Private The Silence That Consumes

[CT-8429]

---<//=//>---

The Stillness In The Room​

​

The silence was so loud, he couldn't fall asleep.

In the barracks, bunks of clone troopers lay sound asleep, contented noises softly echoing off the grey walls. But the man with the bandages wrapped snugly around his head could not hear them. He knew they were there. He knew what they sounded like. A soft symphony of familiar men resting peacefully: puffing of gentle breaths, a shuffle of position-shifting, an occasional snore, and the ever-present drone of Tryd Base's interworkings. Try as he might, the clone trooper could not will his ears to pick up on any of these comforting noises. Instead, only silence gnawed at his mind.

He was deaf.

It wasn't even a heroic act. Nobody saw it coming. Just a dumb trap that he and his brothers had walked right into. They were ordered to go inspect the forward security grid. It was down. Not a big deal, those things were tricky at best to maintain. No speeders available, so they all walked. CT-8429 and his squadmates marched the ten kliks to the forward grid hub. Everyone kept their eyes peeled, but there hadn't been any enemy activity reported in the area. When they arrived, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Commander Royce, an older clone with a stern gaze and temperament to match, punched in a sequence, and the heavy doors to the hub slid aside. The entrance gaped open, and it swallowed up the first trooper that entered, followed by CT-8429. The world around him choked to a halt. The clone trooper vaguely remembered being spit back out of the doorway. A brightness overwhelmed him. The skin on his head singed with an acidic burn that reminded him of the time he had coughed up bile...

And then he woke up in a bacta tank, feeling that something was very wrong.

He saw no sign of the other clone - the one who went ahead of him - in the medical lab. This could only mean that there was no part of him left to repair. In the days that followed the incident, he had been informed of the extent of his injuries from the bomb: shrapnel lesions, second and third-degree burns, dislocated clavicle and shoulder, fracture to his ulna, and total hearing loss. All the other wounds would heal with time, but the hearing loss was permanent. Oh sure, cybernetics could do the trick. But the Republic had grander things to throw their military budget into. A clone was dispensable. "Decommissioned" is what read at the top of the trooper's file now. Nobody could tell him exactly what that meant, other than he was to leave Taanab presently and return to Kamino.

The deaf trooper lay awake that night, wholly unable to steer his mind into the numbness that sleep offered. It was the absence of sound that terrified him, because it never left him. No noise could penetrate its heavy cloak. Even though the stillness in the room was like the frigid air between the heaves of a storm, the clone's thoughts pulsed with electrified frenzy. What happens now? What will they do with me? What will happen to my squad?...my brothers? Will it always be like this? Is there anything I can do? I just want to sleep. I need sleep. Try to sleep. If I had waited a second to enter...just checked my blaster or...nodded to Royce...I would've been fine. But now? What happens now? No answers came to the troubled clone that night, and neither did sleep.

The bandaged clone rubbed his fingers across his temples. He had no interest in the morning meal. Chatting away in front of him were fellow brothers Exit, Luxe, and Jaws. The drab cafeteria was swollen with the same voice out of many mouths - it was the most social part of a trooper's day at Tryd Base. CT-8429 felt anything but social. The three men across the table did their best to include him in their conversations by typing words said on a PADD. But for the most part, they were consumed by the typical banter of the squad. Not that the deaf clone minded, or blamed them. Menial things like the sound of his own chewing no longer complemented the eating experience. Other troopers glided across a blanket of silence in phantasmic fashion. Hell, even his own boots didn't dully thud against duracrete as he sat at the bench with his brothers. It was a surreal thing to watch unfold in the caf.

A bare finger tapping on the deaf clone's hand snapped his attention front. Lux was gesturing at the PADD in his hand. The wounded trooper looked it over.

"You can still talk, right?" was all that Lux had typed out.

"Yea," was his dry response, notably a tad louder than usual for the clone.

Flashing a grin, Lux gave him a thumbs up and typed up another message on the PADD. When he had finished, he held it up: "You're a little loud. We can help you with that. Are you going to learn sign language?"

The deaf clone was not amused. He shook his head gruffly and looked away - both in frustration and embarrassment. This did not deter his brother. Once more Lux stamped his fingers against the holoscreen of the PADD and then offered it. The deaf clone pretended to be preoccupied in his meal, despite Lux and now Exit waving in his periphery. His ignorance earned him a swift kick under the table. Though he glared the men down when his eyes met theirs, he took the PADD from Lux and began to read: "I'm being serious. I've already talked it over with Royce. He wasn't too thrilled, but he gave his okay to us learning sign language off duty. We can learn together, until you have to go." The deaf clone wanted to say no, wanted to not be a burden, wanted things to go back to normal. Despite his genetic steering towards adaption, he was reluctant to make a big deal out his newfound disability.

