Dear Reader, I put my notes at the bottom, because I don't want to give away anything in the chapter! Peace,CS

Chapter 23 Finirest

"Lights o' down in moun'tins n'er shown
but winds what 'long the Finirest blown.
Then's beacons haloed heads we seen
And makes what's saints does in between."

Finirest Mountain
Jacob Senegal

Rex was not a man who made mistakes.

Or more accurately, he was a man who rarely made mistakes; and when he did, he made damned sure he never made the same mistake twice.

True, he might be impetuous, a bit brash, and oftentimes, downright cocky. But he could afford to be, because his instincts were uncanny, and his perception of any given situation was usually as close to the reality as a man could come without actually being privy to every detail.

It helped to have a Jedi General who was there to back him up on the few occurrences when he'd misinterpreted a scenario and decided wrong; but each time General Skywalker had come to his assistance, he'd taken that as a strong motivator to work on any failings. The one thing Rex wanted more than anything else was to know that his commanding general trusted him enough that he would feel comfortable placing his own life in Rex's hands.

That sort of pressure was not for every clone trooper, but Rex thrived on it. The harder the job, the greater the success. The tougher the battle, the sweeter the victory. The more perilous the dangerous, the deeper the bond between those who undertook it.

But almost all of Rex's decisions up to this point had revolved around war and its waging. Even decisions about which troops to bring into the 501st had war and victory as their basis. What other factors should he take into consideration? His life was fighting, and he was basting good at it. He let nothing interfere, and he made sure his men let nothing interfere with their own fighting spirit. Rex knew how to stay focused and on task. And when the task was done, he promptly went off in search of a new one. If he wasn't fighting, he was competing on the z-grav court or wrestling or scraping up an impromptu hand-to-hand combat training session.

He was not a restive soul. And he did not want to a restive soul. He liked the feeling of energy that pulsed through his body whenever he was engaged in something physical, something daring, something that required skill and strength.

He smiled ruefully at the memory of Cody backing him into a corner, finger in the center of his chest, verbally blasting him to pieces over what the then-lieutenant junior grade had called "a complete lack of sense". He'd followed it up by saying, "Only an ignorant zealot would pursue confrontation the way you do." The commander had then proceeded to pummel him in an out-and-out brawl, but Rex—in hindsight—knew he'd been asking for it. He'd gotten what he'd deserved . . . and then some.

By the Force, what would Cody think if he knew what was going through his mind now?

The strange churning he'd felt last night had been powerful and alarming enough that it had sent him straight back to his quarters at the conclusion of the ritual. And he hadn't left since, except to go see Kix and pick up something to eat on the way back. He'd spent the entire day in his room, pouring over the data from the consoles and trying to push aside feelings whose acquaintance he was not keen to make.

The Doma was an attractive woman – at least, he thought so now. She was in charge and knew it; but she was confident enough not to lord it over those in her care. For his own part, Rex liked strong, powerful women – which accounted for why he had a great admiration for Senator Amidala, Jedi Masters Luminara Anduli, Shaak Ti, and Aayla Secura. And he would certainly be remiss if he did not include Commander Tano on that list, Padawan learner though she was. When he thought of Ahsoka, he did not consider her a woman. She was a teenager: headstrong, willful, not in the habit of thinking things through, and a bit forgetful of her place from time to time. But when she stepped out in front of the troops, light saber in hand, ready to deflect and defend their advance, Rex cared not a whit about her age or demeanor. Like her master, she could fight; and Rex respected that.

These Jedi women . . . they had all taken the same oath as the men. They had sworn off attachment, and that included sexual attachment – if there was such a thing. Rex preferred not to ponder such issues.

But he was pondering them now.

For he knew what he'd been feeling last night. Like every other clone, he was in no way deficient in virile longings. In order to preserve the fighting spirit, the Kaminoans had been careful not to tamper with the template's propensity towards all things masculine. To the degree that the clones' innate sense of obedience had been enhanced, that was the degree to which an army of over 3 million men could remain intact and under control.

