Dear Reader, thank you to my reviewers, the Unnamed Guest and the other guest! This is a long chapter, but it contains one of my favorite scenes. I would like to dedicate this to the memory of my dear, dear friend, Richard Adams, who passed away on Christmas Eve. Mr Adams was the author of Watership Down and the man who inspired me to want to be an author. He was 96 years old and simply an incredible, generous, and loving man. In England at his funeral, I was reminded just how much he influenced my writing and love of prose. Rest in peace, dear friend. God speed.
Chapter 66 The Glimpse of Freedom
"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the sky on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of."
High Flight
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
"We made it," Jesse stated with a hint of joy but even more of satisfaction in his voice.
"I can hardly believe it," CT-2085-4 said. "I thought for sure we'd run into some other catastrophe on this last stretch."
"Look there, just past the ruins . . . it's a gunship," Hardcase pointed out. "I've never been so happy to see one of those ugly buggers."
"I'll be happy to get back to some real food." This from CT-4441.
"You think the mess halls serve real food?" Jesse quipped.
"Better than a nutrient bar."
Ahead of them, the commander and the lieutenant were being greeted by the reception team, which consisted of two members of the flight crew and two medics.
A brief flurry of congratulations was exchanged, and the platoon was quickly loaded onto the gunship. Almost immediately, the medics clustered around CT-3636, who barely tolerated their attention and made certain his irascibility was clear to everyone. Why did they have to fuss over him in public? He'd be perfectly content to let them poke and prod and do whatever else they felt necessary in the privacy of the infirmary back at the main base. But here in front of the men, it was embarrassing.
CT-7567 stood in the rear of the gunship, leaning back against the inner fuselage wall. He would not deny how exhausted he felt, but he was determined to hold out until he was back in his room before collapsing. He owed a strong finish to these cadets.
"Looks like you chaps had a rough time," one of the flight crew remarked to him. "But everyone made it. That's a good job."
"I think we owe a lot of our success to luck," CT-7567 deferred.
"Well, there are some other platoons that could have used some of your luck," the crewman replied. "You're our sixth pickup. Two of the other platoons lost men. If you finish with the same number you started with, that's an accomplishment."
CT-7567 absorbed this in silence. He did not inquire after the losses. At the moment, he didn't want to know. It would be better to wait until after he'd had a shower, some food, and a decent sleep before addressing the issue of who had made it and who hadn't.
Arriving back at the base, the platoon was given a Myottan standard day 28-hour stand-down to be followed by a debrief and after action report session with both trainees and cadets.
CT-7567 parted from his platoon, and as they were shuttled off to their barracks accommodations, he returned to his room in the ARC Training quarters.
His first order of business was a shower. A real one with real water. And a long one.
So long and so hot that he almost fell asleep on his feet under the spray.
Now that the exercise had come to its end, he could allow himself to feel what he'd kept at bay for the past three and a half days.
Every muscle ached. His skin felt dry, chafed and brittle. He'd forgotten just how much the armor and helmet protected him not only from enemy fire but from the elements. His eyelids were like weighted scales, and he could not stifle the string of continual yawns. This was a degree of exhaustion that, though it had a physical aspect to it, was mostly mental. The truth was, he simply did not want to think about anything for at least . . . twelve hours. Yes, that should be enough. So, although he could scarcely believe it, he was going to choose sleep over food.
After all, food in the training facilities was not a scarce commodity. It was available all day and all night.
Sleep, on the other hand, was something that had to be snatched when and where a trooper could find it.
The door had a distinctive hiss when it opened.
Distinctive, yes. But it wasn't loud. The fact that the sound had woken CT-7567 from his sleep was a nagging reminder of just how conditioned the lieutenant was to detecting the slightest disturbance, even from the depths of a sound sleep.
He drew in an abrupt breath, signaling his return to consciousness, then dragged his arm down to his side. He'd developed a habit of sleeping with his right arm bent above his head – a comfortable way of dealing with an old wound. He would awake with the blood drained and the arm numb, and then dread would set in, in anticipation of the prickly pins and needles that inevitably accompanied the return of feeling.
He opened one eye and saw Cody moving about in the low light.
"You're back," he said—or rather, mumbled—in a hoarse voice.
"Yeah," the commander replied. "Sorry for waking you."
"Enh, it's okay." He turned his one-eyed gaze to the chronometer by his bed. "I've been sacked out almost eight hours."
"Well, that's what I plan on doing," Cody stated.
CT-7567 gave a bleary smile. "I'm going for twelve. Maybe fourteen."
"Then don't let me disturb you."
There was something odd in the commander's voice, in his manner, and CT-7567 noticed it right away. Commander Cody might always present himself with calm self-possession, but this was an almost calculated blandness, a fabricated nonchalance that bordered on indifference.
And CT-7567 wasn't about to let it go unquestioned. He recalled the words of the gunship crewman, that there had been casualties in other platoons, and he feared the worst. "How'd you all do out there?"
"We passed."
"With some time to spare, it looks like."
Cody began tossing filthy, grime-caked Class B uniform items and their associated accoutrement onto the floor. "Yep. Time to spare." A pause. "And two injured men who had to be evac'd out."
CT-7567 pushed up onto one elbow. "No kidding? Who? ARC trainee or cadet?"
"Two cadets," the commander replied. "I went to check on them before coming here. It's touch-and-go."
The lieutenant was now fully upright in the bed. "What happened?"
"We were passing through a bog, and something got hold of them and dragged them under the water," Cody explained. "They came back up to the surface less than thirty seconds later, but they had these . . . they were like burn marks wherever the thing had touched them. Their injuries were too severe for our medic. So . . . whatever way the cadre had of tracking us, they knew what had happened and sent out a rescue team, took the two cadets and . . . now they're in the main medical wing."
