There were some things which needed no explanation, and which bore no discussion. Such as why Rafe had picked Onoff as his assassin. Of them, Onoff was the only one bound absolutely by the chain of command. He did as he was told, he could do nothing else. His file, which Rafe had assuredly read, contained that information. It also revealed the drawback to Onoff.

Onoff would carry out his orders. Once set on his course, his orders could not be canceled until he had accomplished the task. Not only couldn't he resist instruction, he could not be recalled after being sent out. Onoff would kill Tavis, or die in trying. He had no other option.

Obviously, Onoff had no wish to die. He had waited for his chance to attack, looking for an opportunity when he would be likely to succeed, and equally likely to go undetected as Tavis' killer. And, had Rafe not been changing his mind about Tavis, he would have. Even given the observations Caden had shared with Volk, and the conversation Onoff had with Damyu, they would not have come to the conclusion that he had purposely killed Tavis unless they had seen him do it. In the murky water, it wouldn't be difficult to make Tavis' body disappear, or to claim something had attacked them and then fled.

"So you decided to take justice into your own hands," Bean was the first to speak, his anger towards Rafe far from spent.

"Beanie," Tavis spoke, but this time Bean didn't stop.

"But instead of doing it yourself, you did what you always do. You got somebody else to do your dirty work while you looked on. Too much a coward to face it yourself? Or did some part of you realize that what you were doing was wrong?"

"Bean," Tavis repeated, but Bean just glared at him before returning his gaze to Rafe.

"Don't defend him, Tavis. He's not worth it," Bean spat his fury quiet, but implacable, "You may be a sergeant, Rafe, but you have no idea what that even means. You didn't earn that rank, you stole it!"

"Bean!" Tavis at last raised his voice, grabbing Bean by the shoulder and turning him around, "That's enough."

"I don't think it is," Bean hissed, now almost equally angry with Tavis, but for a different reason, "He's too coward to kill you, and you're too much of a pushover to even try and stop him. He used Onoff -one of your men!- to try and kill you! Don't you get that? He tried to murder you!"

"That is enough, Corporal Bean," this time it was Volk who spoke, his voice a low growl.

"You too, Volk?" Bean scoffed, shaking his head, "You, of all people. You should know better."

"I do," Volk's tone, though quiet, contained within it a malice, the animal instinct for violence that had been the center of Volk since time began for him, "But it is not my place, or yours, to be angry for Tavis. He can do it well enough for himself."

"But I'm not angry," Tavis said, sounding almost frustrated, "Not with any of you. I never have been. I understand each of you better than you think. Even you, Rafe."

"I don't understand," Rafe said uncertainly, "I was... so wrong."

"Yes, you were," Tavis replied, "But I've been wrong before too. And you are not the first to have tried to kill me in trying to protect this squad," he looked at Volk, "Volk, think about it. You once tried to kill me. Is what he did any more wrong than what you did? What we both did?"

"He used Onoff-" Bean began, but Tavis interrupted him fiercely, still facing Volk.

"And we divided the whole squad against itself! We got our sergeant killed. We may not have killed him ourselves, but his blood is on our hands. Volk knows it too."

Volk remained silent throughout Tavis' tirade, his infamous temper showing not the slightest flicker. Tavis knew to aim his argument right at Volk. Nobody else mattered, but Volk's opinion made all the difference. If he decided that Rafe was a threat to the squad, then Volk would kill the sergeant before Tavis could stop him. The squad would not betray him to the GAR, but Volk would have that blood on his conscience. The regret, when he eventually came to his senses, would consume him. Tavis was unwilling to simply allow that.

"This wasn't just some lapse of judgment," Bean argued, "This could have gotten Tavis killed."

"It might get him killed yet," it was Phisher who spoke, and the sound of a non-clone voice amidst so many identical voices had the shocking effect of ice water.

Everyone turned towards him. Phisher was not a clone. He did not think like a clone. And yet he worked with them peaceably, and it was known to every member of the squad that Onoff had become one of his closest friends. Wherever you found one, you found the other. Yet Phisher had remained true to the code of the GAR, and not interrupted while soldiers of higher rank debated the issue. It was not his place, as a mere private, to say anything unless his opinion was asked. And, up to this moment, he had kept his place. Now he was moved to point out what they all knew, but had been quietly ignoring.

