Dear Reader, Sorry for the long wait! Holidays and then very busy work-wise. And major rewriting of the chapter. Thank you for my reviewers: Jessica Wolffe, LuckyLife, MsCT-782, Akira-Hayama, Sued13, thaismarendaz, ChristinaTM, Writingfan27, Galaxy000, blobfish2690 and LLTC. As always, your reviews and PMs mean so much to me. I hope you enjoy this installment! Peace, CS
Chapter 138 Hiding and Searching
"I was walking among the fires of hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius; which, to Angels, look like torment and insanity."
William Blake
"It's good to see you again, even under these circumstances," Jesse said, heading back towards the flight deck with Top at his side.
"You, too," Top replied. "Bring me up-to-speed."
Jesse filled him in on the details, scant though they were.
Top was puzzled. "What would Count Dooku want with the captain? Even his position as first-in-command of the 501st wouldn't warrant a special trip to take him prisoner. Would it? Is it possible that . . . that the captain knows something that we don't know about, that the Separatists would go to such efforts to get to him?"
Jesse was circumspect. "I don't think this has anything to do with the Separatists," he ventured tentatively, almost reluctantly. "A Sith Lord is a Sith Lord, and he serves only his master."
"You think Dooku kidnapped Rex at the direction of his master?"
"Yes," Jesse nodded.
Top knit his brows. "But that still leaves the question of why?"
Jesse hesitated before answering. At last, he said simply, "General Skywalker."
This response surprised Top. "Explain," he prompted.
Jesse struggled to find the right words to express the suspicions that had been forming in his mind ever since he'd heard DB, Ajax, and Pitch describe what had happened in the tunnels.
"Even before you went to the 808th . . . you knew how close the bond was between the captain and General Skywalker," he began.
Top nodded.
"I . . . what if this is a plot to . . . to . . . " Jesse was loathe to even voice the words.
"To what?" Top pressed.
"To get to General Skywalker."
Top stopped walking. The two men faced each other.
"You mean . . . an attempt to turn him to the dark side?"
It sounded unbelievable and absurd to both of them. Yet, the verbalization somehow made it a true possibility.
Jesse inclined in head. "Yes."
Top absorbed the very idea of what Jesse was suggesting. At length, he asked in a quiet, even voice, "But how would taking the captain prisoner work towards . . . moving General Skywalker towards the dark side?"
"By creating anger and hatred in the General. By feeding off that anger and hatred. Isn't that what the dark side does?"
Top shook his head, troubled. "We—we don't know enough about the Force and how it works to . . . to say one way or the other. Jesse, General Skywalker is the greatest general in the GAR, the strongest Jedi . . . " His voice trailed off as he began to understand his squad mate's suspicions.
"And turning him to the dark side would be a huge blow to the Republic," Jesse completed the thought. "But . . . but you don't become a Sith Lord just for a week or a month or a year." A pause. "Or the duration of a war."
"You . . . become one forever," Top pursued. "But how does the captain fit into that?"
"If . . . if we aren't successful, if we don't find the captain, or if we find him . . . and it's too late . . . " Jesse could not even bring himself to speak the words.
But Top understood what he was getting at. "You wonder what it will do to General Skywalker."
"Yes," Jesse confirmed. "Don't you?"
"You think it would it be enough to drive him to the dark side?"
Jesse frowned. "I don't know."
Top regarded his friend for a long few seconds. "Why would you worry about that, Jes? That would never have even remotely entered my mind, but there has to be a reason you're thinking about it. What's been happening?"
"Nothing's happening," Jesse replied. "But you know—you've seen how powerful General Skywalker is, and he's only growing stronger. I'm just afraid that if . . . if anything happens to the captain . . . I don't know what he might do. You've heard the stories about what he did to the Tuscan Raiders who killed his mother."
"Yes, but . . . but that was his mother. That's different. Besides, the possibility has always existed that the captain might be killed in action or—"
"Death on the battlefield isn't the same as this." He paused and chose his words carefully. "There's something sinister here."
"If Count Dooku is involved, that would make sense. As a Sith Lord, he's evil." Top regarded his squad mate with incredulity and doubt. "But General Skywalker would never become a Sith. He would never be lured to the dark side. He's one of us, one of the good guys."