"They're not going to make it?" 7567 inquired.
"I don't know. The docs gave them a fifty-fifty chance," Cody replied. "I'll go check again after a few hours sleep, but right now I need a shower. We spent almost the entire time wading through swamp after swamp. Force only knows what parasites we probably picked up."
CT-7567 frowned. He did not like seeing his room-mate's anguish. Commander Cody was the sort of man who bore all trials with equanimity, endured losses with reason and composure, and seemed impenetrable when it came to feelings of sadness or remorse.
As such, it was uncomfortable to see him so low, so dull.
"You want to go get some chow when you're done in there?" 7567 asked helpfully.
"We'll see. I think I'll probably just want to catch some shut eye," the commander replied. "I'll see how I feel when I come out."
It was a full thirty minutes before he came out, looking as if he had scrubbed every inch of his body with a hair-wire brush.
"Krebs, what did you do? Try to scrub off every original skin cell?" CT-7567 quipped.
"And I still feel like I've got that slimy osik all over me," Cody replied. "It may be weeks before I feel clean again."
"So, you hungry? You want to go get something?"
"Not now, Blondie. Let me catch a few hours first."
CT-7567 nodded. "Good. That way I can catch a few more hours, too. But for crying out loud . . . can't you come up with something better than Blondie? I've dealt with that for three weeks, and it's going to stick if you keep using it."
Cody couldn't quite bring himself to crack a smile, but he put some small enthusiasm in his voice. "I'll work on it."
The following day, it was Commander Cody who still managed to wake up first, despite CT-7567 having a head start on him. And again, even his quiet movements were enough to rouse CT-7567 from his sleep.
"I'm heading over to the medical wing," the commander announced as he pulled on his utility uniform.
"I'll go with you," CT-7567 stated.
"That's okay. You don't need to," Cody replied.
"Oh, but I do," came the sure response. "One of my own platoon mates is in there."
Cody raised a brow. "Who?"
"CT-3636. I think one of my cadets might have been kept overnight for observation, too," 7567 said.
"3636? What happened? Is it serious?"
"I'll explain on the way there."
A few minutes later, they were both dressed and on their way to the medical wing. And, as promised, CT-7567 relayed the entire story of his platoon's adventures – or misadventure, as the case turned out.
Cody listened in amazement. When CT-7567 concluded the tale, the commander blew out a sigh of awe. "Do you live a charmed life, Lieutenant? I can't believe your platoon made it through all that without any losses."
"We came close," 7567 replied. "Me and 3636 were lucky. We had an incredible platoon of cadets." He grinned suddenly. "Speaking of which . . . here they are."
They were entering the medical wing and directly ahead, coming towards them was Saber Squad, minus Jesse.
The cadets drew up before the two officers and took a respectful stance.
"Lieutenant," CT-4441 greeted him, then seeing the rank on his companion's suit, added, "Commander."
"I was just telling Commander Cody about you all," CT-7567 announced.
It was something CT-7567 could not have imagined had he tried, but 4441 actually blanched.
"Commander . . . Cody?"
Clearly, the name was as well known to cadets as it was to active duty troopers.
"He's my room-mate," 7567 went on, enjoying the cadets' reactions.
"It's an honor to meet you, Commander," CT-4441 said with uncharacteristic reserve.
"Hm, I think the honor is mine," Cody replied. "Anyone who could keep up with this guy for four days has got to have something on the ball."
The cadets chuckled.
"We wanted to impress him," CT-4441 said. "He had faith in us the whole time. We were honored to have him as our officer."
"More unadulterated praise?" Cody said, looking at his roommate with a glint in his eye.
"Well earned," CT-7567 replied without even a smidgen of humility. Then to his cadets, "Did they keep Jesse?"
"Yes, Sir. They've kept him since we got back, but he should be released in time for the debrief," CT-4441 answered. "We also went to see Commander Wolffe, but he was in a bacta tank, so no visitors."
"Commander Wolffe?" Cody asked.
CT-7567 beamed from ear to ear. "CT-3636. Did you come up with that yourself?" he asked CT-4441.
"CT-2085-4 came up with it. He just started using it, and well, the whole platoon sort of picked it up after we got back to our barracks," 4441 replied.
"I like it. It's fitting," 7567 nodded. "Does he know?"
"No, Sir. He was already in the bacta tank."
"Well, I'll make sure it sticks. And I'll see you at the debrief."
The cadets departed, and the two ARC trainees continued on.
"That bit you told me about 3636 and the wolves . . . that's incredible," Cody remarked.
"Well . . . I admit that I was pretty skeptical of it the whole time," 7567 conceded. "But it made me wonder: do Jedi generals rub off on their officers? I mean, word has it that General Plo Koon is an empath, and then CT-3636 blows us all away by having some kind of connection with that wolf." He turned a questioning eye to his roommate. "It's a good question, isn't it? Do clone officers become like their Jedi?"
"I don't know the answer to that," the commander replied.
"Well, are you anything like General Kenobi?"
Cody grinned. "You'd have to ask my men."
"Ah, that's a copout, Commander," CT-7567 chided.
"No, it's not," Cody pushed back. "You're asking me a question I really can't answer."
The lieutenant would have pursued the matter, but the two of them had entered the ante-chamber into the bacta facility.
A Kaminoan male was at the med-tech desk.
"Commander Cody, you've come back to check on the two cadets, I assume," the technician stated in the slow, dulcet tones of his kind.
"Yes," Cody replied. "Is there an update?
