Dear Reader, thank you for the reviews of the last chapter, Ms CT-782, Freedom Phantom, The Unnamed Guest, Sued13, Alia 13, Guest, and Rohirrim Girl. I am very appreciative, especially since the chapter was rather brutal. This chapter has some syrup in it, which I tried to keep to a minimum, because I personally don't like sugary stuff. But even so, there's some molasses here! Cheers, CS

Chapter 74 Brother to Brother

"If I hold my hands to you, though you never ask me to,
you will know it's time for the rains to come,
and you must help me through.

If you feel the fear on me that I know the eye can't see,
it comes with the sadness that the autumn brings,
so we know what has to be."

Rain Dance
Stuart Adamson

Commander Wolffe waited until Captain Skidz and his entourage were gone.

"2303, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Sir." The Shinie got to his knees, and given that he'd not been placed back in ankle cuffs, he was free to move about the cell. He did not need to be told what to do. He was beside CT-7567 in an instant.

"He's breathing," he announced. After a brief examination, he announced, "He's out cold. They—they really did him over." He spent the next several minutes trying to rouse him, but to no avail.

"Just stay with him," Wolffe ordered. "We've got to get someone down here. The rest of you, start making noise. Scream, shout, whatever it takes . . . "

For nearly thirty minutes, they kicked up a ruckus; but the only response was when the guard at the end of the corridor came down.

"You can make as much noise as you want," he stated, though his voice seemed to belie a disconcertedness, as if he himself were no longer fully on board with all that was transpiring. "It won't get you out of here any sooner."

"We're not trying to get out," Wolffe replied. "But he needs help. Bring down the camp commander or at least one of the docs—or a medic. He needs medical attention."

The man appeared to be considering. Certainly, the sight of CT-7567 lying unconscious and badly beaten was causing the guard to have some hesitation in his decision. But before he could make a determination, the sound of a door opening at the end of the corridor prompted him to leave without taking action.

A minute later, the guard returned with several others members of the PI team. And with them were Commander Cody and CT-2876. Both were bound and blindfolded, but instead of being shackled to the wall, they were simply shoved inside the cell and left to stand, baffled and confused, as the door was shut and locked behind them.

CT-2303 waited until the guards were gone, then he untied the two men, both of whom had clearly had their share in the receipt of punishment, though they did not look quite as bad as the cell's other occupants.

Before he had even gathered his bearings, Cody's gaze fell upon the inert figure of his roommate, lying face down on the dirt floor of the prison cell.

"Fek and all, what happened?" he asked, dropping down beside Rex and trying to find some place—any place—on Rex's body where he could touch him that was not showing some kind of injury.

"There was a fight," 2303 replied. "They bashed him on the back of the head. He's been unconscious ever since."

"How long ago was that?"

"Twenty-five, thirty minutes, maybe."

"Damn . . . " Cody was stunned to find how much effort it was taking him to maintain his composure in the face of what he was seeing; for the blow to the head was clearly only one part of what had obviously been a continuum of torturous activity.

"He's hurt badly, Commander," 2303 stated. "None of us have these kinds of marks . . . I don't know what they did to him."

"Let me take a look," Cody said with a show of authoritative calm, knowing that the others would be looking to him to set the tone. "CT-2303, you and 2876 go check on the others."

"Yes, Commander."

Cody began a very gentle, cautious examination of Rex's injuries. He remained stone-faced, which was the demeanor that came naturally to him when facing difficult situations. He had built his reputation on his ability to maintain an even keel, to ride out the tide of emotion without ever giving into it. It wasn't that he was without emotion – quite the contrary. Rather, he knew the importance of keeping his emotions in check. With a sense of irony, it occurred to him that it was that very trait he had been trying to instill in his volatile roommate; and now he could not help but wonder if Rex's volatility had brought this degree of abuse upon him or whether it had provided the tenacity Rex would have needed in order to have endured such punishment.