The rules against fraternization with the local female populations were treated no differently than the prohibitions against drunkenness, inappropriate public behavior, gambling, and the procurement of drugs of any kind, unless they were medically prescribed by a GAR physician. Most clones were obedient – whether it was due to their programming or a fear of punishment was not so clear. Of course, there were those who strayed too far. These were the trouble-makers, and Rex had seen the higher echelons deal with them in ways that proved just how expendable the clones were . . .

That was the reason he was so careful in choosing the men to join the 501st. He wanted no troublemakers. With the kind of missions General Skywalker took on, Rex could not afford to have smoke-makers in the ranks.

"And I can't afford to be one, either," he said aloud, tossing the data pad aside on the bed, leaning back, and resting his eyes. He considered that he had, quite unintentionally and unwillingly, developed an attraction for a woman who was the head of a religious order – a celibate religious order, at that! And on a planet so far out of the mainstream, he hadn't even recognized its name when he was told that was where they'd be crash-landing.

It gave him some comfort to think that he and his men would likely be departing in the next few days; then the temptation would be over. The self-recrimination of his own weakness would fritter off into that part of his memory where recollections faded faster than the sunset on Minar Three.

He also considered it fortunate that the Doma was extremely unlikely to stray from her path, and just as unlikely to seek out the company of someone who had been so disagreeable since arriving.

And then a knock came at the door.

Rex knew it was her before he even opened it. Perhaps this was one of the few times his judgment had been in error; perhaps the Doma didn't find him as repulsive as his behavior had warranted. Why else would she come calling on a grouch, as she had so brazenly put it?

Rex got to his feet and rummaged around for something to wear. He'd been sitting propped up in the bed with only the sheet pulled up to his waist. Even though the rooms were cooled, there was nothing to beat a cold shower after spending a few hours out in the heat as he had that morning going to see Kix. Getting dressed had seemed unnecessary after that, as he had intended to stay in his room all day.

He reached for the long tunic – still damp from the morning's sweat—and pulled it on, bypassing the trousers and certainly the length of cloth that was supposed to function as an undergarment. Rex had not mastered how the brothers wound it about their loins. He was too impatient to fool with it and too embarrassed to ask for something a little more modern.

His modesty covered and preserved, he stopped in front of the door, somewhat surprised to find his heart racing.

But when he opened the door, he found Nova Merika there.

Not the Doma.

And although he was not sure how to decipher the way he felt at that moment, he greeted her equably. "Nova Merika."

The Nova gave a shallow bow. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

"No, you're not."

"The Doma would like to know if you will be coming to the Finirest Ceremony tonight. She will reserve a place for those of you who wish to come and send Au-Ogusta to escort you," Merika stated.

Rex thought about it for only a moment. "I, myself, won't be attending. But any of my men who want to go, that's fine with me."

Merika nodded, then asked tepidly, "You are not ill, are you, Captain?"

"No, I'm not ill," Rex replied. "Tell the Doma I appreciate the invitation, but I must decline."

"I will tell her," the Nova said. "She will be sad that you are going to miss the pinnacle of the celebration." A pause. "Fels Au-Ogusta will call for your men later this evening."

"Thank you, Nova." Rex was gracious. He watched her walk away a few steps before closing the door. He had planned to feel satisfaction upon offering his declination; but instead, he felt dull. He had nothing to do now but sit in the room and look at the data pads.

At that moment, he would have given anything to get back to the war.

He stood less chance of making mistakes on the battlefield than he did in this very foreign arena.

"He said he would not be coming, though his men may come," Nova Merika reported.

"Very good," Maree replied. "Be sure to send Au-Ogusta round to get them before sunset."

"Yes, Doma." The Nova made to depart, but the Doma stopped her.

"Merika, did the captain say why he would not be coming?"

"No, Doma," came the reply. "I asked if he was unwell. He said he was fine, and I did not pursue any further."

"Confounding man," Maree muttered. "I can't make him out at all."

Merika regarded her with amusement. "What call is there to understand him?"

"My own curiosity," the Doma answered. "He is very serious, yet there is something more that makes his men so devoted to him. I have seen glimpses of it, but its fullness eludes me."

"I hope you will not let your curiosity distract you at tonight's ceremony," Merika grinned. "Me'Ente Loge would not want to be second in your thoughts."