Reluctance bowed to persistence. That night, a sun bonnet's light was kept on at an angle to illuminate a small corner of the barracks. While most of the clone troopers slept soundly, Exit, Lux, and Jaws sat around a holo-emitter of a recorded Pantoran woman demonstrating Galactic Sign Language. The deaf clone sat with them, nodding along as he tried to replicate what he saw. It wasn't flash training, but it was something. The four of them learned and gestured in silence.

And for once, there was comfort in the stillness of the room.

---<//=//>---

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see -
-Emily Dickinson​

 

[CT-8429]

---<//=//>---

Measure Every Grief​

Only a few words floated in the air. Despite their absence, so much was being said.

Not that the deaf clone could tell, but to an outside observer, the quiet atmosphere that conquered the cafeteria was unlike any that had settled in the hall before. Few sounds passed from the lips of the troopers as they gathered for their meals, but the conversations were as numerous and animated as the gestures they made with their hands. An unspoken game had commenced, and no man wanted to be the first to lose.

In the beginning, it had been only the four of them. Exit, Lux, Jaws, and the deaf clone practiced GSL in between and after duty shifts. Soon enough, they were able to chat through hand signals with relative efficiency while on duty. Their mannerisms piqued the curiosity of other troopers. With each passing night, more and more clones huddled around the holo-emitter recording. Even Royce showed up a couple of times, but his deftness at signing betrayed the practice he had down on his own time. Brothers banded together in the darkness, held in suspense by the mutual desire to learn. They came to be known as the Silent Squad. CT-8429 hadn't felt this connected in a very long time - not since Kamino, at least. To the non-clone officers, varying levels of amusement, fear, jealousy, and curiosity accompanied their interactions with the signing troopers. It was a wonder to those who observed, and many were amazed most by the suddenness of its adoption amongst the clones.

Luck favored the deaf man.

His extra time on Taanab was afforded by way of delay. The Kamino transport was held off until Tryd Base received the the overflow of casualities from another surface battle. The Grand Republican Army was suffering heavy losses on Taanab, and battalions had to pull back to regroup. Many of the injured were being transported the Tryd Base for treatment. Not that they would all be made whole again - hence, why the transport was told to standby. At least the deaf clone wouldn't be facing decommission alone. It was during this time that the deaf soldier had his first experience.

"He wouldn't like that."

Without prompting, the words popped into his mind's eye. Grimacing slightly, the clone could not comprehend how he knew what Exit had said. Ahead of him, the rest of his squad were leaving the hanger. Exit had been walking backwards, an odd behavior of his that only occurred when he was walking and talking at the same time. As CT-8429 followed behind them, he hadn't been aware of what the others were saying aloud. But he definitely knew what Exit had said to them.

"...wouldn't like what?" came his cautious reply. It was a gamble to assume the phrase had been mentioning the injured trooper, but their choice to forgo signing the conversation made it a more safe bet. The squad stopped and wheeled about. Helmets in hand, each man shared the same confused yet hopeful look. Exit took a step forward.

"You can hear me?" Once more, the words just seemed to appear like an instinct, as if they had always done so. An automatic response somewhere in his brain, perhaps?

Equally as confused, the deaf trooper responded with a shake of his head and a soft "no..." while his brain searched for an answer.

Jaws spoke as he turned to Exit, "I don't......doesn't m-...sense."

"We sh-...take him to the me-...bay, have the......at him." Lux came forward, but was addressing Jaws. Realization struck the injured clone almost as hard as a grenade blast.

The lips. He was reading their lips. When they turned away, parts of sentences would cut out. Subconsciously, his mind was already at work piecing together the full phrases. This revelation he shared was met with approval and teasing signs. Following this encounter were several challenges to "guess what ______'s saying." Most of it involved guesswork, but the deaf clone found it easy enough. Reading his brothers wasn't too difficult - they all had they same facial structure and relatively similar speech patterns. The officers proved more of a challenge. Longer or more obscure words, like names, sometimes obstructed the full meaning of sentences. But Silent Squad was persistent in their dares. Before long, CT-8429 was able to converse with others despite the almost imperceptible disability.

Normalcy still eluded him.