As he looked over the raised flesh of countless welts, of which more than a dozen had broken the skin, he remarked internally that during the brief period of his own interrogation, he'd not been subjected to anything that would have caused such marks. Seeing Rex's swollen and cracked feet, he further noted that, again, he'd not undergone that particular torture. Granted, his own interrogation seemed to have been cut short amidst a great deal of agitation; and a peculiar sense of urgency had accompanied his delivery to the holding cell. He'd gotten the impression of a brewing discontent, trouble in the making. Now, seeing Rex and learning of what had recently transpired, he had an idea of what that trouble might be.

He carefully touched Rex's shoulder and leaned close to his ear. "Rex? Rex, come on. Come on, wake up." He injected a bit more command into his voice. "CT-7567, can you hear me? Wake up."

His persistence was at last rewarded with an abrupt, shaking inhalation, followed by Rex's voice, alarmingly feeble.

"Cody?"

Cody allowed himself to feel some small relief. "Yeah, it's me. I hear you've been picking fights."

Several seconds passed before Rex replied with an attempt at returning the humor, "I lost." After a considerable pause, he asked, "Are we done?" His entire body was already beginning to shiver and quake.

"Not yet," Cody replied. "Soon, I think." He actually took note of the words Rex had chosen to ask the question. Not, "Is it over?" or "Has it ended?" No, that would give too much power to the men in charge of the operation. "Are we done?" implied that some part, however small, of the decision-making process still resided with the prisoners.

"Where are we?"

"In a holding cell," Cody replied. "All of us. The whole squad is here."

"Th-they're okay?" Rex's voice was succumbing to the tremors rattling through his body.

Cody was truthful. "Everyone's been roughed up, but uh, I can safely say that you've taken the worst of it." He manufactured a small grin. "No surprise." A pause. "You've got a lot of bruises and welts. Does it feel like anything's broken?"

Rex did not answer the question, but after several seconds, he spoke. "Cody?"

"Yes?"

"I—I don't want th-them to see this."

Cody was perplexed. "To see what?"

"Me . . . like this."

"Rex . . . " Cody's voice was complacent. "They can see it."

Rex felt some lessening of the turmoil in his mind. Cody's words, spoken without judgment, without accusation, were a release, permission to produce a display of emotional histrionics as would bring the house down. But such a performance Rex had already given. He had a vague recollection of his fight with Captain Skidz and the hot ember that had embedded itself in his brain and driven him nearly mad with vengeance. That one loss of control had been enough. He would not do it again.

He spoke in a whisper. "If they c-come back for m-me . . . I can't go th-through that again."

"We're not going to worry about that," Cody chided. "For now, you need to just lay still and keep quiet. I'm going to try and get someone down here, so we can end this thing."

And because it was Cody, Rex believed him. Everything would be alright.

"Sir, Staff Sergeant Denal is here to see you. He says it's an emergency.

"Sergeant Denal?" Colonel Claw had started to smile at the mention of the name. It was always a pleasure to see Sergeant Denal, but the mention of an emergency brought a more serious expression to the colonel's face. "Absolutely, send him in."

The command administrative officer disappeared, and Sergeant Denal reported in with a salute so crisp and sharp that Colonel Claw had a flash thought of how unfortunate it was that not all soldiers were like him.

"Sergeant Denal, this is a surprise. I don't see you as often as I would wish." A pause. "You said it was an emergency?"

"Yes, Sir," Denal replied. "We have trouble down in 88."

"It's Commander Cody's squad going through right now, am I correct?"

"Yes, Sir. And CT-7567."

Claw gave a knowing look. "CT-7567, of course. What's the trouble?"

"Captain Skidz is taking out a personal vendetta on CT-7567 . . . and the whole squad."

Colonel Claw was speechless but only for a moment. "That's quite a charge, Sergeant. What makes you say that?"

"I've seen the punishment they've inflicted on them," Denal replied. "If you go down to the holding cell, you'll be able to see for yourself, Sir."

"Have you spoken to Captain Skidz about this?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And?"

"He said you had given him permission to experiment with prohibited forms of punishment."

Up until this point, the colonel had thought that perhaps Sergeant Denal was merely being moved by the same forces that seemed to make soldiers gravitate towards the enigmatic 729th lieutenant; but this last statement disturbed him. The subject of experimenting with prohibited methods of torture had never come up in any conversations with Captain Skidz.

"What sort of punishments?"

