Dear Reader, First and foremost: Thank you again to my reviewers, LLTC, Ms CT-782, Queen Nagaina, and CaptainRexBest35. I am very grateful! There's a bit of exposition in this chapter. Although I imagine most readers are familiar with most characters (except the OCs), I always feel like I need to write some background. Hence, the smidgen about Kamino. Now, reading through the various "source" materials on the size of a clone batch and the composition of battalions/companies and the associated commanding ranks, it became clear to me that SW follows absolutely no logic or reason in the "formulation" of its units. So, I took some creative license and modeled the 501st after a U.S. Army Infantry Battalion round about WWII. As well, I put the "batch" size at 30, since the training squads are of 5 men each (makes it easy to divide!). Lastly, you may notice that the Jesse at this point of the story is the Saleucami Jesse, very responsible and composed - not the Jesse of Umbara. I hope you enjoy. Peace, CS
Chapter 16 Closer to Believing
"To be closer to believing, to be just a breath away,
on the death of inspiration, I would buy back yesterday.
But there's no crueler illusion, there's no sharper coin to pay.
As I reach out, it slips away."
Closer to Believing
Greg Lake
"I think I'm getting pretty good at this."
"And not at all prideful."
Pitch's shoulders rose sheepishly. "Well, they didn't teach us humility on Kamino. They taught us to be confident all the time, to go after what we want with everything we have."
"That is a good approach, but only if you want the right thing."
Pitch's mentor, the elderly sister from the prayer group, sat beside him on a stone bench in the courtyard between the healing houses. Her name was Agnesta, and over the two days since their meeting, Pitch had grown quite fond of her and her old-womanly ways. In fleeting moments of whimsy, he imagined that she represented what it would have been like to have a grand-mother (or a mother, for that matter), both doting and firm, filled with wisdom and unconditional love – if it was love she was showing towards him. He wasn't quite sure, being unfamiliar with the emotion in any capacity other than the brotherly love he had for his fellow clones.
"I want the right thing," he asserted. "I'm not asking for anything for me. I just want Kix to get well."
"But do you really know of whom you are asking this . . . favor?" Angesta asked.
"I know you call him the creator," Pitch replied.
"Do you believe in him?"
Pitch considered. "Not really," he admitted. "That's hard stuff for a guy like me to wrap my head around."
"Then why do you continue to pray?"
Pitch took a long time before answering. "Because it just feels like . . . I don't know, it's something to do, instead of sitting around feeling helpless." A pause. "I mean, I don't believe as you do, but just in case I'm wrong and you're right, isn't it better to be safe than sorry?"
Agnesta beamed at him. "Always."
"And you're not mad at me?"
"Not at all. You may be one of the most honest boys I have ever met."
"Well, I'll tell you what . . . I'll be a lot closer to believing if—if Kix pulls through."
"I thought the healers said they expect him to survive."
"Yes, but . . . I just . . . I'll feel better when I can actually see it for myself." He stood up, feeling suddenly very self-conscious for someone bred to be confident and bold. "Especially with Kix." He drew in a deep breath. "We all did something pretty stupid back in Basic Training. It almost cost him his life . . . twice." He rubbed his temples with one hand. "Sometimes . . . sometimes I think that something went wrong in his genetic programming, and he's not as . . . suited for war as the rest of us. And then, other times, I think he's better able to handle it than any other trooper I know. Maybe it was just us-the other members of Saber Squad. We were cut-throat, and . . . he wasn't. But together, we were the best. Without him, we wouldn't have made it. He was sort of our moral compass. We all had one goal, and that was to earn a place in the 501st. We were willing to do whatever it took, and when I think back now . . . " He turned and looked at Agnesta with a plaintive expression, as if he were seeking some sort of absolution. "We didn't mean for anything bad to happen. And in the end, we learned how to still be the best but . . . to look out for each other, too. And we've had Kix's back ever since then. He's never held any of it against us, and we've been closer as a squad than ever before. So, doesn't that . . . make up for the mistakes we made?"
"Are you asking me for some kind of forgiveness?"
"I don't know. I mean, you can't forgive what we did. Only Kix can, and he already has."