"I'm sorry, Off," Phisher said, "But I have to."

Onoff said nothing, but merely inclined his head in acknowledgment. That single, slight movement, was sufficient to convey a world of hurt, understanding, and resignation. Onoff knew what would inevitably follow, even if nobody else had yet figured it out besides Phisher. He knew, and accepted without resentment, the nature of his fate.

"You gave him the order to kill, Sergeant," Phisher told Rafe, "In case it's escaped your notice, PFC Tavis is not dead."

"But I don't want him dead," Rafe protested, "I never should have. It was a mistake, I admit that."

"You should have thought of that earlier," Phisher's voice was uncharacteristically restrained, seemingly almost devoid of emotion of any kind, "Before you gave him that order."

"I didn't know-" Rafe began, but Phisher went on, ignoring him.

"Once deployed, Onoff cannot be recalled. You knew that," he turned his head, scanning the soldiers around him as though he could guess their thoughts, "You all know it."

"Phisher, no," Tavis was the first to figure out where he was going, "Not for me."

"Do it, Phisher," Onoff spoke and, though his voice shook, it held in it conviction, certainty, and no fear at all, "This is what I want."

"Phisher, no!" Tavis said again, this time he was echoed by Rafe, who understood too late to stop him.

In a smooth motion, one he'd practiced a thousand times but never with this enemy in mind, Phisher drew his blaster pistol from its holster, raised it, and fired point blank. Onoff, a hole in the center of his visor, was thrown back against a tree, whose trunk he then slid down. He collapsed, lifeless, into the mud.

"There," Phisher's voice was dead as he turned to look at Rafe, "Do you understand now? This is what you've done. This is what you did to us. That was my friend, Sergeant Rafe," suddenly he cracked, and though he stood motionless, his tone became half-hysterical, "My friend. Have you ever had such a thing? Someone you'd kill for, die for, do anything to protect? Do you have the faintest idea what that means!? Do you understand what you've done?! He never did anything to hurt anybody! Not until you... you used his weakness against him. And now you've destroyed him. That is the price of your arrogance. Your ignorance! You've made us kill one another! You've made us-" he choked on his own emotion, fury and anguish in equal measure fighting to tear their way out of him.

Rather than continue speaking, he turned away. Slowly, as though afraid the world itself would shatter if he moved too abruptly, Phisher stepped towards his fallen friend, and knelt down beside him. In silence, he gathered the dead soldier against him, and did what the others were incapable of. He cried. Without shame or self-consciousness, he wept openly for one whom he had called friend.

"It had to be this way, Tavis," Volk whispered quietly, putting his hand on Tavis' shoulder, "It wasn't just for you. We all knew that, someday, one of us would have to kill him. One day, that handicap of his was going to endanger us all, and we'd have to make a choice. Onoff knew it too. Who do you think he asked to kill him when the time came?"

Tavis stared helplessly at Phisher and Onoff for a long moment, then finally turned to Volk. He seemed unable to speak. He seemed suddenly drained. All the strength and stoicism he'd displayed up until now seemed to suddenly go out of him. His one good leg seemed to abruptly be unable to support him. He'd have dropped to the ground, but Volk caught him and held on.

"You knew, Tavis," Volk said, with empathy and gentleness which he had heretofore seemed utterly incapable of, "You knew this was how it had to end for him. We all did."

Tavis remained limp for a few seconds, then seemed to regain control of himself. He gripped Volk's arm as he steadied himself. Volk stood by him until he'd managed to get his balance. Then he stepped back and to the side. Tavis, straightening, returned his attention to Rafe, who was still staring at Phisher as though he couldn't believe, couldn't accept, that he was responsible for this.

"What you just saw, Sergeant, was devotion," Tavis said, his voice surprisingly strong and steady after his near-collapse, "What you saw just now was Fortune Actual."

Rafe seemed to have difficulty dragging his gaze from Phisher to rest on Tavis. He did not speak, there was nothing he could possibly say to this, to any of this.

"Your mistake cost a man his life, and destroyed whatever trust the squad may have had in you," Tavis went on after a brief pause, "I cannot speak for them. But I know why you did as you did. And I know you will not make this mistake again. And I know too, that you will never forgive yourself. But I... I do."

"What?" Rafe didn't sound surprised, he sounded like he didn't even understand what Tavis had said.