"In fact, there is." A pause. "Doctor Hemon-Sa upgraded their prognoses to better than a sixty percent chance of survival. The Philomat-infused bacta is exceeding expectations and repairing the damage at an astounding rate. These two clones will likely be able to be returned to training, only slightly behind the rest of their lot number."
"That's good news."
The commander's expression of relief was well-measured and professional, but CT-7567 could sense the greater emotion behind it.
"What about CT-3636? How's he doing?" 7567 asked.
"He will be out of the bacta tank by tomorrow evening," came the reply. "Your field medic did an excellent job protecting the wound. No sign of infection, and the bacta patches had already started the healing process."
CT-7567 puffed up with pride. "We did have an incredible medic." He glanced at Cody. "What did I tell you? These guys were the cream-of-the-crop." Then to the tech once more, "What about Jesse? Can we see him?"
"CT-5579 is in room C-90. He is permitted visitors," the tech replied.
As it turned out, the visit was short, for Jesse was due for a bandage change just as the two officers arrived; so, some pleasantries were exchanged, an inquiry of how he was feeling, and an expression of anticipation for the debriefing later in the day.
CT-7567 and the commander decided to head to the dining facility, and as they walked through the rather quiet hallways – for many of the ARC trainees and their cadet squads had only recently returned from their land navigation exercise and were sleeping it off, just as the squads that had finished earlier had done—CT-7567 could detect in his companion's demeanor a lingering heaviness that had followed them from the medical wing. And he decided to try and do something about it.
"That's good that your two cadets are going to be okay," he ventured.
"Yeah, thank for Force," Cody agreed. "Yesterday, things weren't looking so good. Now, they're going to not only make it, but they'll be able to complete their training without missing much time. Things can turn around quickly, can't they?" It wasn't a question as much as an assertion.
"We're bred to be tough."
"But not perfect. We still make mistakes." Cody shook his head almost imperceptibly. "It was my fault that they were injured. We knew something was in that water, but I decided to go through it anyway."
CT-7567 regarded him sidelong. "You said practically the entire time was spent in the water. What choice did you have?"
"There were choices," the commander replied. "We could have found a way to go overland. It would have taken a lot longer, but there were ways."
Never one to mince words, CT-7567 spoke directly. "Second-guessing yourself again?"
"Don't start," Cody warned, but his voice contained no conviction.
"I'm not, I'm not," CT-7567 begged off. "I'll just never understand how you can be so wishy-washy."
"Feeling bad about what happened to those two cadets isn't wishy-washy," the commander said pointedly.
"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you wondering if you did the right thing," 7567 countered. "You just seem to . . . change your mind a lot."
"One thing I haven't changed my mind about . . . you're the most difficult person I've ever met." A pause. "Here I've got things on my mind, and you're only interested in getting on my nerves."
"That's not true. I just think sometimes you . . . you spend too much time inside your own head," 7567 pressed.
"And you don't spend enough inside yours. Now, let's just go get something to eat. I'm starving."
"Well, that's something we can agree on."
When CT-7567 walked into the debriefing room, he was surprised to see that the entire platoon was already there; and he was equally happy to see the fervor with which they greeted him.
He noted that Saber Squad was once again complete, with Jesse now released from the medical wing. He joined the men and they carried on casual chatter until Captains Spicer, Scarlett and two members of the cadre, one of whom was Captain Skidz—entered the room.
Everyone took their places.
As far as briefings went, it was a lively exchange as the cadets vigorously defended their actions against any criticisms. But it seemed that the bulk of the criticism—most of which came from Captain Skidz—was reserved for the two ARC trainees who had been the platoon leaders.
And since CT-3636—now referred to exclusively among the cadets as Commander Wolffe—was still in the medical wing—CT-7567 gamely fielded every critique.
For three hours, the discussion went on.
Upon its conclusion, CT-7567 inquired when the platoon was due to return to Kamino.
"Not until tomorrow morning," Jesse answered.
"Great! Then that gives us some time to pull up a scenario in one of the lower ranges," 7567 enthused.
"Fantastic!" CT-4441 exclaimed.
"Yeah, you know, we've broken every record on the Citadel scenario," Hardcase boasted.
CT-7567 gave an indulgent grin. "The Citadel? Wait til you see the ARC ranges. They're like nothing you've ever experienced before."
Captain Spicer, overhearing their talk, leaned in. "You're going to need a controller for that."
"I was just going to use one of the smaller ranges," 7567 said.
"Okay. So, you'll need one controller. I'm volunteering."
CT-7567 smiled brilliantly. "You'd be most appreciated, Sir."
Cody sat on the edge of his bed. He had just come from his own debriefing; and although it had been very informative, it had gone on for a long time – too long. It had been one continual reminder of his poor decision—a decision that had not been his first choice but a decision he had embraced nonetheless. He could have chosen a safer route, a longer route. He hadn't been forced into the decision. He had chosen that particular course because it had seemed to be the prevailing desire within his platoon. His fellow platoon leader, CT-1944 from the 3d Infantry Regiment, had been an outstanding co-leader. The two had done a good job of sharing the responsibilities. The decision to go through the swamps had been one they had come to together, yet as the senior officer, Cody felt the burden of that decision most heavily upon his shoulders.
Of course, such load-bearing was also simply a part of his personality. CT-7567 had been correct when he'd wryly accused him of being a serious man. But what was wrong with that? War was a serious matter, and it would have been foolish of him to take it lightly.
It wasn't that Cody was all work and no fun. He enjoyed a good time as much as the next man – when a good time was to be had, seldom as that may be. He actually had a light side, a good sense of humor, and a genuine enjoyment of socializing. He was that rare officer who could draw the very fine line between being a friend to his troops and being their superior.