"But it is clear that this is something that still weighs heavily on your mind. Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Pitch hesitated. "If I tell you, you won't want to talk to me anymore."
"I do not believe that. But you are dealing with your own guilt. I can feel that in you. If you speak about it, you may finally be able to forgive yourself."
The Bertagad sun was just above the horizon, on its way to setting. It evoked a certain desire in Pitch to put to rest regrets that been following him as surely as the shadows now stretching across the desert.
"I don't know. It's a long story, and I really should get back up there to Kix," he said at last.
"As you wish. If you change your mind, I will be here to listen."
Pitch gave a half-hearted nod. "I'll see you later, Sister."
"I know you are anxious to get out of here, Captain," Au-Linus said with a tolerant half-smile. "And you'll be glad to know that I find you are responding very well to treatment and healing rapidly. Therefore, I will release you today. I'll send you with medication and instructions. A sister will come by every day to check on you at the Seiba Tops – unless you check in here first. As soon as I leave here, I'll have clothes sent up and make sure someone shows you to your quarters."
Rex nodded. "Thanks for patching me up, doc. Uh, doctor. Brother. Sorry."
"Try taking it easy on that arm, too," Au-Linus added. "You look like you've had your share of injuries, Captain. I'm not sure you give them time to heal adequately."
"I don't know what you've got at work here, but whatever it is, it's a lot more effective than a bacta tank," Rex stated.
"I'll let you figure that one out," Au-Linus replied. "We also released the story-teller next door, and Fels Au-Fran is in looking at the one with the concussion . . . I think he's called Little Ride? I must say you all have very interesting names."
"What about the others?"
"It looks like they'll all be here another day or so," the brother replied.
"Kix?"
"His condition is still serious. Fels Au-Josat and Fels Au-Cepha are doing everything they can for him," Au-Linus said. "His friends have stayed at his side. There's always been at least one with him."
"And I guess you wouldn't have heard anything from Cody, since you have no means of communication," Rex supposed.
"No, but Fels Au-Trava is the best guide we have. He will get them across safely." A pause. "I must continue my rounds. But I'll get someone up here quickly."
"Thanks again."
Less than five minutes later, a sister arrived with the desired change of clothes. Rex did not waste a second getting dressed. His first stop was next door, Kix's room.
Here, he found Jesse and Hardcase.
They both looked exhausted and forlorn.
Rex knew Jesse to be a serious and sensitive soul; so to see him weighed down and melancholy, while disheartening, was not cause for concern; however, Hardcase was another story. Even under the worst of circumstances, Hardcase always managed to hold onto the thinnest shred of optimism. He was hopeful, buoyant, determined.
Not so now.
He looked careworn, miserable.
Both men stood as their captain entered the room.
"Captain, it's good to see you on your feet," Jesse said, but his voice contained no enthusiasm.
"It's good to be up," Rex replied. He moved to stand beside the bed.
"Don't put your hand in that field," Jesse warned.
"I know. I won't," Rex said. He hadn't seen Kix since they'd come to the Monastica. It had only been three days, but it felt like much longer. In the orange light of the cold field, Kix did not look bad; but Rex knew otherwise.
"Has he woken up at all?" the captain asked.
"No," Jesse replied. "They're keeping him unconscious, trying to give his body a chance to heal." He added with forced hopefulness. "They said he's in stable condition. Serious but stable."
"Where's Pitch?"
"I'm here, Captain." Pitch walked in the door.
"Have any of you taken a break?" Rex asked. "You all look terrible."
"Don't make us leave, Captain," Hardcase implored.
"I'm not," Rex assured them. "But when he comes around, if the first thing he sees is you guys looking the way you do now, he's going to think he's in the middle of a combat zone. At least consider getting some decent sleep and taking a shower."
Hardcase hadn't missed his captain's choice of words.
When he comes around . . .
Hearing those words coming from Rex, Hardcase felt more optimism than he had since coming to the Monastica.