"I wasn't actually there to see the interrogation, Sir, but when 611 and I went to bring CT-7567 back to interrogation just now, there were some pretty bad marks on his legs and back," Denal replied. "And right now, I'm coming from the holding cell. There was a fight between—"

"A fight?"

"Between Captain Skidz and CT-7567. When I left, CT-7567 was unconscious. Sergeant Tools had given him an elbow to the back of the head."

"Where is CT-7567 now?"

"Still in the holding cell."

"And Captain Skidz?"

"I don't know, Sir. We all left the cell together. I've been getting my ass chewed for the last fifteen minutes at least. After that, I came straight here."

Colonel Claw pressed his wrist comm. "Commander Steed. Major Tides. Meet me in five minutes down in 88, block . . . "

"K-block, Sir."

"K-block. And bring a doc with you." A pause. "And find Captain Skidz. Have him report to my office and wait here until I get back." Then to Sergeant Denal. "Let's go."

"Everyone checks out okay, Commander," CT-2876 reported. "They're all banged up, but nothing too serious. I tried to free them from the shackles, but no luck." He took a lingering look at CT-7567. "How's the lieutenant?"

Cody gave a noncommittal head tilt.

"Why would they be so hard on him?"

"I understood they were competitors growing up," Cody replied. "And not friendly competitors."

"But why this? Why do these things to him? I can't believe it's allowed to do this sort of thing to a prisoner," 2876 pressed incredulously. "What kind of beating makes those marks? A whip?"

"No, a whip would have broken a lot more skin," Cody deferred. "It looks like caning or . . . reed striping."

"Surely that isn't permitted."

Cody frowned. "Does it look like they care what is or isn't permitted?"

From his place against the wall, Wolffe spoke out, "Well, they're going to care as soon as this is over. As soon as these cuffs come off, there's going to be a brawl."

"No, there isn't," Cody said definitively. "No fighting. I have confidence that the leadership will take appropriate action."

"With all due respect, Commander, you've had us shouting for the leadership to come down here for the past thirty minutes. Not even the guard is coming down anymore to see what's going on," Wolffe replied. "And I'm willing to bet that Rex would want us to even the score."

Cody waited before answering, and when he did, it was simple. "No, he wouldn't." In the stillness of his own thoughts, he conceded, "A few days ago, you'd probably have been right. But not anymore. He wants this to go away, to be forgotten. So do I."

It was a difficult admission. A week ago—less than a week ago—Cody had been so furious with Rex, that he might have considered a few days at the E&E prisoner-of-war camp to be fitting recompense for his roommate's aggressive and thoughtless behavior. Granted, his opinion of Rex's abilities had never wavered, not even in the smallest degree. He'd seen in him something he'd rarely seen in other clones, and that was an unremitting enthusiasm for getting the job done – not just out of a sense of duty, but because Rex knew he was a good soldier, a good fighter, and he was excited to prove it at every moment that availed itself. What had irked Cody was the often thoughtless drive to be number one that often overflowed from that enthusiasm – a drive that had been insensitive to the cost on more than one occasion. It was a difference that marked the line between a great soldier . . .

. . . and the best soldier.

Cody frowned as a sudden realization struck him. He had his own limitations, and now he added short-sightedness to the list.

There was a flurry of sound outside the cell in the corridor, followed shortly by the appearance of the guard. With him were Staff Sergeant Denal and Colonel Claw. The guard opened the cell. Denal followed the colonel inside. Immediately after they entered, three more of the cadre appeared in the corridor: Commander Steed, Major Tides, and one of the camp's doctors, a Kaminoan male named Dakat-Su.

The tension inside the cell was so strong as to be a physical presence that one could reach out and touch. The eyes that were turned towards the ARC training commander and his small entourage simmered with anger, straining for a release. Only Cody gave the appearance of equanimity.

Dakat-Su crouched down on his gangly legs to examine Rex while the rest of the cadre looked on.

"N-not here . . . " Rex spluttered in delirium. "Not in—in front of . . . my soldiers."

The doctor ignored him, and with the colonel looking on over his shoulder, he removed the prison shirt top that had been draped partly over Rex's body. He scrutinized several streaks of broken skin on his back and legs.

"When did you receive these injuries?" he asked.