"I know that," Jesse agreed. "But . . . even . . . even a good guy can be pushed too far."
"Not General Skywalker," Top protested. "He would never betray us."
"I know he wouldn't but what if . . . what if Dooku is trying to lure him into some kind of trap and is using the captain as bait?" Jesse pressed.
"That . . . that's a possibility," Top agreed. "That's why we have to make sure we do our part."
Jesse was grave. "I just hope we're not too late."
Top was silent for a few seconds before taking a different tack. "How are Pitch and LB handling this?"
"They're worried . . . like the rest of us," Jesse replied. "It's been tough on Pitch. He was on the captain's team, and they got separated. I think he's feeling some guilt. But if it weren't for him, neither DB or Ajax would have made it out alive. Well . . . DB, maybe. He's got that special weapon of his."
"DB's eagle isn't able to locate the captain?" Top inquired.
"I think he's still trying. I don't know his limitations."
"Well . . . let's get up on the flight deck and make ourselves useful," Top concluded.
As they left the cabin, Top added, "I'm glad you brought Echo in on this. He needs to be here."
Jesse nodded. "He brings a lot of skills and abilities we can really use."
"That's not what I'm talking about," Top deferred. "He needs to be here."
"I don't . . . what do you mean?"
"You really don't get what I'm saying?"
Jesse grinned – an honest grin, much appreciated under the circumstances. "Are you going to start being mysterious now?"
Top, however, remained serious. "No mystery. Echo should never have left the 501st. This is where he belongs."
Jesse regarded him with a pointed expression. "You left."
"Yes. But there's one big difference."
"Oh?"
"I'm not Echo."
"Is this what I have to look forward to? Those weren't exactly orthodox tactics."
"I . . . didn't think you would mind, Sir. I did what I felt was necessary to defeat the enemy."
"Do you make it a habit to break the rules whenever they don't suit you?"
He answered honestly. "To me, there are no rules on the battlefield, General. I do whatever is necessary to win." He paused. "Is that going to be a problem, Sir?"
"Not for me." A smile crossed General Skywalker's face. "I just like to know when my first-in-command is going to go off and do his own thing."
"My apologies, General. The situation was urgent and I wanted to make sure—"
"I didn't ask for an explanation, Captain," Skywalker replied. "Your actions won the battle." He put his a hand on his new first-in-command's shoulder. "I, uh, I think I just might get used to you . . . Rex."
Rex. It was the first time he'd called him only by his name. Not Captain. Or Captain Rex. Just Rex.
And it felt good. It felt like the first step towards trust.
A peculiar sound drew his attention.
"What is that?" General Skywalker inquired.
Rex listened. "It . . . sounds like a probe."
A probe. A . . . probe.
A probe!
Rex's eyes flashed open.
The present flooded back into his awareness.
Fek and all, he'd fallen asleep! There, in his precarious perch, tucked around the chain that supported the line of bodies on top of which he'd taken refuge, still carefully balanced atop the massive skull that had been his hiding place for the past . . . he had no idea how long he'd been asleep. He could only berate himself for his carelessness.
The clicking sound of his dream could have been anything, but somehow, he knew it was indicative of a probe of some kind.
He stayed low, flush against the smooth surface of denuded bone, and scanned at eye level for the source of the clicking.
Nothing.
But the sound was growing louder, rising up from below.
Edging carefully forward on his stomach, he could make out the glowing red arc of a sensor sweep as it moved up the adjacent chain of bodies. The probe emitting the light was small, no larger than a human skull, and it floated and hovered as it continued its search.
It was less than five meters below him.
He turned and judged the distance to the next chain.
He sprang and found a handhold, but the momentum of his jump caused the chain to sway slightly.
The movement was enough to draw the probe's attention.
Rex went hand-over-hand around to the other side of the dangling corpses, every movement bringing a reminder of the suffering he'd endured, the pain he bore in his body.
The probe drew nearer.
He would not be able to outmaneuver it.
The sensor sweep brushed over a corner of his hand. That was enough to let the probe know it had found what it was looking for. It sent notification to its handlers and hovered at eye level.
In a moment of fury, Rex broke off the arm bone of the corpse to which he was clinging and swung out with a grunt of anger. He made impact with the probe, sending it flying into the adjacent chain where it became entangled in the skeletal remains of some unfortunate.
