[ Uli can't help but to be reminded of his arid homeworld every time he steps out of his (allegedly) climate-controlled cube and into the glaring sunlight that bears down on the center of the camp like a cruel glare. The uncomfortable grittiness of the sand trapped between his socks and the otherwise-bare skin of his ankles as he crosses camp to greet the LAAT as it touches down on the landing zone - that's familiar too.
He's hardly the picture of civilized society as he savors the downwash of the landing from a safe distance, Republic jumpsuit unzipped to the waist in an attempt to allow body heat to leave through the sweat-yellowed tee shirt of his desert phase skivvies. The harsh sunlight glints off the twin dogtags that separate him from the Republic's cloned soldiers as he waits for the brownout to clearβhis draft board took ownership of his body in every other way, but there's no identification chip implanted in his wrist. Uli Divini had the good fortune of being born and not cloned.
He knows better than to step into the blinding cloud and get a lungful of sand, so he waits, holding a rag over his nose and mouth to filter out the few sharp particles that make their way to where he stands. Man-made thunder booms on the horizon, familiar enough by now to be identifiable as Republic shelling, not Separatist. It still means wounded in a few hours, though, so they'll need to be quick in getting the new nurse set up.
By the time the sand has settled back into its rightful place on the ground and formed a thin layer over the LZ, the chief nurse's latest acquisition is already stepping out of the transport. She looks sorely out of place simply from the lack of grime on her person, though he knows it won't last long - Amidala's face isn't glistening like it probably will be in about five minutes; her hair lacks the unwashed look the weight of sweat has given his and every other human's, but that, too, will come with time.
Uli waves with the arm that isn't holding up the rag and makes a sweeping come-here gesture. They have to get out of the way before Drenn can get off the ground, and judging by the stacks of boxes strapped down in the hold, she's got other things to do today. He shouts his greeting, partly because of the distance and partly because of the low, loud hum of the LAAT's idling engine. ]
Right this way! And don't worry about the shelling, those are ours, not theirs!
βthe desert is a natural extension of the inner silence of the body.β
He's hardly the picture of civilized society as he savors the downwash of the landing from a safe distance, Republic jumpsuit unzipped to the waist in an attempt to allow body heat to leave through the sweat-yellowed tee shirt of his desert phase skivvies. The harsh sunlight glints off the twin dogtags that separate him from the Republic's cloned soldiers as he waits for the brownout to clearβhis draft board took ownership of his body in every other way, but there's no identification chip implanted in his wrist. Uli Divini had the good fortune of being born and not cloned.
He knows better than to step into the blinding cloud and get a lungful of sand, so he waits, holding a rag over his nose and mouth to filter out the few sharp particles that make their way to where he stands. Man-made thunder booms on the horizon, familiar enough by now to be identifiable as Republic shelling, not Separatist. It still means wounded in a few hours, though, so they'll need to be quick in getting the new nurse set up.
By the time the sand has settled back into its rightful place on the ground and formed a thin layer over the LZ, the chief nurse's latest acquisition is already stepping out of the transport. She looks sorely out of place simply from the lack of grime on her person, though he knows it won't last long - Amidala's face isn't glistening like it probably will be in about five minutes; her hair lacks the unwashed look the weight of sweat has given his and every other human's, but that, too, will come with time.
Uli waves with the arm that isn't holding up the rag and makes a sweeping come-here gesture. They have to get out of the way before Drenn can get off the ground, and judging by the stacks of boxes strapped down in the hold, she's got other things to do today. He shouts his greeting, partly because of the distance and partly because of the low, loud hum of the LAAT's idling engine. ]
Right this way! And don't worry about the shelling, those are ours, not theirs!