The deaf soldier's world was wet with stillness. The silence drowned out laughter, alarms, and comms. Sound was a color he couldn't quite describe, but it rendered his reality devoid of the vibrancy he knew it should have. Try as he might, the injured trooper couldn't outrun the absent echo of his boots on hardened floor. After his jogs around the compound, the convulsing of his lungs as they trapped and discharged the cold air beneath his chest made him hyper-conscious of his own body. Physical sensations didn't become more in of themselves...he just paid more attention to them. A greater portion of his mental resources were directed to processing and remembering touch and sight. Fortunate for him, most of the combat-related work was based solely on muscle memory. Repetition birthed reflex. The blaster still balanced in his hands, the sights still aligned with the optical slits in his helmet.

On the morning of the incoming casualties, Commander Royce had approached CT-8429 in the medical bay. The attending medical supervisor had wanted to give the deaf clone a final check-up before the injured soldiers starting pouring in. Not an emotion wavered across the commanding officer's face, and as he spoke, the words rolled off his lips with crisp clarity.

"I spoke with General Abnir about your situation, told him about the progress you've been making...he's agreed to give you an extension on your decommission, one month...on the condition that our forces are successful on their assault tonight, and we won't have to leave Taanab altogether...or, you can head out with the transport at fourteen-hundred hours, the choice is yours." The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of the battle-hardened clone's lips. In the past, CT-8429 might've missed it. But now, there was no mistaking the tone of seriousness and sincerity that played on his CO's face.

Somehow in the silence, the fears still managed to whisper their venom. More than anything, he wanted to stay with his squad. Yet the deaf trooper was occupied with the concerns of his ability to be an effective squad member. What if I miss something? I don't want to be responsible for losing someone. Or failing the mission. If I can't do my job right...they should replace me. I may not like it, but this is for the Republic. My brothers are counting on me. I don't want to let them down. Or Royce. Or the general.

Red streams beamed across his vision and snapped him back to reality. Medical staff scurried about the room. The trooper could feel the vibrations of the klaxon reverberating off the walls in the medical center. Within seconds, troopers barged into the room: several pairs with a stretcher between each. As each pair set their load down and left, another pair appeared on their heels with another patient. The medical staff hovered over the injured like flies. Busying themselves, opening mouths to bark orders at each other. Removing red-soaked armor and cutting away sticky underarmor. The deaf clone stepped forward, and an assistant motioned him over to a patient on a stretcher. As he approached, the patient's helmet was slid off to reveal wide, dilated pupils and a gurgling mass of liquid red in the crevice of his neck and clavicle. CT-8429 was sure the medical assistant was giving him instructions, but they weren't necessary. He understood to keep pressure on the wound with one hand, and keep the soldier lying down with the other. While his hand bathed in the blood, he could feel the man trembling. The deaf clone tried looking him in the eyes, but they reflected only fear, pain, and confusion - it was like watching a wild animal caught in a trap. Instead, the disabled trooper raised his gaze to survey the room.

He measured every grief that met his eyes.

To his right, a trooper on a stretcher had his lips curled into a howl, eyes shut tight. His lower half was...missing. It ended just above where his belt would have been. Beyond that, lay an armor-clad body riddled with reddened-black holes. To his left, sat a trooper whose hand was held aloft, completely mangled, obvious even now under the bandage a medic had wrapped around it. In the corner, a clone held his face in his hands above the limp body of his brother. Two clones were being lifted into bacta tanks. One of them had significant bright red tattooing across his body that bubbled in some places. Injured men continued to be brought in. CT-8429 watched it all unfold, the scene bathed in complete silence. It was one of the few moments in his life that he was thankful to be deaf.

He decided then and there he wouldn't be on the transport to Kamino.

---<//=//>---


I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.

I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –
-Emily Dickinson​

 

[CT-8429]

---<//=//>---

Most Like Chaos​

Order is comforting.

Silent Squad fell into a routine at Tryd Base. It wasn't all for the sole benefit of CT-8429, but it allowed the disabled clone to find his rhythm within the squad again. Predictability lessened the severity of an embarrassing or frustrating predicament. The deaf clone struggled to find the balance of independence and adaptation while coping with his disability.

A week after the transport ship had left for Kamino, Lux introduced the idea of an auto-captioner. “On the battlefield, there’s no way you’ll be able to see every signal we give, and lip-reading is...well...not an option. If I can get my hands on a PUT, I’ll try jerry-riggin it to your HUD.” Lux had signed to him while coming off duty one night. The randomness of the comment made the clone question how much thought Lux had already put into this, but the sincerity of his eagerness plainly painted itself on his brother's face. With only a few weeks to prepare for the status assessment (or "stress-test," as everyone had been calling it), the deaf trooper accepted any help he could get.