It was one of Rex's greatest strengths: the trust he inspired in his men. Why was it that, if Rex said a thing were true, his men were ready to believe and follow him on the instant? The idea of questioning his leadership was utterly foreign to the troopers of the 501st. Rex had a charisma that went before him, just as his reputation did. He knew his business, both strategically and tactically. He was honest to a fault, knew how to both give and take an ass-chewing, and he never held a grudge. From a soldierly standpoint, he was a sure shot, brilliant in hand-to-hand combat, and he seemed to know which chances were worth taking and which ones weren't.
He was esteemed by his peers and respected by his superiors, but it was the admiration of one individual in particular that put Rex leagues above every other officer in the eyes of his men.
General Skywalker.
Anyone who had been around General Skywalker and the 501st for more than a few minutes could not help but notice the Jedi general's absolute trust in his captain, the full faith and confidence he had in Rex's abilities. To know that no less a Jedi than Anakin Skywalker held the captain in such high regard only increased Rex's stature and aura of invincibility among his troops.
"We've been sleeping on and off in here—" Jesse began, but Rex cut him off.
"I said some decent sleep."
"We're okay, Captain," the lieutenant assured him.
"I'll take you at your word," Rex replied, then after studying Kix for a few more seconds, he turned to Pitch; and with a skeptical tone in his voice, he said, "I hear you've been trying to learn how to pray."
Pitch colored. "Well . . . yes, Captain."
"What in the universe for?"
Pitch withered under his captain's scrutiny.
"I figured . . . it can't hurt, right?" the demolitions expert offered.
"It can, if these people think you're making a mockery of their beliefs," Rex replied pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture that all of them recognized as the precursor to a dressing-down. Not a lecture—for Rex didn't lecture; he just told it like it was, in the fewest words possible.
"But I'm not mocking them, Sir," Pitch insisted. "I'm serious about it. I'll try anything if it will help Kix. I can't learn to be a doctor in a few days, but I can learn how to pray."
Rex narrowed his eyes. "I know you, Pitch. You speak your mind too easily. You could end up insulting these people." He sighed heavily. "Look, I understand how you all feel. But you'd do better to put your faith in their medical skill than in a bunch of . . . superstitious mumbo-jumbo."
At Pitch's silence, Rex pursued a little further. "Don't tell me you think that stuff is real. Pitch, you've always been grounded in reality."
Jesse spoke up. "He's also always been the one most open to trying new things."
Rex did not reply right away. If what Jesse had just said was true, Rex wondered how he could have ever missed such a thing. He prided himself on knowing his men – each and every one of the seven hundred and eighty men who comprised his battalion. He knew their strengths and weaknesses, their friendships and their rivalries. He knew their histories – the successes and victories, the losses and defeats. He knew each one by name and by number, as individuals and in relation to their place within their platoon and within the battalion as a whole. He knew when they came onboard. He knew when they met their ends.
So, how could he have missed this trait in Pitch, a trooper in whose company he often found himself? He'd seen the steadiness, the professionalism, and the no-nonsense adherence to orders. That was why he'd been so put off by the little excursion on Pylotta, disappointed that a veteran 501st soldier like Pitch could be so unduly influenced by a newbie like Fives.
He'd also seen the filter-less expression of opinion—often contrary opinion—that tended to flow freely from Pitch's fountain of personal wisdom or lack thereof. And, of course, he'd marked the unwavering and almost dogmatic adherence to the protection and impenetrability of Saber Squad and its unity.
But he'd missed this one. And by light years.
The captain wondered if perhaps he was becoming too insular. Too focused on the things he'd already decided in his mind? Less observant?
If that were the case, he would certainly have to amend his ways; for one thing that could be said of Rex without question: he never missed an opportunity to improve his skills – even such a soft skill as keeping an ear to the ground where his men were concerned.
With this in mind, he replied equably. "If it makes you feel better, you can do it. Just don't—don't do anything that's going to get us in trouble."
"Of course not, Sir."
"Excuse me, gentlemen?"
All eyes turned to the doorway. The Doma stood on the threshold.
"Oh, good evening, Doma Maree," Jesse answered with an easy familiarity that made Rex think the Doma had visited Kix's room quite often.
"Am I intruding?"
"No, no, not at all," Jesse replied, realizing after he'd spoken that he should have left that answer to his captain.