But at the moment, he cared neither for their friendship nor their supervision. At the moment, he preferred being alone in his room, going over the events of the land navigation exercise. Or more accurately, going over the events that had resulted in the two cadets being injured. He would learn from this mistake, just as he learned from every mistake – his or someone else's.
It was rare that Cody found himself engrossed in his own thoughts. Contrary to CT-7567's accusation, he felt that he tended to stay in his head only as long as was necessary to evaluate and consider options. But this time was different, so much so that it was well towards midnight before it finally occurred to him that CT-7567 had not yet returned to the room.
"Eh, Force only knows what he's up to," the commander said aloud. "I can only hope his debriefing hasn't lasted this long."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the door opened and in strode his roommate.
"I was starting to wonder if you'd got lost," Cody remarked.
"Nope. I was with my platoon on Range 4B. We were running the Geonosis scenario . . . as much as you can do with a single controller," came the buoyant reply. "It was great."
"You were with your platoon this whole time?"
"The whole time. We spent nearly three hours on the range, and then we went to the mess hall, had a bite to eat, and just hung out." He sat down on his bed across from Cody. "They're an incredible group of brothers. I'd welcome them in the 729th any day."
"You can always put in a request."
"I'm just a lieutenant," 7567 replied. "But maybe my colonel can swing something."
"They'd probably love to be assigned under you," Cody opined.
"Of course. Who wouldn't?" CT-7567 began to undress. "Have you been here all night?"
"Yeah. I came straight back after the debrief," Cody replied.
"Well, you don't look like you were sleeping."
"I wasn't. I was just going over the exercise . . ."
"You didn't go over it enough in the debrief?"
"I like to be thorough," the commander said.
CT-7567 believed him, but he could also hear the preoccupation in his voice and sense it in his manner.
"Tomorrow, the cadets go back, and we have another lecture scheduled for manually calculating hyperspace jumps," he stated. "Boring, boring, boring."
"It's only boring to you because you can't do it," Cody replied, lying back and putting his hands behind his head.
"Well, I'll get it . . . eventually," the lieutenant said. "I still don't see why it's something we even need to learn. Computers do all that stuff. When will we ever need to calculate a jump on our own?"
"You'd be better at it if you practiced," Cody chided. "But instead, you spend your free time messing around with that jetpack."
"I'm not messing around. I'm improving it. You know the current model jetpack is substandard," 7567 stated. "I want to make it better."
"Better?"
"Faster, able to carry more weight, better control, power launch—"
"Don't you think it's best to leave all those improvements to the engineers who designed the packs?" Cody challenged.
"No." CT-7567 was direct and assured. "When you know something, when you're good at something, you don't wait around for others to figure things out. You do it yourself."
"Huh, that certainly seems to describe you," Cody chuckled, then in a more reserved and thoughtful tone, he added, "I'm not quite the risk-taker you are."
"No one is," 7567 beamed as he headed for the refresher.
Cody laughed again under his breath. "True. Turn the light out when you're finished."
CT-7567 smiled to himself. He'd succeeded – at least, partially – in getting his roommate's mind off his circular worrying.
Tomorrow, he would complete the task.
"Unh! For the love of . . . "
"Wrong again?"
CT-7567 scowled. "That's the third one in a row."
"You're overthinking them," Cody stated. "Good grief, what are all these calculations? This last one was only a ten-step process. You must have . . . thirty equations here."
"Well, I was . . . the parallax figures weren't . . . there were too many, and I wasn't sure which ones to use in which steps of the calculations . . . so I . . . " He fell silent with a self-righteous scowl.
"Blondie, if you can't pass this, you're going to fail ARC school," Cody warned.
"I'll get it."
"We've had at least 24 hours worth of training on this, and you're still terrible at it. I don't think you've gotten one right."
"It's not as if I'm not trying," CT-7567 pushed back. "Besides, I'm good at a lot of other things."
"You can be great at other things, but if you fail any part of this course, you're not going to be an ARC trooper." Cody paused. His manner became pensive. "Here, it's not enough to do your best."
CT-7567 stole a quick glance at his roommate and saw that the worries of the previous day had still not dissipated. And he didn't like it. He didn't like seeing Cody operating under the pall of doubt. He knew that the commander had already gone that morning to see the two cadets in the medical bay—they had not shipped back to Kamino with their platoon—and the rest of the caderts—that morning due to their ongoing treatment. The word from the doctor had been good, but Cody was still carrying a bucket of guilt over their predicament. Make no mistake, the commander's concern over the training accident was not something he wore on his sleeve. In fact, CT-7567 was certain that the only reason he had noticed it was because he roomed with the man and had gotten to know him well enough to detect the subtle changes in his demeanor. To the rest of the trainees, Commander Cody was still the great immovable rock upon which waves crashed and broke apart.
"It is if your best is the best," 7567 countered. "And I know I'm not worth a bantha's hide when it comes to this stuff, but I'll figure it out just enough to pass."
"Yeah." The commander suddenly seemed very disinterested.
"Yeah," CT-7567 said in the silence of his thoughts. "And there are things you need to figure out. And I'm going to make sure you do."
Bravo Company spent that afternoon on one of the outdoor firing ranges learning how to rig makeshift explosives and deliver them on targets up to five kilometers away.
For Cody, it was interesting work. And being back with his squad mates felt good. By the time Bravo returned from the range, an hour before dinner, he had worked up an appetite. He went to his room first to change, and here his plans were altered.
The moment he walked in, CT-7567 was there to greet him.