Lux's behavior had changed. Before the bomb, Lux was not known to offer up information unprompted. Memories of training as a boy on Kamino flashed through his mind; he could still recall the sound Lux's knee made when he tore it during beginner combat training. For the next couple days, he walked with a comical, lessening limp. The young boy with a limp had been quick to tell others it was a "luxating patella," but this served only to bestow upon him the nickname of "Lux." Lux had seemed so proud to teach others, but he was quickly rewarded for his efforts with a name that lingered far longer than the limp. That had been the last time CT-8429 witnessed this kind of behavior from Lux, until now.

Life isn't fit to a frame, the deaf trooper recounted to himself. As much as he appreciated the newfound order that held his life together at the base, there was an unmistakable suffocation to his reality. The hearing loss did nothing to lessen the feeling of being boxed in by the duty he was created to fulfill. Sometimes it felt as though he needed permission just to breathe. Prior to the hearing loss, he rebelled in small ways like having an opinion for every order or supplementing small talk with sarcasm. Little things here and there to ease up on the political shackles that restrained every face like his.

The personal universal translator had proven difficult to source through conventional means (and the Republic was never keen to pay the clones a wage), so a trip to a nearby reclamator was in order. Hours off-duty were spent sifting through discarded remnants, but the men were eventually rewarded for their resolve. Setting that fraggin thing up consumed Lux in between shifts over the next several days. CT-8429 couldn’t place the exact emotions he felt when Lux proudly handed him back his helmet with the newly-installed HUD. Being in-touch with that kind of emotional stuff wasn’t the sort of thing the Kaminoans programmed into their clones.

"All done! Give it a try," signed Lux while holding out the helmet with his other hand. Flashing a smile, the deaf clone grasped the helmet and laid its familiar contours over his head. Immediately, the HUD crackled to life with the detection of his heat signature. With a press on his wrist comm, Lux spoke softly into the receiver. After a couple second delay, yellow words typed out in the top left alignment of the HUD: "Do you copy, Lieutenant?"

With a grin that was obvious from his voice, the deaf clone called back: "Roger that! All systems go!" The auto-captioner integrated well with his HUD, and allowed him to better coordinate with Silent Squad. So much so, that General Abnir remarked to the stress test evaluator weeks later that “the clone's propensity for adaptability in face of adversity is perhaps one of the greatest testaments to Kaminoan ingenuity yet.” Unsurprisingly, that statement was captured in the trooper's file, along with the status of "Reinstated" at the top. Hard work and consistency had paid off. Now, Silent Squad could dip their toes once more into the chaos of battle.

Touchdown was breathless.

Dust scattered from the landing zone as Silent Squad boots collided with the soft earth of Osovi II. Above them, two black moons hung ornamentally in the pale sky. Ahead of them, the once-barren desert was highly impregnated with battle droids and clone troopers. And towards the action they ran. CT-8429 flanked his CO as he swept his blaster from side to side. “Let the fun begin! Stay close!” popped up on the deaf clone’s HUD in a bright red - the color he had assigned to Commander Royce.

As the deaf clone and his brothers soared over the cracked terrain, they wasted no time unloading their mags. Directly ahead, two clankers ambled onward with blasters raised. The butt of the blaster felt comfortable against the clone’s shoulder, even if the silence that enveloped him did not. With a squeeze of his finger, the blaster emitted two bolts - gone was the familiar whine that usually accompanied this process. Not…very...satisfying… came to mind. It became even more so true when only one shot fizzled against the droid’s metallic plating. The other landed farther back after grazing just to the left of the droid.

No matter. The deaf trooper rolled his head into aligning the sights and let fly the next volley. The droid went down, and he focused on the three quickly coming to take its place. Taking strides with his knees bent, the clone sought to shorten the distance between him and his targets. Before coming into range, the droids opened fire and bolts flew wildly in his direction - most landing shy of him by a few meters. By the time he had covered that ground, his weapon was already favoring the next target. Onetwo...three...four… he counted until the droid fell. Then he was on his knee, ducking his head, rolling, and up again. Balance the blaster, fire. Fire again. Three shots punched through the sky to his right, and the armor-clad soldier stumbled back into a crouch. Return shots were fired. One droid went down. He was up on his feet pressing forward. Another one down. He raised his head up to look for his squad, and then rejoined them while picking off crossfire for Exit. Jaws appeared on his left flank to provide support.

With each target downed, the deaf trooper had to linger to visually watch the clanker crumble. He wondered if it would someday feel as riveting as it did when he could hear the metallic cases sizzle and collapse. Though not as fulfilling as he had hoped, the uncertainty of combat stimulated his lust for more. Quiet order had been the deaf soldier's companion over the last month - visual chaos was now the freeing agent to remind him of his purpose. Battle was his birthright.

Order is comforting, but most like chaos.