"What sort of idiot question is that?" was Rex's first thought, but his response was civil. "I d-don't even know wh-what day it is."

The doctor continued his examination.

Behind him, Colonel Claw watched with an impassive face, not wanting to betray his own disgust and shock at what he was seeing. He would save his condemnation for those who deserved it. A one-word inquiry was all he needed.

"Excessive?"

The doctor nodded once on his long stalk of a neck.

"Does anyone else have injuries like this?" the colonel asked, looking around him.

"No, Sir," Cody replied.

"Does anyone else require immediate medical attention?"

"I don't think so." Again, from Cody.

Colonel Claw turned to his two training officers. "Release them. Take them all to the clinic, then come to my office." He raised his voice a bit. "The exercise is over."

He left without another word.

"You are sure there is no one else who requires immediate attention?" Dakat-Su asked.

"We're sure," Cody replied.

"Can you walk, CT-7567?" the Kaminoan asked.

Again, Rex was struck with the inanity of the question.

"N-not very likely," he stuttered.

Dakat-Su spoke into his wrist comm and ordered a gurney be brought to the cell.

Within ten minutes, the gurney arrived, Rex was loaded up and ready to go.

Cody stayed beside him, and as they left the cell, he put a cautious, tentative hand on Rex's arm. "Now, we're done."

Cody looked at himself in the mirror.

He had only a couple bruises to show for his brief stint as a prisoner. They were growing deeper in colors of purple and red right now, but in a week, they would be almost gone. So minor, they didn't warrant a trip to the bacta tank. Not even a bacta strip.

A day and a half ago, upon the premature and ordered termination of the exercise, Cody had been taken to the infirmary, along with his squad mates, for examination and treatment of any injuries. He and CT-2876, and CT-9218 had been released directly. Wolffe, Bly and CT-1789 weren't far behind, being sent back to their quarters later that evening. CT-2303 had been kept overnight.

Dakat-Su had been noncommittal as to how long Rex would be in the infirmary. The doctor had ordered Rex's installation in a bacta tank immediately following upon a thorough examination. That had been two nights ago, and Cody had not seen him since. No visitors had been allowed, which was a fairly standard procedure when a patient was undergoing bacta tank treatment.

And it might have irritated Cody had not he not already had his hands full, trying to keep the peace back among the trainees. For once word of what had happened got back to Rex's Echo Squad, the outrage that had been confined to the members of his E&E teammates expanded to Echo Squad and beyond, reaching nearly explosive levels, with Cody and CT-2025 seeming to be the only ones not interested in exacting a fitting revenge.

Over in Delta Squad, Gree—Rex's long-time friend and podmate—fanned the flames of anger and indignation. He took what had happened as a personal affront, the sort of thing that should never happen to someone like Rex.

And he was right.

Cody had come to that same conclusion almost immediately upon seeing the torture that his roommate had endured. How had a training exercise gone that haywire? When had the purpose of the exercise turned from teaching the trainees how to avoid capture and resist torture to inflicting enough pain and agony to break one man's will?

Rex might have the kind of personality that invited some men to despise him in the same degree as it inspired other men to revere him; but even Cody had seen for himself that those men who'd started off wary of Rex had eventually been won over by him.

Whatever had been in Captain Skidz's heart that had prevented him from moving on, from forgetting whatever perceived wrong had been perpetrated against him by Rex, it had apparently festered long enough that as soon as the chance presented itself, the captain had acted upon it.

And now he'd paid for it.

Cody had word directly from Commander Steed that Captain Skidz had been relieved of duty, along with Lieutenant 44 and Master Sergeant Tools. What their final disposition would eventually be, he did not know; and while it was a question of some importance to his fellow trainees, it was nowhere in the upper echelons of Cody's mind. He really did not care what happened to the trio, as long as they were not returned to their same positions.

What he cared about, what worried him, was the impact the whole ordeal had had on Rex. Their few minutes together in the cell prior to Colonel Claw's arrival had given little indication as to what Cody should expect from his roommate. And this uncertainty, more than anything else, weighed heavily upon him as he prepared for the day's activities – which amounted to very little, given the rest of the squads were still involved in their debriefings of the E&E exercise.