Maree turned a chiding glance towards her assistant. "That would never happen." A pause. "But speaking of tonight . . . there is something I need to check on first. Wait for me here. I won't be long."

"But Doma, it's almost time to start the preparation," Merika protested.

"I have been doing this for a long time now, Merika," Maree replied. "I know precisely how much preparation I need. Just have everything ready for when I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"To the healing houses."

"It's been a week. Doma Maree said he was healing. They've all said he was healing. He should have woken up by now." This was Jesse's lament, and it was one shared by Hardcase and Pitch, although the latter two were not as vocal; as if speaking their discouragement might somehow set the course.

The captain had come by that morning, but his visit had been hardly uplifting. He, too, had expressed his concern over the fact that Kix seemed no closer to regaining consciousness, even though they were no longer inducing coma.

The cold field remained fully engaged—a side effect being the complete re-molecularization, hence disappearance—of the tattoo Kix had worn so proudly over his left ear—but if it were healing the rest of him, it was agonizingly slow. Then again, it was scant cause for complaint; for a bacta tank would have been too little, too late, and Kix would have died many days ago. At least, he still stood a fighting chance; that was what Au-Josat and Au-Cepha had continued to assert from day one. That was what the Doma had said yesterday.

"They're doing all they can," Pitch offered. "I mean, on top of the medical care, they've got people praying for him—"

"Their prayers aren't working," Jesse interrupted, shaking his head. "Your prayers aren't working."

Pitch inclined his head. "Well, I didn't expect mine to work. I'm not exactly a holy guy. But the brothers and sisters . . . I think their god must listen to them."

"Just—stop," Jesse groaned, a bit of anger seeping into his voice where he hadn't intended it to. "Stop with the praying and the magic . . . I don't want to hear it anymore."

Pitch was silent. Beside him, Hardcase rested his hand on his shoulder.

Jesse stood up and walked to the window. Looking outside, he saw thousands of people milling about in the courtyard, coming and going, laughing, smiling, living in anticipation of joy. And he felt tired. And angry. And cheated.

He knew it was odd that he should feel that way. After all, how many times had he and his squad mates bragged about never feeling tired, never letting anger come between them, and the many times they had cheated death? They had been the ones to laugh, smile, and live as if they occupied the highest mountain peaks.

Who would take that away from them?

It seemed only death could conquer the spirit they shared.

But was it death that was now staring them down? What was it that stood between the three of them and Kix? Was that encroaching death?

Or was it something as simple as impatience? Or was guilt rearing its head again from so long ago?

Still looking out the window, Jesse spoke again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

As usual, it was Hardcase, in his irrepressible way, who restored peace to the room. "We all feel like crap, Jesse. We're all worried. We understand. Don't sweat it."

Jesse crossed his arms and stared out the beveled glass. "I'd give anything to have Top here right now." A pause. "We should all be together."

A knock came, and the clones turned to see the Doma standing in the doorway.

"Doma, come in."

"I am sorry I didn't come this morning," she apologized. "There is much to do in preparation for the Finirest." She came over to the bed and, as she did on every visit, she reached her hand into the cold field and placed it on Kix's forehead. And, as on every visit, when she withdrew her hand, she was as placid as always. "His injuries are very nearly healed."

"Then why doesn't he wake up?" Jesse asked, his voice almost imploring.

"He will wake up . . . in time," Maree replied. "I sped his healing already, but that will not replenish the energy he has lost. Recovering from such damage takes a toll on the body, and he needs to regain his strength. That takes time."

"Doma . . . are you still sure he's going to be alright?" Pitch asked.

"Barring any unforeseen catastrophe, yes," she smiled, then eyeing Jesse, in particular, she added, "I do not believe you are a man who loses hope. Don't lose it now."

With that, she left the room and headed back to her residence beside the Taber. She had to begin preparations before Merika worked herself into a frenzy.

And she had to bolster her own courage. She would make a special request tonight.

It was dark when Rex left his room at the Seiba Tops to go make his evening check on Kix. He'd been very good about visiting in the morning and in the evening, trusting to Kix's squadmates to let him know if anything happened in between.

