Dear Reader, Thank you again for the reviews, CRB35 and Queen NaGaina. Short chapter . . . I hope you enjoy! Peace, CS

Chapter 17 Small Cracks

"Many a doctrine is like a window pane. We see through it, but it still divides us from the truth."

Khalil Gibran

"You know, it's not so bad traveling in this heat when you're wearing stuff like this," Three Point stated, tugging at the long cottony top. "I would never have thought it would be possible to travel during the day."

"It also helps to be riding instead of walking," Moog added.

"Let's just hope everything continues this smoothly," Cody warned. As the senior officer, he could not afford to be as nonchalant as his men. He knew how quickly things could take a turn for the worse. "We've got a long way to go."

"What if the fleet sends someone and they show up at the Monastica while we're out here heading towards the city?" Moog asked.

"I'm sure they won't leave without us," Cody replied, then he drew up beside Au-Trava. "What do think the likelihood is that we'll run into a sandstorm or other trouble?"

"It is the season for the sandstorms," Au-Trava replied in heavily accented Basic. "But if we encounter one, I will know how to go through it. I hope the Swaig Flats will be quiet where we will pass. And we will probably encounter many pilgrims heading to the Monastica. The Feast Day of Me' ente Loge is approaching. At least 10,000 pilgrims come every year."

"That's a lot of people," Cody stated.

"It is, as you might say, a very grand time," Au-Trava said.

In the silence of this thoughts, Cody was glad he'd left Rex behind. For if a grand time was in the making—however Au-Trava defined the term—the captain would make sure the clones did not over-indulge any celebratory revels. Because Cody was not fooled for one second into thinking that the men under his command were immune to the allures of a good time, and knowing that they had little exposure to a "festival" atmosphere, he held onto the hope that a religious festival must be sedate and filled with pious ceremonies.

But just in case it wasn't . . .

Rex could handle it.

"I don't think my armor was this clean when it was issued to me," Fives remarked, holding up his breast plate and admiring the gleam. "I wonder what they used on it."

"I wish I'd had mine with me," Echo said. "But then again . . . I'd hate it if they had scrubbed off the captain's handprint."

"I don't think anything could get that off," Fives said. "You think the captain knew the staying power of Rishi Eel blood when he de-shinied you?"

Echo simpered. "That's not even a word."

"You would know," Fives grinned.

Echo ignored the friendly jab. "These are nice rooms," he noted. He had been released from the healing rooms only thirty minutes earlier; Fives had shown him to the Seiba Tops and the room the sisters had readied for him. The injury to his leg was mostly healed, with only a slight limp left to overcome.

They had arrived at the quarters just as one of the brothers was delivering the freshly cleaned armor. Fives had intercepted the man outside Echo's room and fished his own armor out of the stack.

"Yeah, these must be the VIP quarters," he replied. "We've never stayed in such a nice place. Just beware of Bounce. He's sneaking into all the rooms and eating everyone's food."

Echo snickered. "Those 212th guys . . . you can't trust 'em."

"Yeah. Except on the battle field," Fives rejoined. After a brief pause, he set his armor aside and sat on the foot of the bed. Echo was leaning back against the headboard. "So, now that you're here instead of in the healing rooms, are we going to find a party in your room every night?"

Echo smiled in a manner strangely shy for a man who had not a shred of bashfulness. "They just—we were just trading stories—"

"Uh, you were the one doing most of the talking. All day, every day. All night, every night," Fives pointed out. "I'm not sure you really got any sleep in the healing rooms."

"Well, I can't argue with that," Echo replied. "But it was nice. They're really good people."

Fives nodded. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you're here with the rest of us now."

"Where's the captain's room?"

"In the row right behind us," Fives replied. "So, we can't get up to too much trouble."

Echo regarded Fives with well-earned skepticism. "We?"

"Well . . . "

"I'm the one who follows orders, remember?" Echo pointed out. "You're the one who always has to run off and do his own thing."

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm—Hevy," Fives protested, and they both started laughing. "I mean, I would never get in anyone's face the way Hevy got in Bric's." He fell back on the bed, his voice brimming with fondness. The memory itself might not have been of a particularly happy moment; but as far as Fives was concerned, any recollection of Domino Squad back in the days of its entirety was worth holding onto. Only now, perhaps for the first time, he could view that memory with joy.