"It's about time," the lieutenant exclaimed. "I was starting to think they were going to keep you guys out there all day."
"It was a productive session," Cody replied. He eyed his roommate with suspicion. "What's that look on your face?"
"I've got something I want to show you. Come on."
"Woah, hold on. I'm starving. I came here to change and then I'm heading to the mess hall—"
"The chow hall is open all night—"
"They only serve dinner for a three-hour window—"
"We won't be three hours," 7567 assured him. "Come on, just . . . humor me."
Cody hesitated a moment, trying to figure out what he could possibly be up to. "Okay, but by the Force, if this is something that's going to get us into hot water, I will make sure you live to regret it."
"We won't get in trouble," 7567 dismissed. "You worry like an old woman."
They left the room and wended their way through the corridors until at last they came to a large hangar where at least two dozen transports were lined up.
"Are we stealing a ship?" Cody joked.
"Nope. Better."
They crossed the entire distance of the hangar, coming to a small maintenance enclave near the hangar doors. Here, they were met by a maintenance clone.
"Ah, you're back, Sir," the sergeant greeted CT-7567, then he nodded respectfully at Cody. "Commander, it's an honor."
Cody gave a droll grin. "I'm still not sure why I'm here."
The maintenance clone looked pleased as he turned with a flourish to the wall-mounted table behind him. "This is why."
Cody had not noticed the two jetpacks laying on the table until now.
"What's this?"
"We're going up for a flight," CT-7567 replied exuberantly.
"We?"
"Well, yeah, I need someone to be with me while I'm testing out my improvements."
Cody laughed in disbelief. "There's no way in hell I'm strapping on one of your souped up jetpacks."
"You don't have to," 7567 said. "This one is a regular one. That way you're nearby in case something goes wrong." An excited and mischievous sparkle shone in his eye. "And . . . it will be fun, something we can do just for fun."
"And do we, uh, have clearance to have this fun?" Cody asked.
"Of course." CT-7567 walked up to the table, and the maintenance clone slipped the straps over his shoulders. As he kitted up, he directed a challenging gaze at the commander. "You're not going to flake out on me, are you?"
Cody squinted. "Not a chance." He stepped forward for his jetpack. "Just don't blow yourself up. I'm just starting to get used to you."
Once they had the jetpacks firmly in place, they walked out onto launch platform.
"So, where are we headed?" Cody asked.
"Enh, I don't know . . . wherever my mood takes us," 7567 replied. "Just try to keep up."
"Well, if your pack is faster than mine, you may end up leaving me in your contrail."
CT-7567 put his helmet on. "I'll slow down long enough for you to catch up. But . . . right now, I'm going to try a power-launch. You can, uh, just catch me on top. You might want to stand back."
Cody donned his own helmet and took several steps back.
CT-7567 drew a tiny lever down from his hand plate and moved it with his thumb. "See you in the clouds." Whatever he did next was not visible to Cody's watching eyes, but with flashing suddenness, the burners ignited and CT-7567 was rocketing skyward at a speed the commander had never seen from a jetpack before – certainly, not on lift-off.
Within seconds, the lieutenant was just a dot in the sky.
"Crazy bastard," Cody said under his breath but with an air of wonder. He ignited his own pack and climbed skyward. He passed through the thin layer of cloud to find CT-7567 hovering in wait.
"That was some take-off," the commander said.
"Such a rush!" 7567 exclaimed. "But just watch this! Follow behind me!"
Cody then watched as the lieutenant put on a display of aerobatics that would have made any other sane clone sick to his stomach.
"You'd better be careful," he warned. "Only starfighters are meant to make those kinds of moves!"
"It's the greatest feeling in the universe!" 7567 shouted into his helmet comm. "This is freedom!"
Despite the obvious risk of what the lieutenant was doing, Cody could not help but feel a sense of admiration. Observing such unfettered joy in action, he discovered an increased appreciation for his roommate's irrepressible spirit and capacity for adventure.
"Okay, then!" he said. "Let's do a tour. You take the lead, and I'll follow. Try not to leave me in your vapor!"
The next two hours would prove to be some of the most enjoyable of Cody's life. The "tour" was about as pedestrian as watching a rancor pit match. CT-7567 was too high-strung, too active to simply look at the sights of the landscape below them. No, he had to go splashing precariously through waterfalls, threading canyon needles, and—when those escapades weren't challenging enough—he opted for a brand of aerial wrestling that made Cody glad they were on the same side. At one point, the lieutenant hit the commander's kill-switch, and both commander and his jetpack went plummeting a hundred feet or so before the commander re-ignited.
The sun was low in the sky by the time they returned to the hangar.
When the sergeant saw them arrive, he came to meet them.
"Did you have a good flight, Sirs?"
"Absolutely," Cody replied. "I can't remember the last time I had that much fun."
CT-7567 grinned inwardly. He'd managed to successfully divert the commander's thoughts from the troublesome realm of the two injured cadets. It was what he had set out to do, and he had done it. Now, the question was how long would it endure.
As they left the hangar together, it might have surprised him had he known Cody's thoughts. For the commander had recognized in some inexplicable way precisely what his roommate had been trying to do. He'd known the diversionary tactic for what it was, and he was grateful and—if he dared admit it, touched—to think that CT-7567, who seemed to place so much emphasis on his own greatness and contentment, had gone out of his way to concoct such a thoughtful scheme.
And for the first time, he considered that just such a man might be a good fit for the 501st. Maybe even the 212th. In his mind's eye, he could almost picture a befuddled General Kenobi, scarcely able to figure out what to make of such a firebrand. On the other hand, when he brought General Skywalker to mind, the fit was almost perfect.