Upon stepping out, the first thing he noticed was the complete absence of any people on the paths. He passed the Taber, but it was dark and silent. The botanical garden was empty as well. It was as if every living person had disappeared from the place.

There was something comforting and peaceful about the emptiness and the warm desert breeze skipping around him. He felt as if he owned the universe at that moment.

Only when he entered the healing houses did he find a scant few brothers and sisters still on duty.

He stopped one in the hallway.

"Where is everyone?"

The sister replied, "At the Finirest. Did you not go with the rest of the soldiers?"

"No, I, uh, I came here to visit one of my men," Rex replied.

"Ah, you can visit and still make it to the Finirest, if you so please," the sister pointed out.

Rex gave an unreadable head motion in response and headed up to Kix's room.

What he saw when he walked in was enough to make him decide it was time to pull rank.

Here were three men who looked like they hadn't slept, showered, had a decent meal, or seen sunlight in days. Three of his finest officers looking worse now than after battle.

But if he were going to force them to leave, maybe he could finesse it enough not to have to use his position as captain to coerce them into taking a break.

"Any change since this morning?" he asked, walking over and regarding Kix through the cold field.

"They say he's still mostly healed, Sir," Jesse replied. "He needs to regain his strength." He sounded absolutely unconvinced. "He still hasn't been awake."

Rex moved to lean back against the wall next to where Pitch was sitting.

"Big shindig going on tonight," the demolitions expert stated. "You're not going, Captain?"

"Neh," Rex said in the rarely used drawl that dotted his speech from time to time. He only drew out words when he wasn't keen on expanding his explanation. His men had come to recognize that when they heard the drawl, it was best not to ask any follow-up questions.

Of course, Hardcase was never one to use his better judgment. "Why not?"

Rex shot him a command glare.

Hardcase grinned. "Sorry, Sir."

"You all can go to it if you want," Rex replied. "I'll sit with Kix." He scratched the back of his head. "Course, I don't even know where it is. I passed the Taber, and it was dark."

"I think I'd rather stay here," Jesse stated.

"I think a breath of fresh air would do you all good," Rex said. "And a shower and change of clothes."

"Captain, please understand—" Jesse began, but he stopped speaking abruptly. "What's that sound?"

They all fell silent.

"Do you hear that?" Jesse asked.

"It sounds like singing," Pitch replied.

"I've never heard singing like that," Hardcase said. "That sounds like . . . a million voices."

Rex moved away from the wall and went to the window. Pushing it open, the sound flooded into the room. Rex leaned over the sill. "What the hell . . . "

His three brothers joined him at the window.

"Fek and all," Hardcase breathed. "What's going on? What are those?"

Overhead, the sky was filled with filamentary streaks of cloudy light, like meteors dashing across the heavens. They were all headed north, passing out of view beyond the northern wall of the healing houses.

The singing was in a language none of the clones recognized. It sounded ethereal and earthy at the same time, as if heavenly choirs had joined with nature and humanity.

Jesse, always on the alert, asked, "Do you think it's an attack? Did the Separatists return?"

Pitch answered. "No. It's not an attack. This is what Agnesta told me about. Those are spirits."

Rex looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What?"

"That's what she said, Captain," he replied. "Spirits coming for something called . . . the installation or something like that."

Rex hated unanswered questions. He hated mysteries. "I'm going to find out what this is all about."

"I'll go with you, Captain," Pitch volunteered.

"Me, too," Hardcase added. "Someone needs to keep an eye on Pitch."

"Jesse?"

"I'll stay here, Captain," the lieutenant said with a nod.

The three clones left by way of the botanical garden, and here they actually stopped in wonder, their eyes turned upwards as the darkness grew thick with the milky splotches of speeding light.

Rex followed their course to the uppermost level of the Taber where they disappeared through the pinnacle openings, as light poured from the very same openings, indicating that something was surely going on inside.

The Taber was the source of the singing, which had lowered to a gentle, lilting melodic strain that was no less enticing. The closer the clones came, the more compelled they felt to enter inside. Whatever was drawing the lights in the sky was drawing them as well.

They came to the south vestibule and went inside. Not a soul was to be seen, and the great inner doors were closed.