"You did not give that order out of malice or hatred. You gave it because you wanted to protect this squad. You knew that one day I must return to it, and that you yourself would never be trusted enough by Volk to kill me. You felt I was a danger to the squad, because you knew they would follow me. And you thought I was a traitor. You believed that, when I returned, I would have Fortune Actual betray the GAR, and very likely get them killed in the process. You did what you felt you had to. You did what you did not because you were afraid or angry. You did it to protect Fortune."

At last, Bean's protests were silenced. Tavis continued.

"Of all the things in this life that I do not understand, there is one thing I do understand without difficulty. And that is doing whatever is necessary to protect your people. I have never been a sergeant, but I know the burden they carry. The possible sacrifice of one, to save the others, is not easy. But it is a choice that you, as their sergeant, had to make, knowing that your men would never understand. But I understand, Rafe, even if they do not. I cannot find it in myself to trust you, but I can forgive. And that is what I choose to do now. There has been enough hatred and bloodshed between us already. I choose now to let it end here, now, like this. I choose to make this what Onoff died for."

"It should never have gone so far," Rafe said quietly, shaking his head.

"But it did," Tavis replied evenly, "And now we must move on. You are the sergeant of Fortune Actual, and your responsibility to these men does not end just because you made a mistake. You cannot give up on them just because they have no faith in you. Give them a reason to follow you, Sergeant."

Rafe took a moment to collect himself, then nodded curtly. He looked around, taking in the aspect of each man in turn. Just a short time ago, all of these men were just words on a page to him. His gaze settled on Volk. The words written about the corporal could not fully convey his capacity for violence, his fierce temper or his vicious streak. And they did nothing at all to suggest his wisdom. Rafe had learned a little about that, even in the short time he had known Volk.

Even so, he did not believe Volk would forgo his desire for vengeance. He did not believe Volk would allow him to live, much less continue to lead Fortune. But Volk had never fit the textbook description of a GAR trooper. And now, he did not even fit the description the GAR had of him.

Stiffly, Volk dipped his head fractionally.

In that slight action, Volk gave Rafe a second chance that they both knew he did not deserve.

Rafe closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. He felt as though he'd been holding his breath ever since he realized his mistake in setting Onoff on Tavis. He felt like he hadn't taken a breath of air in an age, but now he could suddenly breathe again. Tavis was right, Rafe could not forgive himself for his inexcusable error. But Volk -the vicious, temperamental corporal of Fortune Actual, known for his violent ways and coldness towards outsiders; Volk, who had not wanted Rafe here in the first place, and whose devotion to Tavis was above his loyalty to the GAR or Fortune itself- could.

"You're a better man than I ever could be," Rafe said to Volk.

"Perhaps," Volk conceded, "But, as Tavis so recently reminded me, you and I are not so very different."

"Oh?"

"As he said, you are not the first member of this squad to try and kill him."

There were many sides of Volk described in his records. So many that Rafe had had difficulty believing that they could all belong to the same person, or that the person could be stable if they did. Yet Volk had shown himself to be as solid as they came. And, here and now, he displayed a side his records did not indicate even existed. This was not the Volk Rafe had been prepared to meet. Nor was this Tavis the one he had believed existed. If the records could be so wrong about two clones, what else did the GAR have wrong?

"We'll..." he looked at where Phisher still knelt, holding tight to his friend's lifeless body, "We'll rest here... for awhile. Volk, you see to posting sentries."

"Sir," was the prompt response, sounding as if nothing had happened at all.

Sighing, Rafe walked to where Phisher was. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. Phisher wasn't even a clone, and Rafe realized he wouldn't have known how to handle this even if he was.

"Phisher..." Rafe waited for a reaction, but received none, "Phisher... there aren't... there aren't any words I could possibly say... there's nothing I could do that... could possibly make this alright. I don't... I don't expect you to forgive me... but I want you to know... I am... sorry. It's not enough. I know it isn't. Hell, if I said it a million times, it still wouldn't be enough. But it's all I have to give," he waited, but Phisher did not respond to him, "Phisher, I'm sorry."

Having said it, he left Phisher alone to grieve as the rest of them -because they were clones, trained to hold back their emotions, to deny such feelings even existed- could not. As Phisher grieved for his friend, he did not do it only for himself. Phisher mourned for them all.