---<//=//>---


As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—
Without a Chance, or Spar—
Or even a Report of Land—
To justify—Despair.
-Emily Dickinson​

 

[CT-8429]

---<//=//>---

A Bomb Abroad​

Touch became his guilty pleasure.

Everyone else he knew preferred the modern holo-consoles that disseminated information and commands with the wave of a hand or a flick of the fingers. But CT-8429 no longer cared much for these. Instead, whenever he could, he would use one of the older tactile consoles. The dialing of knobs and clicking of switches gave a semblance of feedback that he found nowhere else. In some distant, hazy memory, the deaf clone could recall the sounds these like apertures made. Every time he used them, he'd piece together their unique ticks and swooshes as he interacted with them. Sure, they were much slower and less precise. None of that truly mattered to him anymore (save for when he was under a time crunch), so as long as he could feel the vibrations of the physical feedback. In many ways, it was the closest he'd ever get to sound again.

Contrary to Jaws' belief, the other senses do not become more heightened or super-sensitive when you lose your hearing. Flak, how I wish that had been true. It would've made so many things easier... the deaf clone mused to himself as his fingers turned the dial on the console in front of him. Cycles ago, Jaws had been visibly disappointed to learn that all the other senses stayed relatively the same from before the loss. What did change was the deaf clone's relationship, or reliance on, the other senses. Where he relied on the sound of clankering metal to gauge how far away enemy droids were, he now had to creatively use a reflector to maintain visual distancing. Where he relied on the sound of the alarm in the morning to wake him, he now had to feel the the static shock of the makeshift tactile alarm that Lux had fashioned together. Humans, the clone had found, were wildly dependent on their sense of sound. His only option was to adapt to heavily embrace the other senses. Touch was his favorite.

His soul found moments of escape.

Primarily, these existed on the battlefield. When the gunship roared to life and ascended to the sky, the ground rumbled deep in its ethereal throat the guttural growling uttered by the engines. As blaster bolts cracked the air in between the white-clad bodies of men, the closest whooshing of breeze would make his hair stand on end. After an anti-tank missile collided on rocky terrain with a resounding violence, the synthetic thunder rolled all throughout his body in the most raw fashion. An unlucky battle droid stepping just right sent plating-now-shrapnel to dance from a bomb abroad the scene: if he was at the perfect distance, he could feel the pattering of debris over his armor and helmet. These were the closest he could get to sound. To the normalcy that eluded him. It was in these moments he was afforded the peace that his mangled ears yearned for. Nothing in the base could come near these sensations he felt while in the heat of battle. Everything else was so...stale, washed clean, devoid of excitement...in comparison. Many soldiers enjoyed fighting. That wasn't anything new. But he yearned for those experiences where he could almost hear what was taking place around him. Otherwise, he didn't feel very alive.

A hand descended on his shoulder, and the clone started.

The words rolled off Exit's lips, while he raised his palms forward: "Woah, easy there. Didn't mean to startled you. Royce was looking for volunteers for tonight's first shift. Was wondering if you wanted to join me. Its just patrol. You up?" As he finished, the clone folded his arms in front of him. The deaf clone wasted no time in accepting the offer. He much preferred later shifts rather than earlier ones. Plus, it might just wear him out enough to afford him some solid sleep. "When's the shift start?" posed the deaf trooper while he finished with the console and faced Exit again. He didn't place much value in the question he asked of the task he'd already accepted.

"Twenty-two hundred. We've got a few minutes," flatly responded while keeping eye contact with the deaf clone. Both men looked ahead. Exit listened to the soft hum of the base and his boots reverberating off the duracrete. The deaf clone walked in silence. After a brief pause, Exit signed back to his friend while they walked.

"You should know, your volume awareness is getting better. You're not as loud as you used to be. Most people would probably not even realize you were deaf. That is, if they didn't get a look at your ugly mug." A chuckle spilled from Exit's chest. "I just thought you should know that. You should pretty normal."

"Thank you. Not trying to impress anyone. I'm just trying to get my job done and keep you guys outta trouble." A light jab to the shoulders. Laughter and banter ensued. They had almost reached the armory to suit up when the ground shuddered under them. Debris fell from the ceiling, and both troopers struggled to regain their balance. Exit heard the groaning of fire upon the base devour the outer hull and the siren sound. The deaf clone could only feel the strong vibrations as they crawled up his legs. When he placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, the touch immediately ignited a connection to the quaking sensation there, too.

A sick twinge of pleasure washed over him.

---<//=//>---


The soul has moments of escape –
When bursting all the doors –
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings open the Hours
-Emily Dickinson​