"Should we go in, Captain?" Hardcase asked.

But it was Pitch, barely able to contain himself, who answered excitedly. "Yes!" He crossed the vestibule in three strides and pulled open the door.

Inside, the sanctuary was wall-to-wall with people: brothers, sisters, pilgrims, residence of the Wayward Houses, all standing shoulder to shoulder, at least 15,000 people . . . maybe more.

They were all singing.

All of them.

From the oldest to the youngest.

There were candles burning in the floor and wall sconces. The statue of Me'Ente Loge was strewn with flowers. Heavenly fragrance wafted from the incensors.

And yet, none of this could draw Rex's attention from what he saw up above him.

The glowing clouds—he was still not going to call them souls—that had entered through the dome slats swirled round about the ceiling in a great whirlpool of energy. Every now and then, if he were looking at the right time in the right place, he thought he could make out a figure or a face – animal faces, faces of species he had never seen. And along the walls, there were more stationary figures, rotating in and out of shaped forms. These had the appearance of observers.

"By the Force, was Pitch right? Can these possibly be souls?"

He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and looked to see Au-Cepha standing beside him. Rex hadn't realized it, but he'd been pushing his way slowly forward as he'd been looking up at the ceiling. Au-Cepha drew the captain to stand beside him with a nod and a smile. He then resumed singing.

Up on the pulpit, the same sister as the previous night—Anaide—was leading the worshippers in the song. And perhaps it was the acoustics, perhaps it was some metaphysical phenomenon, but it seemed there were times when her voice stood out above all the others, powerful and almost supernatural.

The Doma stood in front of the altar but still back from the edge of the dais.

Rex could barely see her.

Anaide's voice rose in a crescendo, echoed by the rest of the pilgrims.

A twisted column of light reached down from the highest recess of the dome, touching the dais in front of the Doma. And a figure began to take shape.

Rex recognized it immediately. It was the figure from the statue. Me'Ente Loge. Rex's guard went up. He had seen too many powerful species masquerading as gods to less developed species; and he was not yet convinced that such was not the case here.

The figure of Me'Ente Loge stood not as tall as his statue, but certainly taller than an average human. He was robed and veiled, his garments flowing and moving as if they themselves contained life.

Doma Maree dropped to her knees before him and bowed her head as she held her hands up, cupped in the manner of begging or receiving.

Me'Ente Loge reached down, took her hands and raised her to stand before him. She raised her head and smiled. She continued to hold out her cupped hands, and the messenger hovered his hand over hers, bringing forth a small spume of twinkling light. Then he stepped behind her, and as the light in her hands continued to grow, she raised them high.

There was a sound like the clash and continual roll of thunder, accompanied by voices raised in song. But these voices were not originating from any of the pilgrims. These voices were other-worldly and filled with physical power.

Rex looked for the source of the voices, but they could not be pinpointed. And within seconds, he no longer cared about the voices, for his sense of sight took precedence. He watched in amazement as the clouds of light, moving almost too rapidly for him to see individually, dove down to the Doma's waiting, outstretched hands. They flowed into her body, but then Rex noticed flashes of colored light speeding through the tiled floor.

The people inside the sanctuary were ecstatic, very nearly in raptures.

Rex had no idea what was going on. He looked down below his own feet, where a flash of orange and brown passed by, then another grey streak, and another and another. He looked behind him and saw the entire floor beneath its surface was alive with color. Alive with . . . moving creatures. Animals.

And then, within a minute, it was over.

The whirlpool of cloud was gone, and only the milky white shapes along the walls remained, along with Me'Ente Loge who now came and stood before the Doma once again.

Maree's voice rose in chant, beautiful and with a note of closure.

She continued to hold out her hands, and Me'Ente Loge withdrew the spark of light.

Then, in a gesture Rex never would have expected from a deity—or a deity's messenger—he put his hand against her cheek in a gentle caress.

He stepped back, but the Doma put her hand atop his, stopping him. A sort of shocked hush fell over the sanctuary. Clearly, the Doma was doing something that was not part of the ritual.

She spoke a very few words that no one could hear other than Au-Mikiel, who had been just behind her on the dais the whole time.

