Dear Reader, This is just a short chapter but it has two parts in it that I really like. First is the chapter quote by Fulton Sheen. I just think this idea is so lovely and so very true. And I like to apply it to the relationship between Rex and Cody. Which leads me to my second "like" in this chapter: the very brief interlude that explains the cadre's "roommate" decision-making process. I think you'll be able to see the correlation between the chapter quote and the desired outcome of the roommate decision. Who's the sun and who's the one upon which it shines? I'll leave that for each reader to decide on their own as the story continues! ;-) Peace, CS
Chapter 48 Vibration Versus Vibration
"The sun which warms the plant can under other conditions also wither it. The rain which nourishes the flower can under other conditions rot it. The same sun shines upon mud that shines upon wax. It hardens the mud but softens the wax. The difference is not in the sun, but in that upon which it shines."
The Seven Capital Sins by Bishop Fulton Sheen
CT-5052 drew his blaster and fired towards the creature, shattering it into thousands of pieces. He was too far away to be hit by any of the shards, and no one else had been near the creature.
Thankfully.
For he could see right away the hazard wrought by blaster fire against these beings. But he had no time to consider it, for another streak of liquid glass streaked past him from behind. He whirled around to see yet another creature approaching from the opposite direction.
This time he set his weapon for stun, only to discover that the setting had no impact whatsoever. The creature kept advancing, spewing forth the tendrils of liquescent death, petrifying, in short order, three of his squad mates – including his squad leader, CT-5211.
"Take cover!" he shouted, knowing that getting to cover was a difficult task on this surface. "Take cover and blast them! Watch out for the shards!"
The remainder of Crimson Squad scrambled as best they could, but only two of them were able to get out of the open and into relatively safe confines. But they all had their blasters firing away as more creatures appeared. Glass and crystalline flecks were flying everywhere, and were it not for their armor, the clones would have been sliced to pieces. Even so, the injuries began mounting.
By the time the last of the creatures had been felled, there were only five members of Crimson Squad left standing. CT-5052 considered, rather callously, that such losses weren't so bad given what they'd just been through.
He slipped into the role of leader right away, without any discussion, without any regard for the others' ranks. True, he was the only officer still alive, but at ARC training rank was not supposed to play a part in how the men dealt with each other or with the scenarios. Still, it was not surprising that men who had been so conditioned to honor and respect rank should continue to do just that even when operating under contrived rank-free parameters.
CT-5052 was a lieutenant, he was used to being in charge of a platoon. It came naturally to him to step into the vacated squad leader position.
He took stock of whom he had left.
CT-1944, a junior NCO from 3d Infantry Regiment, one of those units stuck in the outer rim, fighting battles that no one ever cared about for they were without the glamor of the battles closer in towards Coruscant and its center-of-the-galaxy designation and mindset. CT-1944 was eager, amazingly fit even for a clone, and already showing himself to be extremely competitive, even to the point where CT-5052 imagined he was perfectly capable of foolhardiness in the pursuit of victory.
CT-1080-1, part of a specialty batch that had been bred solely for the purpose of conducting fission mechanics and engineering. These clones had been genetically manipulated to give them a higher resistance to the mutation effects of the ion and fission generators used to power the vast majority of Republic warships. As such, they were able to get into much closer and more prolonged proximity with equipment and reactors than their non-enhanced brothers, thus making them outstanding engineers and generator repairmen. Of course, it cost considerably more to manufacture such a clone, and so their numbers were limited – relatively speaking. Only 18,000 had been produced thus far, though more were on the way.
CT-1080-1 might have been a special creation, but he didn't act like it. He was humble to a fault, happy to follow someone else's lead, and not the type to flaunt his engineering brilliance in front of others. He'd kept a level head when the creatures had attacked, and maybe he was too unfamiliar with combat to know enough to be scared, because he appeared to respond to the attack as if he were merely observing facts and then reacting to them. Then again, maybe he'd seen more battle than CT-5052 was giving him credit for.
Lastly, there was CT-1789. CT-5052 hadn't really gotten to know anything about him yet. He was one of those clones that just blended in with the background. Nothing special about him, except for the fact that of the 10 who had started the scenario, he was one of only four left standing.
"Everyone, gather 'round me," CT-5052 ordered. It took fully three minutes for them to scoot, slide, and slither their way to him. CT-1080-1 scooped up the flag on his way.
"We've got to find a way to move faster over this surface," 5052 stated the obvious. "There may be more of those creatures, and if we can't find a way to outrun them, we'll never get to our objective."
"Lieutenant, I've been scanning through the planetary databanks in my HUD ever since those creatures showed up. They're called the Gley'mar—" CT-1789 began.
