Dear Reader, Thanks again to LLTC, Queen Nagaina, and CRB35 for the reviews! So, here's a bow to Watership Down and one of my favorite relationships: Bigwig and Hyzenthlay (the spy and his insider). I think I made the connection in the story pretty blatant! Enjoy! CS
Chapter 19 The Unexpected
"Bigwig realized that he had stumbled, quite unexpectedly, upon what he needed most of all: a strong, sensible friend who would think on her own account and help to bear his burden."
Watership Down
Richard Adams
An unending stream of humanity flowing narrowly across the desert.
From Rex's place on the Monastica's east-facing wall, that was what the approach of the pilgrims looked like. The brothers and sisters had stated that thousands of people came every year for something called the Me'ente Loge Festival; and this year was not expected to be an exception.
Looking out through his binoculars—freshly cleaned and functional once again—the captain began calculating—by habit—how long it would take for the first pilgrims to arrive. He estimated six or seven hours, which would put them at the gates just as the planet's star was beginning to set.
Rex had truly hoped to be gone by the time the festival started, even though he had known from the start how unlikely that was. Cody had only departed five days ago on what the brothers said was a seven-day journey. The commander's party probably had not even reached Heembab yet.
By now, the fleet surely had noted not only their failure to arrive, but also their failure to check in even once. Rex felt confident that search and rescue teams had already dispatched to find them. He held onto the possibility that they might show up any moment.
He was still of the mind that their deliverance couldn't come too soon.
In the most basic terms, he realized that he and his fellow soldiers had quite unexpectedly stumbled upon an idyllic life – something alluring and dangerous to the good order and discipline of fighting men. The natural beauty of the Monastica aside, there could be no questioning the calm, tranquil atmosphere, the kindness and generosity of the brothers and sisters, the hospitality and acceptance extended to the clones – even when they did things that didn't quite fall within the boundaries of acceptable behavior.
A few days ago, Sempe and Sixer had come to him like batch-kits sprung straight from the pod, going on about some little boys who had come to see them and the subsequent invite to speak at the school—an invite that never came. For which Rex was glad, for he would have made them decline it.
"We're not the recruiting arm of the GAR," he'd explained. "We're the fighting arm. We were created and bred for the purpose of conducting war; we're not the best examples to sell the idea of enlisting. We had no choice. We're not the ones to be drawing in those who can make a choice."
On the other hand, he had not been opposed to the boys coming of their own accord to see the clones. In fact, he'd found such visits—which had occurred every day since the subject had been broached—to be fully enjoyable. After school there always came a brood of anywhere from fifteen to thirty boys, ranging in age from as young as five to late teens; and their fascination with the clone troopers was all-encompassing.
The troopers taught them patrol tactics, self-defense to the younger, modest hand-to-hand combat to the older – all done in fun, a good way to keep the troopers cheerfully occupied and the boys' curiosity satiated enough that they resisted the temptation to skip class.
Temptation. Rex was coming to view that word in a whole new context.
What had sounded like a funny and unlikely use of the word coming from Doma Maree with regard to the clones several days ago was now proving to be an absolute truth – on all sides.
For the clones, the temptation to want to stay in such comfortable and beautiful surroundings, as opposed to sacking out in a rack bunk inside the steel hull of a ship in the middle of space was certainly understandable. The accessibility to good, genuine food prepared on the spot—and not processed nutrient bars—was also nothing to be surprised or alarmed at. The desire to spend some time at play or relaxing – the troopers definitely deserved it. Even the blatant admiration of the female population within the Monastica was nothing Rex would ever fault his men for entertaining, as long as they did not move to indulge other desires along those lines. He figured such infatuations would be short-lived enough. As soon as they were rescued, it would be back to the life of a soldier.
On the opposite side, he was beginning to see what the Doma had meant when she'd spoken of the temptations the clones presented. It seemed to Rex that he and his men were the most popular thing going within these walls. They had no shortage of visitors—mostly brothers and sisters stopping by to make sure their needs were being met. Fels Au-Ogusta came by every day, usually more than once, as he had been appointed to look after the clones. The Doma visited every day, usually after the evening meal, to inquire if the day had gone well – and to make sure none of the more brazen young ladies had somehow found a way to the clones' quarters. On top of that, there were the school boys and some of the Beginners among the brothers.