He would never forget the day, after an embarrassing failure on the citadel training platform, when Hevy had mouthed off to one of the contracted bounty hunters brought on to train the millions of cadets going through Kamino's combat readiness regimen.

Bric was a Siniteen and a mean bastard if ever there was one. But he had the toughness and skills to back his gruff manner and uncompromising demand for results. He respected success, though not necessarily the path to achieving it. To Bric, the ends justified the means; and if it meant playing dirty, manipulating the odds or the rules, or even physically abusing a cadet, he was going to gain a victory no matter what.

With Domino Squad, he was either going to see them wash out completely – a result he would have accepted, just to get them out of the way of more capable squads. Or they would show their mettle, rise to the occasion, and outshine every other squad in the process.

As things turned out, it was the latter scenario that carried the day; and the Siniteen had been pleased, although reluctant to admit it.

Still, as an instructor, he'd been a terror.

Hevy had never realized how fortunate he'd been that Droid Bait had held him back, for there was no chance that Hevy could have taken Bric. None of them could have. Though physiologically comparable to a man, Bric, as a Siniteen, carried fully twice the muscle, not to mention a greater resistance to pain, and faster reflexes.

The episode had been a perfect reflection of Hevy's temperament. He had always wanted to dash head-first into the fray, leading the way, but with very little concern for the men behind him. It wasn't until the attack on the Rishi Moon that he'd finally met a man who also insisted upon being first, taking point, but whose thoughts were focused on scoring a victory only in order to protect the men behind him.

The brief interlude that defined Hevy's acquaintance with Captain Rex was something neither Fives nor Echo would ever forget. In those fleeting minutes of trying to find a way to warn the fleet and deny the outpost to the Separatists, the captain had set Hevy back on his heels, shown him that true leadership meant making the hard choices and sticking to them.

Hevy had taken that to heart. He'd made the hardest choice. The final choice.

Now, both Fives and Echo wore tributes to him on their armor.

For his part, Echo was relieved to see Fives laughing and indulging in the memory of a day gone by. The last four weeks—now five—that had passed since that terrible night on the Rishi Moon had been one long stint of regret and almost dare-devil recklessness on Fives' part. Echo might have attributed it to survivor's guilt, but he knew that wasn't it. He knew Fives better than anyone, and he recognized the remorse of a man who wished he'd made better use of the time he'd been given. Fives wished he'd made a greater attempt to get to know his other squad-mates – not just Hevy, but Droidbait and Cutup, as well. He wished he'd not spent as much time being critical of Echo and his annoying idiosyncrasies. He wished he'd been more selfless. He wanted that time back, he wanted his squad mates back. The 501st was wonderful, a dream-come-true. But it lacked a part of Fives' past that it would never have. A part that Fives missed – and terribly.

So, to see him able to recall any aspect of Domino Squad with something other than sadness was a step in the right direction.

"Bric would have laid him out flat," Echo asserted. "In a way, I would have liked to see that."

"Sure you would, because Hevy was always picking on you," Fives replied.

"You all were always picking on me."

"That's because you were annoying as hell, and you know it. You still are."

"Yeah, well, I'm about to annoy the hell out of you one more time," Echo smiled. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I want to see the rest of this place. You can show me around, or I'll go on my own. Make your choice."

Fives sat up. "I know you're healing fast, but the doc told you to take it easy. You're not all better yet."

"I'm not going to run a marathon," Echo said. "I'm just going for a . . . leisurely stroll. Come or stay."

And because Echo meant more to Fives than any other living being, Fives got to his feet. "Fine, let's go. But if you overdo it and end up falling on your face, don't blame me."

The following day, Rex put all of them to work.

Whether it was trying to decipher the coded data, cleaning their weapons, or trying to get the helmet and wrist communicators working again, everyone except those still in the hospital were gainfully employed. He even set Jesse, Hardcase and Pitch to the task of working on the datapads. He allowed them to stay with Kix, but figured that the diversion would do them good.

Mid-morning found Sempe, Sixer, Double Barrel, and March gathered on some stone benches in a cluster of Ceyla bushes not far from the Seiba Tops. They had taken shelter in the shade and were working on their weapons.

From behind another clump of Ceylas about fifty meters away, they were being watched by a group of young boys.

"There they are! Go ask them! Go! Go!"

