FORESIGHT and SCOPE: BOOK TWO

C H A P T E R F I F T Y-S I X

ATHENA'S POV

Fourteen rotations...

My mouth twisted as my teeth grinded together. I had been staring at the same paragraph from what felt like the millionth article I've read for a solid fifteen minutes. Since Vice Admiral Rampart's detainment, I'd yet to receive a mission, so I employed myself to read more and more documents from the Imperial Archives, cramming my cranium with knowledge from military reports to planetary records of cultural phenomenons. If I wasn't reading, I was training in the state-of-the-art borstal institution, utilizing every simulation in its solo mission-scenarios. It'd been fourteen rotations since I'd left Coruscant. Since I'd stepped foot outside the Imperial Military Base. Since I'd laid eyes on Crosshair...

"Have you ever wanted something so badly you cannot breathe?"

My whole body spasmed everytime those words echoed in my head. If I had known they were to be my final statement before our partnership was terminated, I would have chosen to be less flagrant...And now, my mind was in disarray. Our euphoric kiss lingered on my crimson-red lips, tingling whenever I so much as wash my face and my own fingers brush over them. My heart longed to feel that sensation again—the one so foreign to me that the only way to understand it is to experience it once more. Maybe twice. I've tried distracting myself by stuffing my brain full of the galaxy's knowledge and training to clear my mind of him. But boredom had cumbered itself, and when I was bored, the circumstances of our relationship simmered in every nerve of my body.

At times, while training, I'd taken my frustration out on slaughtering the droids and dummies over the lack of contact or closure. (I figured out my bloodlust nature didn't need to kick in to absolutely destroy my targets.) I may not have seen him in fourteen rotations, but I have heard his voice. I know Crosshair was not a conversationalist, but possibly avoiding to address my—I'll admit—precarious last words has irritated the unsatisfied itch in my brain. Did I expect any less? Alas, not really.

Then again...is there an answer I am expecting? And am I sure I want to hear it or not?

When we talked, it was on occasion through our comm devices. Unlike me, the Empire had been making sure to keep the elite clone busy. However, the 'missions' he'd been sent on were more like errands. Our conversations were brief, but informative. The Empire had begun to pillage and conquer planets at a daunting rate for an assortment of resources. I use these words electingly. Crosshair had been part of several companies that were sent to supervise said recesses. Wasting a man of his skill was an insult—but then, there's the reminder that clones were being phased out thanks to the passing of the Defense Recruitment Bill. Furthermore, Crosshair still had the notion he was fulfilling his purpose...

"In other words," I huffed as I stretched back on my bed. "I'm bored."

"As you have mentioned thrice now." Crosshair groaned through the device gripped in my hand.

"I have a plan on how to cure it this time, though." I smiled to myself. "I'm going to finally leave this planet and visit an acquaintance of mine."

"I suppose there's no point in asking whom?"

I hesitated for a moment. In my mind, it seemed illogical to tell him I was planning on paying my sister a visit on Ord Mantell. The idea had presented itself when I was scanning over an old file detailing mining companies and their shipping routes through different systems, including the planet in which Clone Force 99 had chosen for their—for a lack of a better word—'home base'. It occurred to me that I did threaten Fern that I'd always be watching her and the rest of the squad for any 'slip-ups,' so perhaps stopping by and stalking them would not only relieve my monotony but also provide some fieldwork worth studying.