As she passed through the room, the Doma cast a subtle grin at Rex. "I see you are now on your feet and that Fels Au-Linus has released you. That must have made you happy."
"Yeah," Rex replied. "He says I'm doing great."
"Yes, he told me," the Doma replied. "He was going to send for someone to show you to your quarters. I told him I would do it."
Rex's throat tightened and his stomach lurched. Put simply, there was something about Doma Maree that made him very uncomfortable, as if he were being scrutinized and judged at every moment. It wasn't something he felt around any of the brothers or the other sisters. It was a groundless aversion, for he knew that he had done nothing for which she could reproach him; and she had never said anything even remotely unkind to him.
But he couldn't help it. He just did not like her.
"Oh, I can find my way, I'm sure. Or one of them will be able to show me," he stumbled through his deferral, looking to his brothers for deliverance.
"It's no trouble," the Doma assured him. She walked over to the bed and reached her hand into the cold field to place her palm on Kix's forehead. A few seconds later, she placed it on top of the sheet over the injury. The expression on her face showed no indication of emotion; but when she had finished, her next action was to call for a nurse.
"Send word to Fels Au-Cepha. Tell him to meet me here in one hour."
When the nurse had left, Jesse inquired immediately. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"There is nothing wrong," she replied. "He is healing . . . but very slowly. Our methods are usually much quicker taking effect."
"Why do you think that is?" Rex asked.
"That is what I will discuss with Fels Au-Cepha."
"He's still going to be alright, isn't he?" Hardcase asked.
"I believe so, yes," the Doma answered. "I don't feel anything in him that would lead to a worsening of his condition."
"What—what is that thing you do?" Pitch asked. "When you put your hands on us? What is that?"
"It is called Skrit-Na. The search for what ails the body."
"How did you learn that?" This from Hardcase.
"It isn't learned," the Doma replied. "It is a gift, one that takes many years to develop. Many have it, but few pursue it. I suppose I have it to a greater degree than most."
"So, you can just touch someone and feel if there's anything wrong with them," Hardcase stated.
"That is the easiest way to explain it, yes."
"What did you feel in Kix just now?" Jesse asked.
"It is as I said: he continues to heal but very slowly," she replied. "I should like to speed things up."
"How?"
"You will be the first to know after I discuss it with Au-Cepha," she promised. "In the meantime . . . Captain, if you are ready, I will show you the way."
Rex knew he wasn't going to get out of it. In that case, it was better to just get it over with.
"Yes, I'm ready." He looked to the others. "I'll be back later tonight."
As he made to leave, Jesse spoke up. "Captain Rex . . . we're glad you're alright."
Rex nodded once. Expressions of concern for his own well-being made him feel awkward. His men knew that and behaved accordingly.
The Doma led the way through the labyrinth of passages until they came out into the stifling heat of late afternoon.
Rex had forgotten, quite readily during his confinement, just how brutal the desert was.
Seeing the sweat immediately begin to bead on his forehead, the Doma offered, "If you need to stop and take a rest, just tell me."
"I'll be fine," Rex replied.
"It's quite far, and you are still healing."
"I'll be fine," Rex repeated with a hint of irritation.
They began traversing the botanical garden.
Doma Maree spoke up without prompting. "Those four are very close."
Rex was direct. "They're batchers. Squad mates. They've been through a lot together. You're right; they're very close."
"I understand squad mates, but what are batchers?"
"On Kamino, we're created and raised in groups of thirty. Each group is called a batch. We live and train and eat and sleep and . . . do everything together. Our batch becomes our platoon when we're brought into active duty. And within our batch, we're split into groups of five called squads. Those four were in the same squad together," Rex explained. "They're tighter than a braid."
"You said squads have five. Where is their fifth?" the Doma asked.
"At training," Rex replied. "I think they really wish he was here right now. He does a good job of holding them together. But so does Jesse." A pause. "Echo and Fives are also squad mates, but they're the only two left from their squad. The first time I met them, it was under dire circumstances. They showed me something I hadn't seen in many other troopers, and when the rest of their squad mates were killed, I decided I wanted them in the 501st."