"I'm not gon' go by m'self! Come wi' me, Joko."

"No way!"

"I'll go with ya," another boy volunteered. "Come on, Qarra."

The two boys set off on their mission as if they were undertaking a quest of great daring that called for unparalleled bravery.

They got within ten meters of the group of clones, and that was where their courage failed them.

"Let's go back!" Qarra hissed. "Come on, Ambrose! Let's go!"

Sempe looked up from the DC-15S he was cleaning. He was beginning to think he'd never get all the sand out of it. He saw the two boys standing nearby, antsy and struggling with whether they should stay or go. "Is there something you chaps want to ask us?" he inquired amiably.

Neither boy replied. Instead, they froze where they stood.

Sempe looked at Sixer with an amused grin then back to the boys. "Say, why don't you boys come on over here? Have you ever seen a blaster before?"

That effectively broke the freeze, and the two boys scurried over like birds after crumbs.

"That's a real gun!" Qarra raved in awe.

"It's a DC-15S blaster," Sempe replied. "It can send a straight shot 150 meters . . . well, in the right hands."

He could see the boys trying to figure out how far that was. He also noticed that behind them, more boys were heading over, encouraged by their friends' success.

"Is that as far as . . . the All-Creatures statue?" Ambrose asked, looking off towards a stone carving that was well within the weapon's range.

"Five times as far," Sempe answered. "Would you like to hold it?"

Ambrose could barely contain himself. "Can I really?"

"Sure," Sempe told him. "It won't shoot, but you can hold it. Here, I'll show you how." He dropped to one knee beside the boy and positioned the blaster in his hands.

Double-Barrel leaned over towards March and whispered sarcastically, "Give him five minutes, and he'll make recruits of all of them." Then aloud, "You've got the cartridge and mag out?"

Sempe rolled his eyes. "What do you think? I'd have blown my head off cleaning a loaded weapon."

"With you, we never know," March grinned.

"It's heavy," Ambrose said.

"Here, let me show you a trick," Sempe said. "Slide your hand up closer to the end of the barrel. That distributes the weight a bit more evenly. Here, look here through the rear site. Line these up with the site in the front. That shows you where you're shooting. This is the trigger. If you pull it just like this, it will fire off one shot. If you hold it down, it will fire again and again. Try it. The weapon's not loaded. You won't hurt anyone."

More boys had gathered around.

Sixer held his hand out to the one nearest to him. "You want to take a look, too?"

The boy nodded excitedly.

Sixer did the same as Sempe and showed his own weapon to the boy, who took readily to it. Sixer nodded approvingly. "You look like a soldier already."

For the next thirty minutes, weapons cleaning gave way to show and tell. All four clones took part, finding it fun and entertaining – more fun than they'd had in many, many months. The boys were twitching like rabbit droids, making shooting noises and bragging about who was hitting non-existent targets with non-existent bolts.

And then the fun was over.

A sister entered the small copse and stood with authority. She was extremely attractive with skin the color of rich cream, almond-shaped green eyes, and dark brown hair pulled back into the standard net weave, but with loose strands falling over his cheeks, which were round and had a natural high color. She put her hands on shapely hips that even the smock could not hide.

"Shame on you, boys. I had a feeling I would find you here," she scolded. "Get back to the school immediately. Go on, and quickly."

The boys moaned and protested, but at the same time, they were obedient and began retreating along the pathway, calling out a chorus of thanks to the clones and waving fervent good-byes.

Once they were out of earshot, the sister turned to the Sempe and company. "Gentlemen, I am happy the boys find you fascinating, and I would be thrilled to arrange for you to come see them in class to answer any questions they may have. But in the future, be aware that they have school during the day, every day except Kirchtag, and are not allowed to skip on out class whenever they please."

"We're sorry, Sister," Sempe apologized. "We didn't know."

"Which is why I'm not angry at you. The boys are the ones who know better," she replied. "But they are young and very intrigued. What young boy, when he sees a soldier, doesn't desire to be one himself? Truly, it might be a nice thing for you to come speak to them, then they won't feel that they need to sneak off."

"Just tell us when. We'll ask our captain, and if he says it's okay, then we'd be glad to," Sempe stated.

"I will suggest it to Sister So'Nodor. If she approves, I know where to find you all. Good day, gentlemen."