He was about to leave his room when the intercom buzzed.

Opening the door, he found himself face-to-face with a clone in white medic's garb. "Commander Cody. Dakat-Su wanted me to tell you the CT-7567 is out of the bacta tank and in a regular room. You can come see him if you like."

Cody felt an honest smile tug lift the corners of his mouth. "That's good news. Thanks. I'll be there shortly."

The medic departed.

Cody returned to his image in the mirror. "Now, you need to figure out what you're going to say to him," he told himself out loud. He was keenly aware that his last few verbal exchanges with Rex prior to the exercise had been cutting and intentionally so. He didn't regret it. He only worried now what effect those exchanges would have on the current situation. Knowing Rex, Cody could only guess at how any conversation would go.

"So, what do you think will happen?"

The members of Echo Squad were gathered in their common area. They had completed their own E&E, minus CT-7567 and Shinie 9218, at the same time that the latter two had been undergoing their own exercise with their makeshift squad. CT-2025 had done a fine job leading them, despite the fact that they'd all been captured and subjected to the rigors of the mock prisoner-of-war camp. They'd had a completely different PI team—still under Skidz's control—as their aggressors. But they'd not come into contact with any of the other squads going through training at the same time. The compound was large enough that the squads could be kept separated.

They'd had no idea what had been going on with any other squad. But upon finding out, a rising tide of anger and resentment had begun to swell within their ranks.

It was CT-2025 who had kept the peace. And now as he fielded the question from CT-9090, who was always raring for a fight, he was careful to phrase his answer in a way that would not provoke a stoking of the flames.

"Well, Skidz and the top members of his team have been relieved of duty," 2025 said evenly. "I imagine there will be an investigation."

"They need to be court-martialed," 9090 opined with a sneer.

"They might yet be," 2025 replied. "It's in the hands of the military justice system now."

There was a moment of tense silence.

"What if the lieutenant doesn't come back?" This from CT-8462.

It was CT-9218 who answered. "He'll come back. There's no way he'd go through all of this training just to miss out at the end." He went on, sounding a bit less certain. "I mean, I saw him. He was . . . definitely in a bad way, but I think they can fix him up pretty quickly. They got Commander Wolffe back on his feet after a day or two."

"It would burn Jo'cha's if he didn't graduate." CT-5576 offered the Bothan colloquialism used by many walker-jockeys. It was a euphemism for the negative consequences of a male getting a blow to his nether regions. And it was fitting for the moment.

"Of course, he's going to graduate," CT-390 piped up. "They wouldn't dare hold back the top trainee." He looked from face to face. "We all know there's no one better. He outperformed everyone."

There was a murmur of agreement.

CT-9090 got to his feet and paced across the room. "Kind of weird, isn't it?"

"What?" 5576 asked.

"We're all supposed to be equals here . . . " A smile spread slowly across his face. "But we talk about him as if he really is our squad leader."

CT-2025 got to his feet and clapped his brother's shoulder with a return smile. "That's because he is."

"Room 2B, Commander."

Cody nodded at the orderly and headed down the corridor.

The infirmary—like all clone infirmaries—was a sterile and unwelcoming place. There was never any attempt at making clone medical facilities anything other than functional. Comfort had significance only in so far as it meant that a patient was not physically at odds with his surroundings. The concepts of warmth and familiarity held no sway. Warmth was a contributing factor to softness. And as far as familiarity went, the clones had grown up in the cold and textureless environment of Kamino. They were used to this sort of starkness.

The facility, though large, appeared to only have a dozen or so inpatients – and that was from among all the various training courses being run concurrently on the installation.

Cody remarked on the quietness as he strode down the corridor towards room 2B. He was still wondering what sort of scene he would be met with. He grinned inwardly at his descriptor of Rex, predictably unpredictable. It was certainly proving to be true, for he had no idea what to expect when he walked through that door.

He came to 2B and did not even break his stride before going inside.

The moment was anti-climactic.

There was one bed in the room. One occupant.

And he was sleeping.