It was all very welcoming, like a warm blanket on a cold day.
The war felt so far away.
And that was not a good thing. For the truth was quite the opposite: the war was still raging, and Rex and his men were supposed to be a part of it. The respite of the Monastica was just an illusion, an oasis of peace within a galaxy at war.
A sudden, subtle vibration in the air pulled his attention from its current ponderings; and relying on the heightened senses that only a bounty hunter like Jango Fett could have possessed and passed on through his template, Rex was shortly able to discern a humming sound; and by way of nothing other than the means of his own hearing, he triangulated from where the sound was coming.
Turning, he could see a pinprick in the western sky, far off on the horizon. He wished he had his helmet and access to its telescopic features. But it was with the rest of his armor back in his room and only partially operational.
The pinprick was growing larger, the humming louder, the vibration more palpable. To most humans, none of the signs of its approach would have been detectable with the naked senses; but the clones had been manipulated from the moment of their genesis to have superior faculties. And Rex had grown so finely tuned to even the slightest disturbance of his surroundings, that there were times when he appeared to almost have a sixth sense.
The drone of engines came unmistakably across the expanse of desert to the south-west.
"Perfidio Class landing craft. They're Separatists!" Rex did not need to see the ship close up to know what was headed their way. The sound was enough.
He jumped down from the wall in two leaps, feeling the impact of each in his still-healing ribs. But that did not slow his dash back to the Seiba Tops. It took him less than two minutes to run six hundred meters; and when he arrived back at the Seiba Tops, aching and out of breath, he was yet able to raise his voice loud enough to bring most of the clones outside.
Sixer was one of the first to emerge; and seeing him ready and alert as always, Rex once more patted himself on the back for making him part of the follow-on team. Sempe, like an orbiting satellite, followed, as did the others, bit by bit.
"What is it, Captain?" Sixer asked urgently.
"Separatists," Rex replied between heaving breaths. "From the south-west. Perfidio class lander." Damn, his side was starting to really hurt again. He pushed the pain aside. Looking out at the gathered faces, he immediately knew they were short. "Who are we missing—besides the ones in the hospital?"
"Zinger, Little Ride, and Bounce took off with some of the brothers to go help them fix one of the thermal converters," Tip spoke up. "They left over an hour ago."
"Ajax and DB went off for a swim," March added.
"Tip, go bring back the two-twelvers. March, get Ajax and DB. Make it fast!" Rex ordered, then to Sixer. "How many weapons do we have that are operational?"
"All of them but Little Ride's, Sir," Sixer replied.
"Everyone! Go get your weapons and report back here. We've got to make some plans and make them quickly."
As the others hurried off, Rex began ticking off the details of the situation in his mind. He couldn't possibly invite open fighting within the Monastica; too many innocent lives would be caught in the cross-fire. He couldn't take his men out into the desert; there was no cover. Surrender was never an option. If he could lead his men to a defensible position where there were few residents, that would be the best he could hope for. But he did not know the terrain; he'd not been out and about as much as his soldiers. He would have to rely on them for recommendations.
Sixer was the first to return.
"Did you want us to get into our armor, Sir?"
"No, no time for that . . . and we can blend in better without it," Rex replied. "Sixer, you've been up on the northern paths. Is there any place we could use as a defensive position?"
Sixer was thoughtful. He looked down in concentration. The vein in his neck pulsed beneath the brilliant tattoo he wore of what was known as an old-fashioned "six gun" on the side of his neck. Other than that single distinguishing mark, he looked the same as he did the day he graduated from training. He wanted only to be known as lethal, and the six gun was his symbol.
It was his own fault that he had earned a reputation for being reliable and quick-thinking. Yet, he took pride in such attributes, especially when bestowed by his captain.
"There's a rocky plateau on the northeast side of the main spring," he said after a few seconds. "It gives a good range of view, and there's decent cover. Do we know if we're dealing with droids?"