"Uh, what's your name, Sister?" Double Barrel asked.

"Nareen," she replied over her shoulder. "My class is fourth year boys. That was just a small bit of them. When they get back and tell the others about their little adventure, you won't be able to keep them away," she explained. "I imagine you will have visitors after the school day ends."

"That's okay with us," Sixer said. "It was fun."

She regarded them with an unreadable expression, then nodded once before leaving.

The clones watched her go, all of them finding much to appreciate there.

It was March who brought their attention back to the moment. "Do you really think Rex is going to say yes to a . . . a school visit?"

"He'd never agree to go himself, but I don't think he'd object to some of us doing it. Those boys were very interested in what it's like to be in the GAR. I think they would have listened to us for hours," Sempe replied. "Why not answer their questions?" A wily gleam came into his eye. "Besides, I wouldn't mind getting a good look at her again."

"Yeah," Double Barrel agreed. "That was nice, eh?"

"Very nice."

"Come on, we'd better get back to cleaning these weapons," Sixer suggested. "The captain won't be too happy if we don't' have anything to show for a whole morning's work."

"We do have something," March winked. "We're endearing ourselves to the locals."

"No, that simply is not appropriate, Sister Nareen. As . . . interesting as the clones may be, they do not form any part of the educational curriculum."

Sister So'Nodor stood up from her desk and walked around to stand in front of it. She looked Sister Nareen in the eye. "And quite frankly, it disturbs me to hear that our boys wanted to see them so badly that they were willing to skip class. On top of that, the clones let them play with their weapons—"

"They weren't loaded, Matrice," Nareen replied, using the sister's title as head of the school. "There was never any danger."

"There is a danger of little boys being enchanted with the idea of war," the Matrice pointed out.

"Matrice—"

"These dashing young soldiers come into our midst and tell the most incredible stories of their adventures. I know; I've heard from the other brothers and sisters the kinds of tales these clones are telling. There exists a very real danger that our boys—and even some of the brothers in formation—will be lured in by such romantic notions." So'Nodor waved her hand in concession. "The clones are, indeed, very charming and well-mannered—except I heard there was a . . . an indiscretion at the middle pool; but I am sure they are the best kind of men, or the best kind of clone—but to invite them into the classroom to regale the boys with tales of war? No, absolutely not."

"I understand, Matrice. I just thought I would ask, seeing how much the boys liked meeting them." Nareen paused, considering whether she should speak the thought that hung just on the cusp of her courage. "And given how much the clones have done to protect our way of life, I think it is good that the boys meet them. I think everyone of us should meet them. Then everyone will know to whom we owe our freedom."

Sister So'Nodor was not easily provoked. "I would never prevent anyone from meeting them. They are, I am sure, admirable men. But it simply not appropriate for them to come speak to our students. That is my decision, and it stands as I have spoken."

"Yes, Matrice."

Sister Nareen left the office – but not with a heavy heart.

For she was certain that, classroom visit or not, the boys of her class—and certainly most other classes—would find their way to the clones.

For good or for bad.

Sister So'Nodor stood at the window, looking out into the school courtyard. It was empty at the moment. All of the eight hundred children for which she was responsible were in class. Children without fathers. Children without either parent. Happy children. Troubled children.

She had a sacred duty to educate them and, by her own example, demonstrate a moral life.

Yet, since the clones' arrival, she had already had a report of swimming in the nude, which had garnered the attention of some teenaged girls. Brothers and sisters staying up all night to listen to one clone in particular go on for hours telling stories that were not always humorous or even morally upright. Surely, prayer lives were being neglected. And now, the younger boys sneaking away during the school day to satisfy their curiosity and being rewarded for it with guns.

Yet, it hadn't even been a week yet. Certainly, the excitement and newness of the clones would wear off in the next few days. And after that, their great army would come retrieve them, and they would be on their way, gone from Bertegad forever.

"You asked for me, Sister?"

Fels Au-Gehen stood in the doorway to the Matrice's office.

"Yes, my brother, please come in."

The secretary general entered and sat down. "I take it something bothers you," he said casually.

"You are correct," So'Nodor replied, nodding her head once in consent. "I believe we have a problem developing."

Au-Gehen was not a man to beat around the bush. "A soldier problem."

"A clone problem."

A little Domino Squad there . . .