Whatever sense of satisfaction he might have felt watching the probe struggle to get free was quickly jettisoned at the sound of footsteps entering the chamber at a quick pace.
He had been discovered, and it was only a matter of minutes before he was in their hands again. He drew in as close as possible in an attempt to conceal himself within the folds of the dead, forced his aching muscles to support his weight in motionlessness.
He could hear the sounds of Copians grunting and snorting as they gathered below him. After half a minute, it became clear they were not aware of his precise location. They only knew the probe had detected him, and now the probe was stuck gyrating and beeping within the confines of its bony prison.
"Don't move . . . don't move. Stay still . . . "
He felt vibrations through the chain, felt it sway.
They knew. They knew where he was.
He noticed another one of the chains swaying. Several were moving.
The agitated whirr of the drone ceased.
"They don't know. Not exactly . . . oh god, don't even breathe . . . "
He knew it was a futile situation. The Copians knew he was in here; they just had to find him. Without the drone, their search would be more difficult; but they would not relent until they had succeeded.
With every remaining fiber of strength, he fought down the trembling fear that was threatening to rattle his body and give away his hiding place. If he could stay hidden long enough, maybe they would start to think he'd somehow gotten past them, out of this cavern of horrors. Maybe they'd believe he was running through some other part of the facility. Maybe they would leave and expend their efforts searching elsewhere.
"It's possible . . . it is. Just keep a grip on yourself. This isn't the time to—"
He jerked violently, almost losing his place within his cocoon of corpses. A horrible, scraping, grating sound, so loud it hurt his ears, screamed through the cavern, falling dead amongst the handing bodies.
He watched with wide eyes as the stalactite upon which he'd only moments earlier been taking refuge went crashing to the ground, the chain that had held it up whipping through its pulley. It was this metal against metal sound that was causing the high-pitched, ear-piercing cacophony. While the bodies falling and piling up on top of each in splintered, broken pieces generated the pounding thunder that caused everything nearby to sway and disgorge eons of accumulated dust and filth through the air, some of which wafted into Rex's hiding place.
But even as it choked him and burned his eyes, trying to lure him into coughing and movement, Rex held his composure. He would not give in.
The Copian grunting rose up to meet his ears. He dared not look to see what they were doing, but he imagined they were looking through the rubble of bodies to see if he were there.
But, of course, he was not.
Another chain of bodies came down.
"They're going to drop every single one until they find me."
The fear this thought aroused in him was intolerable, unbearable. If he didn't find some way to channel this terror into useful action, he would find himself giving in to it. And that would be the end of any chance – however slim – he had of surviving this ordeal.
He directed his gaze into the cavern. "There must be more than a thousand chains. And if I have to make them drop every damned one of them . . . " A determined, if fatalistic, smile crossed his face. "If they want to get their hands on me again, I'm going to make them work for it."
It did not feel strange.
Not at all.
Echo did not have it in him to experience any kind of social awkwardness.
These men were his former battalion mates, and being with them again made him feel almost as if he'd never left.
Not long ago, following his rescue from the Techno Union, he'd believed, with the deformities of his captivity, that he was better suited as a member of the Bad Batch. In fact, he'd been serving with them ever since. They were . . . not the best match for him, but they had accepted him and worked fairly well with him.
But the whole truth was that the Bad Batch were men who did not play by any rules other than those they made up as they went. Echo, on the other hand, had always been a rule-follower. The Bad Batch, while they respected a handful of individuals, had no reverence for anyone but themselves. Echo was a man who had always wanted someone to look up to, someone to admire and emulate.
He'd had that in the 501st, in Captain Rex, in General Skywalker.
Leaving the 501st had been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made. He could not help but wonder if he would have left had Fives still been alive. Every decision he'd made since his liberation had been made in light of the knowledge of Fives' death.
He often wondered if the real reason he had left the 501st was in order to flee the memories, to leave Fives behind.
But he had discovered in short order that he could not leave Fives behind. He did not want to leave him behind. Fives was a part of him – a part he did not want to forget. Yet, in the Bad Batch, he had no one to share in the recollections. Hunter and the others had never met Fives. They knew nothing of the shared adventures Echo and Fives had been on. There was no common history. No common background. The Bad Batch were completely uncommon. Not that Echo held that against them. He appreciated their skills, their devotion to each other, their fearless pursuit of victory. They were a successful team.