Cody walked to the bed for a closer look. "Not too bad," he said silently, noting some faded facial bruising and several gashes that had the pink veneer of newly formed skin to mark their existence. Yes, bacta tanks were one of the greatest medical devices ever created. Still, Cody knew there were more injuries healing beneath the layers of sheets and covers. And he could still see the slight flush of color as the last remnants of infection and fever were left to the devices of Rex's own body, without the aid of the bacta tank. The medical gurus had always believed it was important for the patient to fight at least part of the battle on his own, to build up antibodies and immunities, to condition the body to fight injury and infection.

"You'll pull through this without any problem," Cody continued his internal dialog. "I'm counting on you, you know. I made a lot of promises, and you can't let me down."

There was a single chair in the corner. Cody sat down. There was nothing else to do in the room. Nothing to read. Nothing to look at. Just him and Rex. Fortunately, for Cody, he was well adapted to spending long periods of time doing nothing. Hyperspace travel required as much.

For over an hour, he stayed there. He wasn't really sure why. On one hand, he was waiting for Rex to wake up. He wanted the opportunity to talk to him – about anything. He wanted to know that they could resume a normal, friendly interaction. On the other hand, he felt a strange sense of responsibility: a fraternal leaning that he had remarkably never experienced before meeting Rex.

To be sure, Cody had always felt the weight and obligation of being a leader of the clone troops. As first-in-command of a prestigious unit, he'd known what it was to show the way and be the backbone. His soldiers had been his priority.

But ever since the first moment this brash lieutenant had come tumbling into their dormitory room and announcing himself as the roommate, Cody had begun to see his fellow clones—albeit unwillingly and haltingly at first—from the perspective of a brother. An older brother, in fact. He was there to set the example, to guide them, to be the peacemaker when necessary, to bring pressure to bear when a bit of impetus was needed.

Looking at Rex, he readily recalled the charges.

You're indecisive. You change your mind too much. You don't want to take any risks.

All of which might be true. But wasn't it the role of an older brother to make sure that his siblings didn't get carried away with their own enthusiasm? Wasn't it incumbent upon him to temper the blade as it was being forged?

Rex was right that Cody was cautious, and Cody was willing to make some adjustments. But the commander was not willing to forsake his place as the arbiter of prudence and temperance.

And speaking of prudence, after nearly ninety minutes, he concluded that his presence might be needed elsewhere instead of sitting here beside the bed of a sleeping man. Force only knew what was going on back in the trainee barracks. Certainly, he trusted Wolffe to maintain order among angry men, but he had to admit that Wolffe himself was a bit of a hothead . . .

He rose and headed for the door.

"Leaving already?"

Rex's voice surprised Cody. A smile crept into his expression as he returned to the bed. "Already? I've been here for over an hour. I thought you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

"I was just resting my eyes."

Cody crossed his arms over his chest and regarded him with an assessing gaze. "Well, you don't look too bad. How do you feel?"

"About the same as I look," Rex replied. After a brief pause, he added quietly, "I feel stupid. Embarrassed."

Cody knit his brows. "Why?"

Rex looked at him expectantly. "Do you really need to ask me that?"

"Yes," Cody replied, as if it were obvious. "Because I can't see why you should be embarrassed or feel stupid."

Rex slowly lowered his eyes. A long hesitation preceded his answer. "Because they broke me," he said in a voice tinged with humiliation. "They broke me to a point where I was ready to tell them everything."

Cody looked at him for several seconds. "Did you?"

"I lied to them," Rex replied. "But they knew I was lying. If they'd kept on me, I would have told them the truth. I would have broken faith with my brothers." A pause. "It was even worse that I fell apart in front of the squad. After all the things I've said about setting the example and being a leader, I completely crumbled."

"And you think they hold that against you?"

"Why not? I would. I do. I hold it against myself."

Cody drew in a long, steady breath. "We saw what they did to you, Rex," he stated. "We saw your legs and your back and your feet." A pause. "They tortured you."

Rex groaned dismissively. "E&E's version of torture."

"Real torture, Rex," Cody corrected. "Seriously enough to put you in a bacta tank for two days."

But his words fell on deaf ears. "I should have been stronger."

Cody frowned as he was reminded just how difficult his roommate could be. "Do you think you're made of stone?"

After a few seconds, Rex replied, "I wish I were."