Doma Marika listened intently. "It's very interesting. I have never given much thought to how the clones of the army are raised. I suppose it makes sense: if a man is raised from infancy in the constant presence of a select group of individuals, then it stands to reason, they will coalesce into a tight-knit unit." She paused. "What about your batchers? Your squad mates?"
"When I went to ARC training, I knew I would probably be assigned to another unit and separated from my batchers. It doesn't happen to every graduate—or even most—but I've always been the best and . . . well, they needed someone to be first officer in the 501st, and I wanted that job. I haven't been with my batchers in over a year." He paused. "I don't know if any of them are even still alive. I've put all my effort into being the best officer I can for the 501st and for General Skywalker."
"You wanted the job, even if meant leaving your batchers." The Doma's voice was thoughtful. "Jesse and the others, I don't think they could bear the thought of leaving each other."
"You're right. Echo and Fives are the same way."
"Are most clones like that?"
"I don't know," Rex answered honestly.
"But you're not."
"I guess not." Rex let the words drop flatly.
"Is there no one you feel close to?"
Rex frowned and wished she would stop asking questions. But his breeding also included manners, and he respected her as a woman and as the religious leader of the Monastica. So, he replied as politely as he could. "We're clones, we're soldiers. We're not supposed to put our personal desires or our feelings ahead of the mission. We're not created to be like that."
"That wasn't the question. I asked if there is anyone you feel close to, being that you are no longer with your batchers."
He would still be polite. "You'll excuse me for saying, but that's my personal business."
Maree was not put off. "Most people like to talk about themselves," she said. "Your fellow soldiers are very open. I assumed you were, as well. I didn't mean to intrude."
"You didn't sense that I was more . . . private than my soldiers?" Rex challenged. "Your gift didn't pick that up?"
Doma Maree laughed.
At him.
"It doesn't work that way, Captain," she replied, then parroting him, "And now, if you'll excuse me for saying, you sound like a crotchety old man."
Rex was startled by this accusation. He could not find the words to respond. The only other person who would dare to say such a thing to him was Commander Tano - and she never held back when she felt Rex was being miffish.
"How is it that you—whom your men hold in such high regard—are the most unpleasant among them?" She pointed out. "Commander Cody warned us that you were a bad patient. But you're not a patient anymore. Why do you continue to be so sour? This can't be the same man that the rest of them so adore."
Rex flushed red.
"Adore?" he croaked out.
The word was not something he had ever wanted to hear in the context of the relationship between himself and his soldiers. Respect. Honor. Revere. Those were acceptable.
Adore? It was too horrible for him to even contemplate.
"Don't get flustered now. It's my choice of words," Maree said. "Truly, Captain, you are not what I would have expected, based off what your men have said of you."
"Well, I don't know what you expected, but this is all I have to offer right now," Rex replied.
"And meager, it is," Maree noted, then in an effort to steer the conversation back to something less contentious, she added, "And a shame, too, considering all the excitement you and your men have aroused since your arrival."
Rex immediately assumed the worst. "Excitement? I hope no one's done anything wrong."
Maree shook her head. "No, not at all. In fact, your soldiers are very polite and well-mannered. Much better behaved than my girls."
Rex looked perplexed, so Maree offered as much explanation as she felt was prudent.
"Apparently, the arrival of attractive, personable young men is a little too much for the girls to resist."
Rex was mortified. "You mean, the girls who are in training to be sisters are—are getting distracted by my brothers?" It was such an unusual scenario, Rex wasn't sure he could even comprehend the idea.
"No, not the ni-Doma," Maree replied. "These are the girls in the Wayward Houses."
"Oh," Rex sighed. "That's a relief. I wouldn't want to be accused of coming between a sister and her . . . calling."
"Even if it were the ni-Doma," Maree replied, "Part of the discernment process is determining whether or not one has the necessary self-control to be a sister." She smiled knowingly. "We may live celibate lives, but that doesn't mean we suddenly stop being attracted to the opposite sex." A pause. "Even I have to work on mastering my resistance to temptation."
Rex thought the conversation was very funny all the sudden, and a crack appeared in the discomfort and petulance of only a moment earlier. "I've never heard anyone refer to us as temptation."
Doma Maree smiled knowingly. "That's because you haven't been around women enough."