"Hm, maybe too perfect," he mused. "They're too much alike. Without either one of them balancing out the other, they'd probably end up leading the battalion headlong into the biggest messes. Still, there's no question that he's a talent who should be working alongside a Jedi. He's the best trainee in this entire class—" He conceded that he was even including himself in the mix, "—even if he can get on your nerves to no end."
"—tweak the air-to-fuel ratio just a bit more. Maybe add some gryssum to the fuel mixture. I don't know, what do you think?"
Cody pulled himself out of his thoughts. The lieutenant had been speaking—rambling, actually—the whole time, and now he was looking for his roommate's input.
Not wanting to be caught out, Cody gave a safe answer. "Oh, well, I thought it worked quite well as it was."
"Of course, it worked well; but well is . . . mediocre," 7567 replied. "You would never settle for mediocre."
Cody grinned and maneuvered the subject in order to take a shot at him. "Well, I'll tell you what I won't settle for: I won't settle for getting knocked out of the sky again. You play dirty."
"And that surprises you? I play to win," 7567 answered, then with a strange humility that was at once both affected and yet sincere, he added, "Besides, I wouldn't have let you die. I'd have caught you before you hit the ground."
"How comforting," Cody deadpanned. "Nice that you take risks with other people's lives."
And here, CT-7567 said something that Cody had not been expecting, and it opened up a whole new understanding of who his roommate was.
"The things that other people see as risks . . . I don't."
Cody regarded him as they walked on, eyeing him intently in the silence that followed. At last, he spoke. "How did you get to be so different from the rest of us?"
CT-7567 gave a one-shouldered shrug, and with a cheekiness that Cody had come to recognize as one his foremost traits, he replied, "I'm not. I just act like it."
Cody rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
"Look, I just don't see the sorts of . . . dangers in certain things that other people see," 7567 insisted. "If you spend your time looking for reasons not to do something, you'll find them. And as far as risk goes, if I have a better than fifty percent chance of succeeding, then there is no risk."
"That is absolutely ridiculous—"
"It doesn't pay to second-guess yourself, and it doesn't pay to spend too much screwing around over a decision." A pause. "You should know that."
"You know, you're the only one who would ever think of calling me indecisive—"
"No, I'm not," came the protest. "I'm just the only one who's willing to say it. And I can say it because I know you really are the best. And the best can take a little healthy criticism."
Cody shook his head with a subtle smile. How was he to contend with such a man? The best he could do was try to rein in some of his impetuosity, teach him the value of humility, and maybe, occasionally, humor him just enough so that he would never lose his good nature.
For the loss of that nature would truly be an injustice.
"I don't believe this."
"It is kind of baffling." Cody held the data pad in his hand and looked at the string of calculations that scrolled down for pages, ending with yet another incorrect answer. "You're starting with the right premise, but by the time you're to the third or fourth set of parallax figures, you're messed up. And this one . . . you've completely missed the apparent-absolute magnitude comparison."
CT-7567 flopped back in his chair. He and the commander were the last two trainees left in the instruction lab. The others had left nearly an hour ago on their way to dinner.
"I never felt like a failure until this class," he groaned.
"But you must have passed navigation as a cadet—"
"Yes, but that was using computers! All I had to do was input the destination, and the computer would figure out the coordinates. I didn't have to choose parallax numbers, and spectroscopic measurements weren't anywhere on my radar," 7567 replied, sounding more perturbed than he had since coming to ARC training. "It all looks the same. It's just numbers and numbers, a universe full of numbers."
Cody looked at him with scrutiny. "I'll tell you what" he said at last. "Go to the mess hall. Get something to eat and try to clear your head."
CT-7567 was more than willing to call an end to hours of odious mathematical torture. "You coming?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"Maybe," the commander replied. "I've got a few things to take care of. I'll probably see you back at the room."
"Yeah, okay," 7567 said. "I won't be long. All I want is a good night's sleep before this stuff makes my brain explode."
No sooner had his roommate left the lab than Cody headed back for their room. He had no explanation for why this particular module was proving so difficult for a man who was every bit as smart as he was, possessed of a keen and inquiring intellect, and open to instruction. There was no reason why CT-7567 should be floundering; and yet something he had said—It all looks the same . . . a universe full of numbers—had jabbed at Cody and given him an idea.
An idea he was counting on. He chuckled. This would be his definition of a risk – in more ways than one.
When CT-7567 walked into his room well after dinner, it was to find Cody waiting for him.
"Get your utility jacket, put this on—" he handed him a small pack, "—and let's go."
This was so un-Cody that at first, 7567 was not sure whether or not he should take him seriously. He reached out and took the pack. "Where are we going?"
"Just get ready and follow me. You'll find out when we get there," Cody replied.
"Is this revenge for the jetpacks yesterday?"
"Nope," Cody answered. "This time there's something I want to show you."
Moments later, they were moving through the emptying halls of the base. Outside, the sky was darkening into twilight.
They exited the main facility and took off at a fairly quick pace along one of the many exercise trails within the extensive grounds of the sprawling compound.
"You're taking me on a run?" CT-7567 asked, trotting along behind him.
"Just follow me."
A half-mile from their starting point, they were deep into a heavily wooded area. It was here that Cody came to a stop, put his back against the perimeter wall, and held out his cupped hands. "Come on, I'll boost you up."
CT-7567 stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What? You're going—you're going to sneak out of here?"
"We're going to sneak out of here."
Now, 7567 was sure that at least one of them had lost his mind, though he wasn't sure who. "Are you crazy?"
