Fan Fiction is considered the red-headed stepchild of "real writing" by most readers and authors. However, it can be a lot of fun, and some of it is very nicely done. Not only that, but fans who organize to do costuming and participate in conventions do a lot of cancer charity work. Here, for those of you into Star Wars, is a well written short tale contributed by Kathryn Olsen.
No One Could Survive
They say that, as clones, we do not possess a conscience. We are not capable of it.
They say that any soul that we possessed was left behind in the original host and we inherited nothing more than a perfectly matched set of genes and a perfect dispensability.
It is true that we were produced from that host because they assumed that the chemical tendencies that produced his cunning would be exploited in the course of training so that we would be just as susceptible to the urges that drive a man to kill.
They do not understand that while chemicals determine some things, circumstances force us to determine the rest.
I am clone 1,030,111, affectionately nicknamed Lieutenant Deadeye by General Kenobi. I have served with him for three years and the circumstances have forced me to develop my uncanny sense of aim, my unquestioning diligence in battle, but something else as well.
I have learned that even a man who is not supposed to have a soul can learn loyalty.
Unfortunately, my diligence must apply to all my orders. I obey Order 12, which gives me the mandate to scout an enemy position. I obey Order 74, which requires me to take command of my platoon.
There are one hundred seven orders to date, carefully studied and memorized on lonely battlefields over the years that this war has already taken.
Only three have never been given. Order 45 gives authorization to arrest a member of the Senatorial community. Order 91 is what we would use to instate martial law.
Order 66 implies a casual betrayal that I am not sure I could carry out.
It is one that I wish I could ignore, but every time I see a Jedi lead us into danger, I wonder if the time will come when I will have to burn him down. My brothers in arms laugh at the way I flinch whenever General Kenobi is in our field of fire.
Other than Commander Cody, it is unlikely that he has a more stalwart supporter than Deadeye.
We are here on Utapau, not by choice, but by heartless necessity. We've never signed treaties with these people or set up a garrison, but we are here for their protection as much as our own.
And we are here for a higher purpose: General Grievous, Kenobi's only worthy adversary and leader of the Separatist army, is cornered. He has battle droids, but those are easily desposed of. He has supporters here, but we have outwitted entire cells of Separatists before. That should prove to be a small obstacle.
We are here because Grievous is cornered and we must ensure that he remains so.
They say that any soul that we possessed was left behind in the original host and we inherited nothing more than a perfectly matched set of genes and a perfect dispensability.
It is true that we were produced from that host because they assumed that the chemical tendencies that produced his cunning would be exploited in the course of training so that we would be just as susceptible to the urges that drive a man to kill.
They do not understand that while chemicals determine some things, circumstances force us to determine the rest.
I am clone 1,030,111, affectionately nicknamed Lieutenant Deadeye by General Kenobi. I have served with him for three years and the circumstances have forced me to develop my uncanny sense of aim, my unquestioning diligence in battle, but something else as well.
I have learned that even a man who is not supposed to have a soul can learn loyalty.
Unfortunately, my diligence must apply to all my orders. I obey Order 12, which gives me the mandate to scout an enemy position. I obey Order 74, which requires me to take command of my platoon.
There are one hundred seven orders to date, carefully studied and memorized on lonely battlefields over the years that this war has already taken.
Only three have never been given. Order 45 gives authorization to arrest a member of the Senatorial community. Order 91 is what we would use to instate martial law.
Order 66 implies a casual betrayal that I am not sure I could carry out.
It is one that I wish I could ignore, but every time I see a Jedi lead us into danger, I wonder if the time will come when I will have to burn him down. My brothers in arms laugh at the way I flinch whenever General Kenobi is in our field of fire.
Other than Commander Cody, it is unlikely that he has a more stalwart supporter than Deadeye.
We are here on Utapau, not by choice, but by heartless necessity. We've never signed treaties with these people or set up a garrison, but we are here for their protection as much as our own.
And we are here for a higher purpose: General Grievous, Kenobi's only worthy adversary and leader of the Separatist army, is cornered. He has battle droids, but those are easily desposed of. He has supporters here, but we have outwitted entire cells of Separatists before. That should prove to be a small obstacle.
We are here because Grievous is cornered and we must ensure that he remains so.
*****
"Execute Order 66."
Order 66: Under orders from the Supreme Chancellor alone, you are to target and kill all Jedi under your jurisdiction.
There is no time for loyalty or insubordination, only action, but the conscience I do not possess is seared by that command.
"It will be done, my lord," Commander Cody responds flatly, without question or hesitation.
I must not hesitate either.
My hand seizes the missile launcher before the hologram is even deactivated and I am running, pushing past the others to drop to one knee.
I never miss my target. I am the surest shot this batallion has and they do not question that I will get the job done. They do not send a reinforcement or a backup marksman because they will not need one.
I never miss. I squint down the barrel, taking careful aim as my heart pounds and my hands tremble for the first time I can remember.
Is this what fear feels like?
I fire.
From this distance, no one can tell that I aimed low, shooting to disable at worst and provide an escape route at best. They only see the explosion and the two 'corpses' plummeting towards the water-filled basin.
"No one could survive that fall," Cody diagnoses grimly. "Move out."
No one could survive, but Kenobi has survived worse.
I never miss my target, but my General was not it.
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Kathryn Olsen, 31, is a published essayist and sometimes satirist from the Greater Boston area. She currently resides in Provo, UT, where she is finishing a BA in Literature with a minor in Spanish language. She is also the author of the blog "Novel-ties," which can be found at novel-ties.blogspot.com, and is an annual contributor to the Life, The Universe and Everything Symposium (www.ltue.org).
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