"I don't know that yet," Rex replied. "Once the rest get back, I'm going to leave you in charge. I have to warn Jesse and the others. They'll have to defend against anyone who comes into the healing rooms. I need their weapons to take with me. Then I'm going to go get a closer look at who's come calling."
"Sir, you should take someone with you," Sixer put forth. "Take Sempe."
The rest were returning with their weapons. "I think I'll manage—" Rex began, but Sixer cut him off.
"I mean no disrespect, Captain, but you're still injured. And you looked pretty rough when you got here just now. Please, Captain, take Sempe with you."
Rex could not help but recognize how much Sixer was following after Jesse's example. He gave a curt nod and turned to Sempe. "You're with me."
"Yes, Sir."
"Are any of our comms working?" Rex asked.
"Only a couple in the helmets, Sir. None of the wrist communicators are working," Sixer replied.
"Eh, that's no good." Rex began collecting the weapons for his men in the hospital, slinging a couple over his good shoulder and handing the others to Sempe to carry. He was about to order one of his men to go retrieve his pistols, but at that moment, Slip spoke up.
"Sir, we've got company."
Rex turned to see the Doma and another woman—the school matron, her name eluded him—running towards them. It was actually a humorous scene, and had the situation not been so dire, Rex might have found good reason to laugh.
The two women had none of the dignity with which Rex had marked the sisters. They ran, not in the dainty way of cultured ladies, but with the graceless flail of haste and urgency, frocks scrunched in their fists, collectedness of appearance giving way to a disheveled presentation.
"Captain Rex." The Doma pulled up first, caught her breath, then taking in sight of the gathered clones and their weapons, went straight to the point. "You've seen the ship?"
"Yes. They're Separatists."
"Are you sure?" Maree asked between panting breaths.
"Positive."
"What are you planning to do?"
"We're going to defend ourselves," Rex replied curtly. "If we can avoid them, we will; but if they find us, we have to fight. Sixer says there's a defensible location near the springs. Most of the men will go there. I'm heading to the healing rooms to make sure those men are protected—"
"Captain, wait," the Doma interjected. "There are better places to hide. We have vast underground grottoes here, and they are not readily visible. And if the Separatists do discover you there, they are much better to defend."
Rex looked at her with a hard stare for only a moment. "How far?"
"The nearest entrance is just behind here," she replied, nodding towards the rows of the Seiba Tops. "You could make it inside before any Separatists reach this area."
"What about my men in the healing rooms?"
"I have already sent someone to take care of them. They will be safe," Maree replied. "We have ways of concealment." Seeing Rex's skepticism, she took on an imploring voice. "Trust me, Captain. This is my sanctuary, and we've had unwelcome visitors before. We know what to do."
Rex did not need long to consider, and he knew time was not their ally. "Show us the entrance."
Maree turned to So'Nodor. "Show them the way. I must go back to the gate."
"Yes, Doma," So'Nodor replied.
"Sixer, you're in charge. Make sure you send someone back here to show the others where to go when they return. Sempe, you're still with me," Rex said, then he turned to follow the Doma as the rest of his men went with Sister So'Nodor.
"What—what are you doing, Captain?" Maree asked.
"We're coming with you," Rex replied. "I need to know what's going on."
"Oh, Captain, I don't think that's a good idea. What if they see you?" she protested.
Rex was not going to argue. "We'll stay hidden," he said in such a way as to thwart any disagreement. "Let's go."
If Rex had not imagined his injuries would much hamper his movement, he now discovered that adrenaline was not always the answer to every situation. He was definitely dragging, but he continued on, cursing the weight of the blasters he carried over his shoulder, cursing himself for forgetting his own side arms, cursing the desert heat, cursing the fleet-footed woman ahead of him who kept looking back with—what was it, annoyance, mixed with resolution.
They passed the Taber and skirted along one side of the botanical garden. Coming to the rear of the healing houses, they stepped inside and the Doma stopped to face the two clones. "It would be best for both of you to put on lungees. That will make you look more like the rest of the brothers."
"What—" Sempe began to ask, but when the Doma snagged two brothers down in the hall and spoke a few quick words in their native tongue, her meaning became apparent. The lunge was the headdress the men wore. The two brothers took off their own lungees and wound them atop the clones' heads, so that, minus the plaits of hair, they looked like many of the brothers.