"Just for a few hours," Cody insisted. "They won't even know we're gone."
"Of course, they'll know! Do you think every centimeter of this wall isn't monitored?"
"Then they'll send someone out to bring us back. Now, are you going or not, Mr Risk-Taker?" Cody taunted.
"Well, that's better than Blondie," 7567 smirked. "But barely. Okay, then, I'm in." He put his foot into Cody's hands and found himself on the top of the wall. Turning, he reached down a hand and pulled the commander up.
Jumping down on the other side, CT-7567 shook his head. "You sure about this?"
Cody eyed him challengingly. "You're supposed to be the fearless one. Getting cold feet?"
"Me? Of course not," came the reply. "But you, you never break the rules. What gives?"
"You'll see when we get there."
The commander led the way into the forest, moving at a good clip through the evening shadows reaching down into the woods. They were following a trail that appeared to be in relatively decent condition. It led them two kilometers northeast towards a range of old mountains, rounded by age yet still impressive and formidable.
"We're going up into the mountains?"
"Not too far, another three kilometers."
"Do you know where we're going?"
Cody's smile, invisible to 7567 behind him, was audible in his voice. "You'd better hope so."
The sun fully set and the first of three moons rose as a blue lantern, casting its watery light down between the leafy boughs overhead of the path. The two clones had come to a much steeper part now, where the path mostly disappeared among the rocks and ferns and patches of lichen. It took a bit of teamwork to climb this part of the trail; but clones were masters at teamwork, and the challenge was met with vigor.
The air grew cooler, but it was still comfortable. CT-7567 whimsically imagined how pleasant it would be to sleep in the out-of-doors under these conditions, so different from his experience on Tinderhout.
When they at last stopped the steep upward climb, they were near the top of the low mountain, still well below the treeline. A narrow trail ran horizontally in the woods below the summit. Commander Cody led them north along it. It rose and fell with the dips in the ground, like a wave heading across the sea.
And then Cody took them on a different trail that headed downward in a sort of switchback pattern, over and between large rocks and exposed roots. It emerged onto a broad stone bluff overlooking the great northern forest with an unobstructed view that stretched on to the horizon. Five hundred meters below, the confluence of two mighty rivers merged their strengths in silent power. Their waters were still with only a slight breeze to occasionally stir the surface and catch the light of the first moon.
Up here, there were no sounds other than those of nature and its denizens. The buzzing and whirring and droning of the training facility could not reach these heights. No ships flew overhead.
It was as splendid a sight as CT-7567 could imagine.
"Here we are," Cody announced.
"This is what you wanted to show me?" 7567 asked, stepping out to the edge of the bluff, the tips of his boots jutting slightly over the edge.
"I thought you'd appreciate it," Cody replied.
"How did you know this was here?"
"My squad has come here on physical training exercises a few times." A pause. "Careful on the edge, there. One strong wind, and you might go flying."
CT-7567 disregarded the warning. He turned his gaze back out over the forest. "This is amazing. It's like being on top of the world."
"I'm glad you like it," Cody said. "I thought this would be a good way to say thank you."
"Thank you? For what?"
"You know for what," Cody replied. "For kicking me out of my head, as you would say . . . even if it did meaning dare-devil rocketeering with you for over two hours."
CT-7567 downplayed the praise. "Oh, eh, you'd do the same for me, right?"
A loud, shrill cry rose in the night, and following its sound, the two clones saw the silhouette of a winged creature against the moon.
"Lunar hawk!" CT-7567 gasped in the manner of a child receiving an unexpected gift. He made a sudden movement, and Cody feared for a moment, he might actually go over the cliff's edge. But he maintained his footing, sure as a Bhanasian Cliff Goat, and stood there looking as if he himself might miraculously take flight. "Look at him," he said with awe. "He's amazing. Now, that's freedom. True freedom."
It was not lost on Cody that his companion had an almost romantic bent when it came to certain things: flying and the freedom it entailed; the concept of brotherhood and especially brothers-in-arms; power, strength and victory. And yet, CT-7567 was very grounded, very present and aware of the here and now.
"It's definitely a better way to fly than using jetpacks," Cody stated.
"Look at him riding the updrafts." CT-7567 spoke with such reverence, it was as if he were saying a prayer. "He can sail like that with no effort . . . "
"Oh, I'm sure there's effort that we can't see," Cody pointed out. "But still, I see what you mean. They're beautiful birds."
CT-7567 turned and looked at him with an earnestness that was so genuine, it seemed foreign. It made Cody wonder if he'd gone one step too far in appealing to the fantastical side of his roommate.
"Thank you for bringing me here, for showing me this," 7567 said.
"You're welcome," Cody replied. "But, uh, I didn't bring you just for the view." He slipped his pack off and dropped to one knee to open its contents. "We've got work to do."
"Work? What work?"
"Unassisted stellar navigation."
"Ohh, why would you want to ruin this by bringing that up?" 7567 groaned dramatically.
"Because it's what I do," Cody replied.
"What? Ruin things?"
"No, I fix things," came the assured response. "You can't learn this stuff in a classroom. You said it all looks the same, it's all numbers. So, we're going to try it out here with real stars and real parallax readings and real refractional and spectroscopic measurements."
CT-7567 looked doubtful. "Cody . . . I appreciate the effort . . . "
"Don't get soft on me. Who's wishy-washy now?" Cody challenged. He drew a data pad out of his pack along with several other items. Then, straightening up, he said, "There's a spectroscope in your pack. Take it out."
CT-7567 complied.
"Now . . . " the commander looked skyward. "Pick one."
"Commander—"
"Pick one."