"Funny how our advisor forgot to mention them," CT-5052 snarled.
"But I think I may have found something," 1789 went on. "I checked in the codex to see if they have a language. And they do."
"Go on."
"It's ultra-high frequency sub-vibrations." A pause. "Our communication equipment can mimic those sounds, and we can use our wrist comms to make it audible."
"It didn't look like those things wanted to have a conversation," CT-1080-1 put forth. "It looked like they wanted to kill us."
"The database doesn't ascribe violence to them," CT-1789 insisted. "They're just very protective of their world and don't want outsiders here. If we can convince them that we just want to get to the objective so we can leave, they might be willing to help us."
"After we just killed some of their . . . people," CT-1080-1 struggled to find the right word.
"I think it might be worth a try." CT-1789 paused with meaningful silence before adding, "And we've seen that they can walk on this surface with no problem. They might even be willing to help us to the objective."
"What, you mean like, carry us?" CT-1080-1 was incredulous.
"Or slide us along behind them." CT-1789 waited for CT-5052's decision.
After a few seconds, 5052 nodded his head slowly. "Try to communicate with them."
CT-7567 felt his shoulders fall.
There was no way Commander Cody and the one remaining member of Bravo Squad—the pilot—were going to win this.
The two had managed to take cover behind a formidable spire of obsidian, but they were pinned down as the Gley'mar approached. Meanwhile, over on the other side, projected on the screens, Crimson Squad's survivors seemed not only to have regrouped but to have put a plan in place – albeit, a shaky plan with little chance of success.
That is, until one of the crystalline creatures approached the Crimson Squad members in what appeared to be a détente of sorts.
"I will not believe it," CT-7567 flat out refused. "There is no way the Gley'mar would agree to . . . oh, this would never happen!"
CT-2025 chuckled. "Did you try it when you were there?"
CT-7567 scowled. "It never occurred to us to try."
"Looks like it might be a good idea." This from CT-5869.
"Damn . . . I'm not going to get to go up against Cody," CT-7567 grumped. "I can't believe he's going to lose this matchup."
"It's not over yet, and hey, weren't you the one who was just saying not to count him out too soon?" CT-9090 pointed out.
CT-7567 simpered. "Yeah, that was me. Maybe his prowess is overrated."
"By the Force, you're just bucking for a chance to show him up, aren't you?" CT-2025 charged with a knowing grin.
"He's supposed to be the best," came the reply, spoken in precise syllables. "I just want to see if I can beat the best." But as he watched Commander Cody in the scenario below him, he conceded that today would not afford him that opportunity.
Cody checked the chronometer in his HUD.
"Damn, we have less than thirty minutes . . . "
"CT-8383, see if you can pull up any background on these creatures. We can't keep blasting them one-by-one. They just keep coming," he ordered.
"Checking," came the curt reply. Less than a minute later, he announced, "I have their specs pulled up. What should I be looking for?"
"Anything that will stop them." He continued firing.
Nearly two minutes passed, then suddenly, 8383 spoke out excitedly. "I think I've got something! I ran a composite analysis of their structure. They're 100 percent sanglingua crystal. That means, if we can produce the right sound frequency for a sustained period, they'll break apart."
"How do we do that?"
"I can—I can tweak the modal synth in the helmet until I get the right frequency," 8383 replied. "And then we can use the broadcast mode."
Beneath the helmet, Cody allowed a grin of surprise at the ingeniousness of his companion. "I thought you were a pilot."
CT-8383 replied cheekily, "Every good pilot knows more than just how to fly."
"Roger that," Cody agreed. "Do it. And do it fast."
"This was a good idea, CT-1789." CT-5052 was not much for giving compliments, but he knew when such an expression was appropriate.
The outreach, such as it was, to the Gley'mar had been a resounding success. So much so that CT-5052 wondered if that part of the scenario was, in fact, realistic; or had the controllers simply decided to toss Crimson Squad the proverbial bone. One of the creatures had agreed to convey the remainder of Crimson Squad to their objective, and now the four survivors formed an awkward sort of gaggle, trailing behind the creature as it stalked across the surface, unhampered by the smoothness.
CT-1944 had looped the strap on his weapon around one of the creature's many arms – if that's what they were – and the others held onto 1944 like a line of whipping ice skaters, but without the speed and without the skates.
"What do you think Bravo's doing?" CT-1080-1 asked.
"I'm trying not to think about it," replied CT-5052. "How the hell did we get pitted against Commander Cody's Squad?"
