”
“It’s all right if the record’s not accurate this once,” General Skywalker said, for some reason waving his hand vaguely in the air, as if to bat away some invisible gnat. “You can just move on.”
That’s right, you should just move on. You have so much to do, and this is taking time you really don’t have. General Skywalker and Rex know what they’re doing. This is just the once –
Intrusive thought. Rejected.
(Oddly non-violent. Most of Appo’s intrusive thoughts about the Jedi involved killing them.)
“Sir, operational efficiency depends on accurate record-keeping,” Appo said firmly. “Even a single deviation potentially leaves room for future inconsistencies. We’ve got to file something, it’s not something we can just skip.”
General Skywalker grimaced. “Right. Yes. Of course… Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got unusually strong willpower and clarity of purpose, Sergeant Appo?”
“…no, sir,” Appo said. Was that relevant to the present conversation?
“Listen…okay…uh…he’s…what are the options again?”
“KIA, MIA or at his station, sir.” Appo paused, then added, helpfully, “Captain Rex has already confirmed the Sergeant is not dead, sir, and I can confirm he’s not at his post. Based on Captain Rex’s reaction, it also does not appear that he is ‘missing’.”
“…right.” The General groped around in the air as if trying to grab something, then appeared to hit on something. “You said Rex said it was confidential, right? Isn’t there some sort of form you’d need to file to get something confidential opened up? And some sort of status relating to that?”
“Yes, sir,” Appo said. “Newly issued Form 15b63. Anything related to an information request would be listed as pending.”
“Great!” The General beamed at him. “Why don’t you file one of those? By the time that’s done, there should be an answer for you, and you’ll be able to make the flimsiwork all nice and neat.”
The flimsiwork was only the means of making sure the record on which they based all other decisions was accurate, not the end in itself. But Appo did not bother to correct the General with information he was fairly certain the General did not wish to receive – the General was not a brother, who he trusted to respond to his inquiries in a reasonable and cooperative fashion. At any rate, he’d gotten an answer, or as close as he thought he was likely to get of one.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ll do that.”
He went back to his quarters and called up the form on his datapad. It was one of the Jedi additions to Republic standard. It had been issued in one of the recent circulars, which had included an explanation of when it was appropriate for use and the reasoning behind it – something about how belonging to the Jedi Order meant entitling the rank and file to getting answers to questions from the Jedi if they had them.
It sounded like a whole lot of junk to Appo. Soldiers weren’t meant to ask questions that weren’t mission-relevant, they were supposed to obey. That was the point of being soldiers.
A clone trooper who didn’t obey orders wasn’t worth anything.
Appo checked, and, to his lack of surprise, the number of times Form 15b63 had been filed could be counted in the low double digits. Most of them appeared to have been filed in error, although there appeared to be at least one instance of Alpha-17 submitting a form requesting information regarding…hm. To translate it into the vernacular, he appeared to be asking “what the kark is wrong with General Kenobi”, and the answer provided was “he’s just like that, sorry”.
(Appo had only met Alpha-17 very briefly during his time on Kamino, and they had not gotten along particularly well. One time, relatively early during command class training, Alpha-17 had loudly said in the presence of his favorite training squad of commanders-to-be that if all clone troopers could be represented by landing strip lights, Appo’s would have been dim enough to cause a ship to crash. Appo still had no idea what he'd done to merit the comment.)
The form itself was easy to fill out. Appo listed his name and number, added identifying details regarding his battalion, described the nature of his request and the relevant background, and even attached his personal security clearances as support. He expressed, in the strongest terms as he could manage, that identifying Slick's ultimate fate was important not necessarily for itself, but as a matter of good conduct and appropriate protocol, which seemed more likely to be convincing. He made sure to indicate that he would be satisfied with mere notification that a resolution of the information issue had been reached, under the assumption that the matter likely exceeded his personal clearance level.
He submitted the form, designating it as urgent and tagging it for the next data burst headed back to HQ on Coruscant. These could often be unpredictable, creating all sorts of delays; there was a reason that urgent orders came through by holocall. But since Appo was in charge of the comm officer's schedules, it was easy enough to arrange for the burst to go out the same day.
Unexpectedly, he received a response in the very next return burst, only three hours later.
Your inquiry has been received and has entered processing. Your request for information is very important to us, and we are committed to answering it in a timely matter. If you have not heard back in two weeks and your question remains outstanding, please resubmit the form.
May the Force be with you.
~J. Nu
Appo stared at the message. He’d never seen anything like it before. The vast majority of the forms he filed went into the yawning black void of GAR High Command with no response whatsoever, and those responses he did get were brusquely dismissive. Presumably this bizarrely conversational tone was due to the involvement of the Jedi.