Rex watched anxiously, wondering what she could be saying. And then the exchange ended, and Me'Ente Loge departed in much the same manner he had come, the other figures along the wall going with him.

The entire sanctuary erupted into raucous jubilation.

Rex started backing his way towards the exit.

He needed to clear his head.

No sooner had he gone outside than he heard Pitch's voice behind him. He turned to see him and Hardcase coming out of the Taber.

"Captain, are you alright?" Pitch asked.

Rex scowled. "Of course, I am. I just needed to get out of there. Damned stuffy."

"That was incredible," Hardcase bubbled. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah," Rex murmured, but he did not want to talk about it.

"Oh, Top would have been ecstatic," Hardcase continued enthusiastically.

"You got that right," Pitch agreed.

Again, Rex was diffident. "Yeah, well . . . you can tell him all about it when you see him. But right now, since I managed to get you out of Kix's room, why don't you both go get cleaned up, get something decent to eat, and get some rest."

"If it's all the same to you, Captain, we'd like to go back to his room," Pitch replied.

"Well, it isn't all the same to me, and—" He stopped. He saw something in their eyes that hadn't been there before they'd witnessed what had happened in the Taber. The listless, joyless vacancy that had taken up residence in their faces was now replaced with vigor and hopefulness and excitement.

Whatever had happened in the sanctuary—bizarre as it was—it had given them something to hold onto, and Rex considered it might be put to best use to try and lure Jesse up out of his doldrums.

"Okay, fine. Let's go."

They came to the far end of the botanical garden, just before the entrance to the healing houses. And here, they stopped short.

Jesse was sitting on one of the benches, hunched over, head in hands.

"Oh fek, no . . . no . . . " Hardcase swore under his breath.

The three of them raced forward.

"Jesse?!" Rex barked.

Jesse raised his head, and in the dappled moonlight, his eyes glistened.

He was smiling.

"What—what are—what's happened?!" Hardcase demanded.

Jesse hesitated a moment to ensure he had control of his voice. "He's awake."

Hardcase stared a moment before hunkering down beside the bench, gripping Jesse's wrist, and closing his eyes. Behind him, Pitch put a hand on his shoulder.

Rex looked at the three of them and felt a sense of relief – not just on Kix's account, but on theirs, as well.

Pitch, in an emotional outburst, blurted out, "Fek! I'm going to say a fekking prayer, just in case there is a god and this was his doing. Thank you. My prayers might not mean much, but . . . " His voice grew softer. "Thank you." It might not have been the most pious of prayers, but it suited the moment.

"From me, too," Hardcase added.

"What the hell, from me, too," Jesse said, allowing a laugh to escape his lips that almost turned into a sob of joy, had he not mastered the art of self-control.

Rex smiled at them. His soldiers. His brothers.

"Let's go in and see him," he said. "Why are you out here?"

"The docs are checking him out," Jesse answered, standing up and regaining his bearing. "They wanted me to wait out in the hallway. I came down here, though."

"Well, let's go see if they're done."

Several seconds later, they were at Kix's room. When they knocked on the door, Au-Josat answered.

"Can we see him?" Rex asked.

"I think so," the brother answered. "We're about finished here." He stepped aside, and Rex went in first, stopping in his tracks.

Doma Maree was already there.

"How—how did you get here so quickly?"

"Losla cart," she replied directly. A pause. "I had to come see if Me'Ente Loge kept his promise." She looked at Kix, no longer bathed in the orange light of the cold field, lying sleepily but clearly awake as two sisters finished taking some readers. "And he did."

The scene at the Finirest is one of my favorites in the whole story, because I just like the imagery (and I cut about 1,000 words of description from it to try and keep the story moving). I always listened to my favorite version of "O Holy Night" when envisioning Rex et al heading for the Taber and then "Resurrection" from Passion of the Christ for the Finirest itself. Eh, you'll see what I mean below. I have to have music while I'm writing to help me create the scene! The "Saint Francis of Assisi" animal lover in me comes through here. And I have to admit . . . I also like the image of Jesse, Hardcase and Pitch in the garden . . . again, you'll see. Lastly, I love the musing Rex has at the start of the chapter regarding Jedi women and such.