"You're too hard on yourself," the commander chastised. "Captain Skidz and his team went way over the line, and everyone recognized it. Colonel Claw saw fit to relieve him, and that should tell you something."

Rex closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Why'd he do that? Why'd he relieve him?"

"Why? Because he deserved it, Rex. He was taking out his anger over some past . . . insult, and they were beating the osik out of you—"

"You're being overly dramatic again," Rex cut him off. "Skidz was just doing his job—"

"Oh, for crying out loud, are you still delirious?" Cody snapped. "Don't make excuses for that bastard."

Rex was silent for several seconds, then he stated dully, "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter anyway. Looks like my ARC training is over."

"Why?" Cody came back directly. "We're almost at the end. You'll finish."

"We still have one module—"

"Computer-less nav, which you can do from your bed if you have to," Cody interrupted. "But you'll be on your feet in a couple days, I'm sure. Plenty of time to complete the course."

"Yeah, well . . . we'll see."

Cody knit his brows and scrutinized him. "Do you want to finish the course?"

Rex gave a half-shrug. "It doesn't seem that important any more. Not that it ever was."

"Boy, you are full of hraka," Cody scoffed. "You've been gunning for the number one slot since the day you got here. Now, you want to pretend it doesn't matter to you? Rex . . . don't let what happened turn you into someone you're not."

At these words, Rex raised his eyes and looked at Cody with an expression that was not quite accusative but nor was it exonerating. "You told me I wasn't serious enough," he said evenly. "I thought you were just being you—too serious, too cautious." A pause. "I should have listened."

There was a hard block of silence before Cody summoned the courage to say what came next.

"I was wrong."

Rex's regarded him curiously.

"You any other way wouldn't be you," Cody explained. "It's what makes the men want to follow you, even when they're not sure where you're leading them." He diverted his gaze but continued to speak with conviction. "I'll tell you the truth, Rex: I'm . . . a little envious of you. The men gravitate towards you, and you don't even have to try." A pause. "You know, I have to work at it."

His words were incomprehensible. That the renowned Commander Cody, easily the greatest among all the clone troopers, should be envious of him . . .

"Yeah, well . . . not everyone likes me," Rex said uncomfortably, thinking the commander was being far too generous in his praise. "Even you hated me at the beginning."

"When we first met, I wasn't sure you were ARC material," Cody admitted. "You seemed to be the kind of man who played by his own rules, who wanted to win at any cost." A pause. "But then I saw how you were with your squad, how they all took on that same mindset . . . and I realized that, even though I was right about you, I was also wrong. You seemed to realize better than the rest of us that defeat, even in training, translated into defeat in combat . . . death. No one plays by the rules when blaster bolts are flying. Your squad mates picked that up immediately. Even members in other squads got that from you." He tilted his head to one side in an expression of concession. "What looked to me like carelessness and recklessness looked to others like the kind of leader they'd want to follow into combat. I didn't think you were being serious, but you were; and the other trainees knew that."

Rex let his words sink in.

After a long period during which neither spoke, Cody again was the one to break the silence. "I want to ask you something."

Rex gave a single nod. "Go ahead."

"Why blond?"

Why blond?

It was certainly not a question Rex would have expected, but he found it interesting and was surprised to discover that he had a ready answer.

"Because I wanted to be noticed," he replied. "I wanted to stand out."

"Well, you certainly achieved that."

Rex went on thoughtfully. "But I also . . . it seems contradictory, but I also wanted to teach my men that—that the real difference is in here." He tapped his chest. "Their outward appearance should be a reflection of who they are inside, and even though we're clones, none of us are the same at heart. None of us should be afraid to stand out."

Cody could not help but feel that he had once again overlooked what was best in Rex.

And it amazed him that, among the millions of clones thus far produced, he should, perchance and perhaps by fate, end up with this particular man at this particular time. He did not know what the future would bring, but he would always know that the six weeks of ARC training had brought him face-to-face with a man who was, in many ways, his direct opposite, and yet, a man worth emulating.

"You're right," he agreed, adding teasingly, "Although I imagine you would have stood out even without the blond hair."

Here, Rex cracked a small grin. "True. But . . . I look good with it."

Cody replied in kind. "That's a matter of opinion."