But not Echo's team.
"We're glad Jesse was able to find you." Denal's voice interrupted Echo's thoughts. "We're glad you're here."
"So am I," Echo replied, his voice grave. "What can you tell me about what happened?"
"I think Pitch, DB and Ajax can best answer that question," Denal replied. "They were on Rex's team on the planet. They were there when Count Dooku showed up."
"Count Dooku? Jesse didn't tell me that," Echo remarked. "You think Count Dooku had something to do with his disappearance?"
"According to Pitch and DB, he was the one who took Rex."
"Dooku . . . himself?" Echo puzzled. "It seems . . . far-fetched that a Sith Lord would come all the way out here just to take a clone captain prisoner."
"Not any clone captain," Denal corrected. "Our captain."
"Well, yes, of course, but . . . why?"
"We've all got some . . . ideas on the reasons behind it. We can fill you in on the way to Tralgaria," Denal replied. He added with a bit of cheek, "Do, uh, do you think you'll be able to . . . work with us regs again?"
"Definitely," Echo nodded. "In fact, I think . . . I'm looking forward to it."
They entered the ship's luxurious lounge and sat down, watching as General Skywalker, who had been walking ahead of them, went up the steps to the cockpit.
"How's the general taking it?" Echo asked quietly.
"He's . . . he's General Skywalker," Denal replied. "He's intense." A pause. "It's a little scary sometimes," he added with a light quip of humor.
"Jesse told me you all didn't get permission to do this," Echo noted.
"That's correct."
"Trouble's going to be waiting when this is over."
"Yes, that's . . . also true," Denal replied with a tilt of his head. "We don't care. They can court-martial us and throw us in prison. But if we're able to save the captain, it will be worth it."
Echo nodded and was silent for a long few seconds. At last, he said quietly, "What if we don't find him? When do we—stop looking?"
"We never stop."
"I imagine he thinks he is one step ahead of us." Taitha would have grinned had his facial features allowed it. "That's the twelfth chain he's jumped to. Who would have thought he'd be this agile after all he's been through. There's something to be admired in such perseverance." A pause. "And something to be indulged in breaking such determination."
"How long do you intend to allow him to continue, Makai?"
"Ahh, just a little longer. He is very entertaining. And when, at last, we bring him down, I will have a very fine reception for him."
Sometimes, it was as if Zinger could almost feel the energy emanating from the back of the flight deck. There were moments when he wanted to peer over his shoulder to where General Skywalker was sitting, just in the hopes of catching sight of some proof of his perceptions, as if he expected to see the Force radiating in waves from the general.
It was only a fanciful thought. Zinger knew the Force did not operate that way, that it was not a visible thing. And while it was true that the clone troopers were not Force-sensitive, it was equally true—undeniable—that they existed in the Force, that they were detectable to their Jedi generals. And the stronger the bond between Jedi and soldier, the greater the ability to sense the latter within the Force.
From Zinger's experience, the bond between General Skywalker and Captain Rex was the strongest he'd ever witnessed. If anyone could find Rex, it was the general. Zinger had confidence; and if he were any judge, the intensity of General Skywalker's search through the Force was viscerally palpable.
The general had not spoken a word for the past hour. He'd come to the flight deck immediately following the rendez-vous with Top and Echo. He'd inquired after the remaining flight time, ordered a long-range scan for any enemy ships that might have been in the vicinity – a search which came up empty; and issued an unnecessary order to maintain radio silence. Then he'd taken a rear seat and been silent ever since.
Silent but not inactive.
"Has he found anything? Does he sense anything?" Zinger wondered.
As if on cue, he glanced over at Three Point, just as Three Point turned his head to regard his co-pilot. And in that exchanged look, they both recognized they were thinking the same thing, they were feeling a ripple, a breath . . .
It could only be General Skywalker's use of the Force, reaching out, searching.
"Fifty-three minutes," Three-Point announced softly. It was the amount of time before they would drop out of hyperspace.
"Tracking," Zinger nodded.