CT-7567 looked up into the night sky. He raised the spectroscope and captured a spectrum image of the star field then showed it to Cody, picking out a single star among the many displayed. "This one here."
"Good," Cody nodded. "So, if this were a real-world situation, what would be your next step?"
"I'd check the star charts to see determine what system I'm looking at," 7567 replied.
"And there's a fast way to do that," Cody prompted.
"Yeah, with a computer," 7567 quipped.
"Try again."
"Checking prominent stars against the scope and feeding their spectrum readings into the positioning node," the lieutenant recited the procedure as if reading from a manual, adding quickly, "Using my own known position to make sure the spectrum readings are accurate."
"Good. So do it."
Fifteen minutes later, CT-7567 raised his head from the handheld screen. "Done."
"Next?"
"You know a computer could have done that in two seconds—"
"Next."
"Next . . . now that I know what system I'm looking at, I would pull up parallax numbers for that system as seen from my current location." He drew in a resigned breath as he pulled up the number charts, the lists of which he had earlier spoken with such displeasure. "This is where the trouble comes in."
"Only because you're impatient," Cody replied. "Look, you've identified the system you're aiming for. You've identified the star as a white dwarf from the spectro. The fact that it's a white dwarf in this particular system should tell you something right away."
"It means the lower range of numbers can be eliminated," CT-7567 said, after which he promptly dropped at least fifty percent of the possibilities from the screen.
"So, here's where the other stars in the system can be a great help," Cody explained. "Because I think you were about to just start running numbers, right? We'd be here all night if you just tried to run every set of paras. Choose what looks like the oldest, reddest star you can find. Once you've done that, you'll be able to—"
"Eliminate the higher numbers," 7567 completed the sentence, a spark of enthusiasm entering his voice. He did as instructed, taking another fifteen minutes before announcing eagerly, "That leaves only about thirty possibilities."
"And to narrow those possibilities?"
CT-7567 considered. "Take the spectro on another star in the system?"
"You could, but there's another way now that you've narrowed it down to a small range of numbers," Cody said. He grinned with an inner knowledge. "A very, very old-fashioned way."
CT-7567 looked down at the emptied contents of the two packs. On the ground beside one of them was a device rarely used in modern space travel. A Brigney Stellar protractor, named after the spacefarer who had invented it in the days before most of the known galaxy had even achieved hyperspace capability. And the instant the lieutenant's eyes fell on the device, he wondered how he could have ever missed such an obvious next step, and it occurred to him that sometimes, perhaps the old way might be the best way.
He picked up the protractor and fed in the lowest and highest set of parallax numbers. Then, looking through the digital eyepiece, he watched as the device drew in two lines based off those figures. Between those two lines, only one white dwarf star appeared. He manually narrowed the lines until the eyepiece display showed a new set of parallax numbers.
"I've got it," he announced, working hard not to sound too excited.
"So, check those numbers against your remaining list, and once you know which set to use, you can begin making your calculations for a jump to hyperspace."
And just over thirty minutes later, CT-7567 presented the data pad to the commander.
Cody looked it over, smiled, and handed it back. "Do it again."
CT-7567's face fell. "It's wrong?"
"No, it's right. Do it again . . . with a different star. And do it faster. A star that distance should have only taken you an hour tops to figure out. Thirty minutes would have been acceptable. Ten minutes is ideal."
"Ten minutes? Are you crazy?"
"Pick another star and let's do it again."
And so CT-7567 picked another star. And then another, and another after that.
By the time he'd finished, he had calculated eight jumps – all successfully. At that point, Cody decided it was time to call it a night.
"I think you've got the idea," the commander observed.
"I think so."
"Good, then we should get some sleep before heading back."
"Sleep . . . out here?"
"You said you wanted to, didn't you?" Cody reminded him.
"I did, but . . . I didn't think you'd want to," 7567 grinned. "You're just breaking all kinds of rules, aren't you?" He watched as the commander drew two expandable hammocks from his pack. "You brought hammocks? You were planning this all along?"
Cody gave a sardonic grin. "I knew we'd need all night to remind you how do something you already knew how to do." He tossed a hammock to his roommate and began repacking the equipment. "Although it seemed to come back to you pretty quickly."
"I never knew how to do all that stuff," 7567 replied. "That's way beyond what we learned in basic."
"Yeah, but you knew how to figure out the steps to follow," Cody pressed. "You knew there was a logical progression. You just needed the right environment in order for it to come to you. You're not a classroom or laboratory learner. I knew if I could get you out here, you'd think it through and it'd be easy for you."
CT-7567 chuckled. "You knew that, huh?"
"I did."
"Well . . . I'm glad you had some insight into me that even I wasn't aware of," 7567 acknowledged. "And I'm glad you brought me to this place." A pause. "Not just for the instruction, either. I'm glad you showed me this place." He took a small poke. "Even if we do end up getting in trouble for breaking the rules."
"Sometimes, the rules have to be broken," Cody replied. "I think I learned that from you."
"Sorry if I'm a bad influence," 7567 said, sounding anything but sorry.
"Not bad, just . . . a little off-kilter," Cody grinned.
And because CT-7567 could find nothing to disagree with in the commander's statement, he simply fell back on being useful and setting up his hammock. He had a feeling he would sleep very well tonight.
My favorite scene is the jaunt through the woods and the lunar hawk. FYI, I listened to "Yosemite" by David Arkenstone over and over again while writing that bit, but the scene is actually based on Maryland Heights above Harper's Ferry in Maryland.
The jet pack was written to the tune of "Rocketeer to the Rescue" from Disney's movie, "The Rocketeer". James Horner was the composer - too soon taken from us.