"Sempe, go up and find the others," Rex said, handing over one of the blasters and keeping the other for himself.
"They have probably already taken them to the grottoes," the Doma stated. "Only Kix would not be moved. And the sisters will have already concealed his identity."
"How can they—"
"Truly, captain, there is no time to go into all the details," Maree pressed. "I must go, and if you are coming with me, then we must make haste."
Rex looked to Sempe, as stalwart and exemplary a clone as any commander could ask for. He trusted him, and now he was glad Sixer had suggested he come along. "Go up there. If any of our men are still there, stay with them. Otherwise, take cover. And stay on your toes." He looked to Doma Maree. "Lead the way."
They left the house of healing, but instead of walking or running, the Doma called for a Losla cart and driver. As they sped towards the gate, Maree began to speak her thoughts.
"Do they have a way of tracking clones specifically?" she asked. "Some sort of trace scanner?"
"Not that I know of," Rex replied. "But if they see us, it's possible—maybe likely—they would recognize us. It depends on who or what comes off of that ship. Battle droids have visual identification scanners built in. One good look, and they'd know who we are. Sentients might not."
"Then, as we get closer, I will drop you off and you can make your way as far as you deem safe," the Doma said. "And I would suggest . . . " She reached over, drew down a few wraps of the lungee so that they loosely covered the bottom of his face. "Just in case." She continued on. "I will do my best to persuade whoever is in charge that we are not harboring any Republic troops, but if they insist on searching, I will allow it—"
"What?"
"I assure you, Captain Rex, your men are safer than you are," she said with certainty. "And we will do everything in our power to make sure they remain so. I have little fear that the enemy will find them. The grottoes have been the Monastica's refuge for centuries. However, if I refuse to allow the Separatists to search, they may use force and end up injuring or killing many of the people for whom I am responsible. But rest assured, I won't give in too easily. That would make them suspicious, as well."
Rex realized quite suddenly that whatever discomfort he had felt in the Doma's presence, he now could not be more grateful for her reasoned and sensible approach to a situation that was precarious to not only the clones but to the Monastica's population, as well. Such an ally was precisely what he needed.
The Doma was still speaking. "You had better hide that weapon in your garment. That will be a dead give-away. If you see that they are going to search, you must retreat to the healing houses. The brothers and sisters will show you how to reach the grottoes."
"I don't run from a fight," Rex huffed. "And I don't like the idea of leaving a woman to cover my tracks."
The Doma looked at him sideways, and it was not an expression Rex would have expected to ever see on her face – a sort of sardonic chastisement without words. "It won't be a fight unless you make it one, Captain. And don't think of me as covering your tracks. I am trying to avoid unnecessary bloodshed—not just yours and your men's, but everyone's. Like you said, depending on what comes off that ship, any attempt to fight them could be a losing proposition."
"Right," was all the captain would allow.
A minute later, the Doma ordered the driver to stop. "We let you off here, Captain. Be careful."
Rex jumped down and looking back at the Doma, he was surprised—and somewhat put off—to see her fussing with her hair.
"What are you doing? Shouldn't you get up there?" he snapped, sounding more military than he'd intended.
"It would be unseemly for the leader of any people to appear rushed and harried. That would work to the enemy's advantage. It's important that I at least appear to be on equal footing, to be calm and in control," came the reply as she tried to push the sloppy, fallen mop of black ringulets into its place atop her head.
Rex looked at her flushed face, the ruffled frock, and the hopelessly ruined hair. And for the first time, he thought she was rather pretty, though no less intimidating.
But under the circumstances, all that came out was, "I guarantee you, no Separatist leader is going to give a damn what you look like. Just act towards them the same way you've acted towards me, and that will be authoritative enough. Now get up there."
Before any answer could be given, Rex bounded off into the Hayla grove and began picking his way up through the trees.
Doma Maree looked after him for a moment, then she turned and muttered under her breath. "How can such an ass be so charming?" To her driver, "Go on, Au-Currie. But make it at a dignified pace."