The plan was to drop to subspace well beyond Tralgaria's sensor range and approach slowly enough to scan for enemy ships still in the area.
"You've got her scanning systems figured out?"
"Need you ask?"
Three Point gave a crooked grin. "She's got a lot of capabilities you wouldn't expect on a luxury crate."
"Crate? Careful or you'll insult her," Zinger replied. "She's so damned sophisticated, she might be listening to everything we say."
"She's beautiful," Three Point replied. "That's all any woman needs to hear."
Commander Cody appeared between them. "Let's hope that's true," he said with a mild bit of humor in his voice. He was trying to keep the situation from seeming hopeless. "You can flatter her as much as you want if it convinces her to give us everything she's got. We're going to need it."
"She's been agreeable so far," Three Point replied. "But it wouldn't hurt to put Echo in touch with her. He might have ways of communicating that are much better than the trial and error we're using up here."
"That's a good point," Cody agreed. "I'll get him on it." He turned and headed for the steps, passing General Skywalker on the way.
The general did not even notice his passing.
In fact, Anakin might be bodily in the ship, but he was somewhere entirely different in the enclosure of his mind. He'd finally done it, made his way into some other place.
Only . . . he wasn't sure where.
It was dark and dank. Horrifying.
He could not see what was causing the horror, but he could feel the terror.
Rex's terror. There was no mistaking it.
It was disturbing. Rex had faced countless horrors before, but Anakin had never sensed such terror from him.
A face washed through his vision. A partial face. A deteriorated face. A skeletal face. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands. Face upon face upon face.
Hiding. He was hiding. Being hunted.
But where? Was he still on Tralgaria? Or had he been taken somewhere else?
Anakin berated his own limitations, his lack of mastery of such a useful skill. On his own, he could see only shadows and fragments. He could hear sounds as if through water. Were they voices? He didn't know.
The one unmistakable perception was the fear. It wended its insidious path into his consciousness, like a dream gaining reality. And with it came the anger once more. Anakin's anger. He fought it down, insisted that vengeance was not the point of this journey. The goal was to find Rex and ensure his safety.
"Rex, show me where you are. Try to reach out. Show me what you're seeing," Anakin implored. "Help me, Rex. Help me find you. I'm not going to give up."
And he meant it. This might mark the end of his military career, the end of his inclusion in the Jedi Order; but those hardly seemed even the remotest of considerations. There were things worth fighting for, and the life of his captain was one of those things. He was willing to risk everything and take these men with him into the darkness that marked his visions.
Certainly, Obi-wan would never do such a thing; and it stood to reason that as soon as Obi-wan discovered Anakin's absence, he would immediately know the reason behind it and attempt to contact him and convince him to return. He would be furious at his former apprentice's lack of judgment and the attachment that Anakin had allowed to form with his first-in-command. He would never understand how Anakin could be willing to set the entire war effort aside in order to find one man.
"That's because he doesn't know Rex. Not like the rest of us do," Anakin told himself. "He's served beside him for almost three years and still doesn't know him—" He cut off that line of thinking, realizing he was allowing his anger to build up an arsenal of indignation at the thought that Obi-wan was going to be at odds with him. He didn't need to create contention. There would be plenty enough of that once this search was over and he returned to his unit, once he returned to give an account to the Jedi Council. They would condemn his actions, maybe even remove him from his leadership position in the 501st. The Council would enumerate his many failings as a Jedi. It wouldn't be the first time they'd reminded him of his insufficiency.
"Let them. I'm not going to stop until I find him."
Even as this thought went through his mind, he felt a powerful jolt of panic sear across the unfathomable void of time and space. A startled cry reverberated . . .
"Rex!"
"Be ready on those two chains. They are the only ones close enough for him to jump to. The instant he jumps, release the pulley."
Maika raised his comm-link and notified the Copians manning the chains to stand by. He looked out over the mountains of dead bodies now piled up on the floor in their fallen heaps. It was quite a sight and quite a mess. "Taitha, once we have him, what will you have us do with all these bodies?"
Taitha was not interested. "Whatever you please. Incinerate them, throw them into the pit, into the sea, use them as props . . . it is your decision, Makai."
"Are you not concerned he might be killed in the fall? The Sith Lord will not be happy if that happens," Makai warned.