It was probably just an automatic filler response.
But...that didn't mean he couldn't take it seriously.
The response did say to resubmit the form if he didn't get an answer. Technically speaking, it was not an order Appo was obligated to follow, as it came from outside his line of command - but since the Jedi were involved, Appo could choose it treat it as one. All Jedi were Generals. It wouldn't be totally against protocol. Orders were meant to be followed.
It would, however, be a waste of time.
Appo wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t actually blind, either, no matter what people thought about him. He followed orders without question, of course, but his strict adherence to protocol wasn’t about being dogmatic for the sake of it, the way it was for some others. It was because the rules were simply far too easy to break – and once you started breaking them, it was easier and easier to keep on doing so, and harder and harder to turn back. If Slick could be vanished without a proper designation, then so could anyone else, and that was a dangerous precedent to set. But in truth, one trooper more or less wouldn't actually cause any real issues. The 501st were due to get a new cohort of clones shipped out of Kamino relatively soon, exact details to be determined. It would be easy enough to just slot one of those into the right place, keep the numbers even. There would be no disruption in service, and the record would not really be affected.
In short, it would be easy to do as Rex and the General had instructed and to leave it alone. Appo had already filed the request form, which was more than anyone could have expected him to do on behalf of a fellow clone he had no particular feelings about. He could just leave it at that, and move on to the myriad of other far more urgent tasks he had to do.
Slick probably wouldn't have done even half as much if it had been Appo who had been left in this strange technical limbo, assuming he would have even noticed it in the first place.
Assuming anyone would have noticed.
A clone is just a copy, meant to be used up and discarded. Why must you keep persisting? You’re making a bad impression on your commanding officer, and for no reason at all. Isn’t it bad enough already that you’re you, without making it worse..?
Intrusive thought. Rejected.
Appo finished his work period and went to his bunk. All of the sergeants he shared a room with were on the same shift, meaning that they all rose and slept on the same schedule; there was another group that was on duty during the other shifts. There should have been more of them to fill out a full complement, but lots of people had died, and not every post had been filled yet. Officers in particular took longer to train and were harder to replace, even NCOs like him, and they were running low while they waited for resupply and promotions to be doled out. Every sergeant was meant to have had their own squad of five troopers to focus on, but they had already started grouping multiple squads under one sergeant - a temporary measure, they said, and meant it, but Appo suspected that as long as the war continued, personnel pressures would get only worse, not better.
Appo laid there, in the dark, and listened to the others breathe. Only two others, now, since Slick was gone, and the sound of the room that he had grown used to was different.
That wasn't uncommon. The war was savage, brutal, and there were new losses after every battle. There wasn’t a single trooper outside of the shinies that didn’t know the feeling of looking for someone and seeing only an empty gap, blank spots in their ranks filled only by the ghosts of the dead.
Only...Slick wasn't dead.
He wasn't dead, he wasn't missing, he wasn't at his post.
He wasn't anything. Not even a numerical designation on the right list.
"Hey, Riven," Appo said, staring blankly at the ceiling above his bunk.
A huff, cough, the noises of someone already mostly asleep waking back up partway. "Yeah, Appo?"
"Can we swap third squads?"
"Third..? Oh, Slick's old squad? Sure, you're welcome to them, if you're sure about it. It's tough luck, losing their sarge like that."
It was a nasty hit to morale, he meant. Clones were designed to be loyal, loyal to the Jedi, to the Republic, to each other, and that loyalty generally flowed up. Losing a superior was particularly hard, and a superior you actually liked was even harder. And when morale was low...
No one expected Slick's squad to survive for long.
Whoever their next sergeant was, they would have to be ready for that. Both emotionally and practically - it would be their job to make sure that the grieving squad didn't take anyone with them when they went down. That was the grim reality of life as a sergeant, right up close and personal with the troopers and the way the war devastated them in a way the commanders and captains and even lieutenants rarely were. It was not a task any of them enjoyed, and so they generally split it among themselves, taking turns.
Unless someone volunteered.
"I'm sure," Appo said. “I’ll take them.”
"All yours, then. I'll register the transfer in the morning."
Appo didn't say anything.
"...or I could register it now. Like the diligent, protocol-abiding soldier I am and aspire to be."
"Thanks, Riven,” Appo said, satisfied. “Tell me your preferred position for the next campaign, and I'll give you first shot at it if I can."
Riven made a pleased sound, even as Hutch in the bunk next to his immediately came awake with sounds of complaint and jealousy. He would almost certainly challenge Riven for the privilege during their next downtime, and only chance and the sabbac table would tell who actually had it by the time they went into the battlefield once more.
Appo closed his eyes.