After a few seconds of silence, CT-1944 spoke up tentatively. "CT-5052, I think this creature could probably move a lot faster if he were just hauling one of us. Maybe you should take the flag and go on ahead with him."
"Not a chance," 5052 replied immediately and with vehemence. "We stick together. No one gets left behind. No heroes here."
CT-1944 gave a small laugh. "Huh! I thought being a hero was what it's all about."
"Maybe for some," CT-5052 replied. His mind's eye turned for the briefest moment to a rank, steaming jungle . . .
Where were they? Fek and all, where were they? The enemy was getting closer.
Don't wait for us! Don't wait for us!
He shook himself free of the recollection. This was no time to be dredging up ghosts and the anger and regret that came with them.
"What—what's happening?"
CT-1789 felt the vibration just as the others did.
"Damn!" CT-1944 raised his hand to his helmeted ears by instinct; then recognizing that would do no good, he fumbled on his wristband in an attempt to turn off the helmet comm and the ghastly sound that was now shredding his eardrums.
"Fek, what is that!?" 5052 ground out. "Is that this creature making that sound?"
"I don't—I don't think so! I don't know! It's stopped moving," CT-1789 cried, pulling his helmet off and covering his ears with his hands.
"It's going to blow!" CT-1944 warned. "Put your helmet back on! Everyone, try to move away—kriffing—basting fek! The spires are breaking! The ground is—"
As he spoke, a long fissure opened in the ground beneath him. He was gone before anyone could do anything, and the creature with him.
"This whole place is coming apart!" CT-1080-1 yelled.
CT-5052 sneered beneath his helmet. "I knew it was too good to be true. Now, we're screwed." But as he looked around and saw the entire place coming down, his last thought was whether Cody's team was having any greater luck. It seemed no one could possibly succeed in this environment.
"It's working!" Cody shouted over the dreadful screeching sound. "Look, they're slowing down! They're stopping!"
But in the next instance, his relief and hope turned to doubt and worry.
The spires were beginning to shake and vibrate. The very ground beneath him felt as if it were shimmying.
"What the hell?" He looked down at the ground, taking a few random steps as if moving might change or eliminate what he was feeling. "Is this—is that sound causing this?"
"I think so, yes, the whole place is made of the same stuff the creatures are—"
Cody looked back desperately at the creatures. They might be stopped in their tracks, but they were still intact. Meanwhile, everything else was falling apart.
The commander was torn. If he stopped the frequency too soon, the Gley'Mar would not be destroyed and would continue their attack. On the other hand, if he let it go on too long, the whole place might crumble around him and CT-8383.
"Should I stop transmitting, Commander?!" 8383 shouted.
After a few seconds' hesitation, Cody replied, "Not just yet! Give it a few more seconds! If we don't destroy them now, we—"
His voice cut off as the spire behind which they were hiding exploded, cracking the ground beneath them.
Everyone and everything went plunging downward as a cloud of fine, pulverized crystal dust billowed upwards.
"Hraka . . . " CT-7567 breathed, his eyes wide and staring. As the dust cleared below him and no movement was detected in the rubble, he set his jaw and took off towards the nearest stairway to the lower level. He was too impatient to wait for a lift, and he half-jumped, half-slid down the banister in two bounds. Rounding the corner at the bottom, he realized he had no idea where to go; but such small details never stopped CT-7567 from taking action. He'd seen where the squads had entered the platform at opposite ends, and he headed towards what he thought must be the entrance through which Bravo Squad had come.
Bursting through one door, he came upon a small group of clones – ARC cadre.
"Something I can do you for you, trainee?" One of them asked, stepping forward.
"I need to get in there," he said, clearly finding nothing ludicrous in his demand.
"No one's authorized on the platform except for those involved in the scenario," came the cool reply. "Besides, this scenario is over. The medics will be going in now."
"I know it's over," CT-7567 replied rather testily. "I was watching. That was my roommate who just got crushed in there."
"No one got crushed, Lieutenant." This came from another man, a captain – and from the dart design on his pauldron, a squad advisor. "I'm Captain Bullock. I can assure you, your roommate will be fine."
"You can't simulate falling and getting crushed by all that debris—" 7567 began, but Bullock cut him off.
"Yes, we can; and we do. We do it all the time. More times than I can count. The scenario is designed to be realistic, but it's also highly controlled. Commander Cody will be fine." With a degree of curiosity, he eyed the brash young lieutenant standing so defiantly before him. "I didn't realize what good friends you two were." The way he said the words made it clear that, even now, he suspected no friendship between the two; that he might, in fact, have expected quite the opposite from two so diametrically opposed men.
The cadre had not put CT-7567 and Commander Cody together by accident when making room assignments.