"There are at least 20 bodies on each chain. They will cushion his fall."
"And a snapped bone might pierce him through and kill him."
"Perhaps."
"You're taking a risk, Taitha."
"The only things worth having are those involving risk," Taitha replied. He raised his magnifier and looked up into the dark heights across the cavern. His voice grew anticipatory, almost reverent, "He understands that. He is willing to take any risk to evade us. His desperation is breathtaking. He must know it is only a matter of time, yet he does not give up." He rubbed his hands together in grotesque excitement. "His flight is about to come to an end, and he doesn't even know it. But he will . . . in a few seconds, he will find out. Look at him . . . he still believes he has a chance."
Makai, like every Copian, relished the thrill of pursuit and the exquisite application of physical and psychological torture; but he would never be able to rise to the level of Taitha, who could find something worth admiring in the victims of his torture. Taitha had developed the incomprehensible ability to appreciate the particular virtues and strengths of his prisoners, and this one seemed to have garnered his attention more than past victims. It gave Taitha a sort of heightened enjoyment, a more intricate and nuanced gratification in dealing with his subjects.
Makai, for his own part, respected Taitha's fully involved approach to the Copian's chief industry; and he could only hope to one day reach the same level of expertise as Taitha. But for now, he was just grateful to be able to watch the master gamesman at his craft. It was undeniably arousing to watch the prisoner's attempts to remain hidden, all the while not knowing that his every move was now under surveillance. Yes, they'd lost track of him for a period; but now they watched with the smug satisfaction of omniscience as he tried—unsuccessfully—to keep out of sight.
And now . . . he was about to make another leap. His last.
They were playing with him now. He knew that.
Every chain he jumped to, within minutes they were investigating that chain and releasing it. They knew where he was. He could not see who was watching him or from where, but he knew. His determination that they would have to drop every chain to find him seemed to be exactly what the Copians were thinking as well.
There were still hundreds of chains, but only two were within jumping distance. And the truth was he was starting to feel weak and tired. His entire body ached from what he had already suffered; and other than the brief snatch of sleep he'd had atop the skull, he hadn't had a moment's rest. His alertness was fading. He was starting to hear things . . . General Skywalker's voice, far away and faint. But that couldn't possibly be true.
Could it?
Was General Skywalker searching for him in the Force? Was it really the general's voice he was hearing?
He felt the chain on which he was taking refuge begin to sway.
Time to jump.
He coiled his muscles and sprang. To his shock and horror, the chain to which he was jumping began to fall. A cry of panic escaped his lips as he scrabbled through the air, clawing at the bodies plummeting to the ground before him. He felt a heavy impact on his shoulders one of the bodies struck him, and he went down with the macabre cascade. Unexpectedly, a memory pushed its way into his mind. A memory from ARC training, the overland navigation exercise. Wolffe caught in the landslide, being pummeled from all sides by rock and debris. Was this how it had felt to him? To be battered, falling, without a hand- or foothold?
And then it was over.
The falling stopped. Yet, he was still being bludgeoned by the falling chain, thick and heavy enough to beat him to death. He rolled over, pulling one of the dead bodies over him for some measure of scant protection. He felt the weight piling up on his back and raised his arms to protect the back of his head.
The chain was still coming down.
He heard a sickening snapping noise at the same time as feeling a horrendous sharp pain in his right arm just above the elbow. He did not need the benefit of a medical examination to tell him the arm was broken.
The weight pressing down on him was making it hard to breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't hold a coherent thought . . .
From somewhere on the periphery of his fading consciousness, fiendish hands snatched him back to this world where all was pain and fear. He could breathe again. He was being carried over the terrain of bodies. His hands were being bound above his head. The pain in his broken arm threatened radiated into his shoulder. He was hanging suspended above the ground.
"That was impressive. No one's ever eluded us before – certainly not once they've been taken prisoner. You are to be commended."
Rex opened his eyes to see the translator and the fine Copian standing before him.
"Go to hell," he gurgled, realizing his mouth was full of blood, but not knowing where it had come from.
The translator relayed the message.
Taitha felt a thrill of anticipation vibrate through his body. "We have no hell, but we understand yours. We'll go together." He raised a long iron, the tip of which glowed red. "What is hell without fire?"