A conscious decision had been made to put the calm, calculating commander with the indefatigable piston of a lieutenant. Thoughtful with impetuous. Organized with haphazard. Planned with spontaneous. Reserved with ebullience. Success with success, no matter how different the approaches.
While it was already clear that Commander Cody was going to be one of the greatest clone officers the GAR had ever known, it was also equally clear that CT-7567 was a star-in-the-making, an officer who combined a brilliant strategic and tactical mind with the winning qualities of leadership and charisma, tinged with just enough bravado to make him daring, just enough foolishness to make others take warmly to him.
What the cadre was hoping for, what they had so carefully planned was that the two clone officers would pass on their best traits to each other. From the commander to the lieutenant: patience, self-control, and well . . . perhaps a bit less impetuosity. From the lieutenant to the commander: willingness to take the occasional risk, a more creative approach to winning battles, and the uncanny ability to light the fire in his followers.
All things considered, it would be an even exchange.
If things went as hoped. And that was never a sure thing.
"I've known him less than a day," CT-7567 said impatiently. "But he is my room-mate. And my brother."
Captain Bullock regarded him with a curious expression. "Brother? Well, that's an interesting way to put it."
"I consider all of you my brothers," 7567 replied. "Not just . . . products of the same template." He scowled that he should even have to explain such a thing when there was a much more important matter at hand. "And as a brother and a room-mate, I need to make sure Commander Cody is alright."
"Like I said, the commander will be fine—"
"Where can I go to see him?"
Bullock gave an indulgent smile, but one that clearly indicated he was reaching his limit of accommodation. "I imagine he'll be in the medical bay in a minute or so, getting checked over. But that's not where you're going. Your squad is up next. You can wait right here until the rest of your squad comes down."
CT-7567 stared hard at the captain for a moment, seesawing between whether to persist or to trust the captain's word. At length, he chose the latter. He gave a single, gruff nod and turned away to hide not only his anger, but also the fact that he'd been refused. It was not something he was used to.
"And lieutenant . . . "
CT-7567 looked back over his shoulder.
"I haven't dismissed you yet."
CT-7567 turned and came to crisp attention. "Permission to be dismissed, Sir?"
Bullock inclined his head to one side. "Dismissed." A pause. "Wait here, and don't go anywhere."
As the captain made to depart, CT-7567 heard him tell one of the technicians, "I'll be in the med bay."
"You're damned right. That's where you should be," 7567 affirmed silently. And even though it made no sense, he felt better for thinking it.
"By the Force . . . what the hell happened up there?" Cody reached a hand towards his head, but a medic—a clone medic—gently pressed his arm back down to his side.
"Just lie still, Commander. I only need a few more minutes," the medic instructed.
"I'll tell you what happened."
Cody turned his head to see CT-5052 on the examination table next to him. From the way he sat with his legs dangling over the side of the table, it appeared that he had cleared and was about to head back up to the observation ring.
CT-5052 continued speaking. "You and your team brought the whole place down. That was some great idea you had." His voice bordered between earnest praise and sarcasm.
"Is that what happened? Hmph! Well, I can't take credit for it," Cody replied. "CT-8383 came up with it." A chuckle. "Who'd think a pilot would be the one to figure out something like that."
"To figure out how to get us all killed? If that were real-world, we'd all be dead," CT-5052 pointed out.
"Yeah, I guess so."
After a few seconds of silence, CT-5052 grudgingly admitted, "But it was still a good idea. Ours was better, though."
"What was your idea?" Cody asked.
"We figured out how to communicate with the Gley'Mar, and one of them was taking us to the objective."
"Huh, that's clever." The commander drew in a deep breath, feeling a soreness in his right side. "Do I have broken ribs?" he asked the medic.
"No, just some minor bruising," came the reply. "Not the sort of thing we'd even treat. It'll feel fine in a day or two."
CT-5052 slid off the bed and retrieved his helmet from the nearby counter top. "Looks like we both failed."
Cody kept a sanguine expression, but the tone of his voice gave away his disappointment. "Yeah, looks that way."
"Your roommate is up next," CT-5052 announced. "This I can't wait to see."
"I agree." Cody looked at the medic. "Can you hurry it up a bit? There's a show I don't want to miss."
*hraka - Lapine curse word for "excrement", borrowed from Watership Down
Also, I posted the character listing, but I wonder if it would also help (and does anyone care) for me to add a bit about the OCs on that listing. For example, CT-1080-1 being a special creation for ion and fission? CT-8383 being a pilot? Does it matter? I have an entire outline that lists every character, their traits, their background, etc. It's hard to keep track of them otherwise!