Dear Reader, Again, thank you to my reviewers: Writingfan27, Galaxy000, Akira-Hayama, Princess-Rey-Tano, Christina TM, Sued13, thaismarendaz, RyanSquad, and Blobfish! As always, your reviews help my motivation, especially as I rewrite/revise these chapters that have existed for years but are only now finally seeing the light of day. In fact, I wrote most of these chapters before I posted the first chapter four years ago. Needless to say, when I re-read them now, I thought, "Wow, you must have been watching a lot of horror movies back then. Let's try to clean this up a bit!" Even so, this chapter and the next few will be brutal though not gory. There is some grotesque stuff in this chapter, though I leave the details to the reader's imagination. Certain acts I just don't feel comfortable describing for this fandom, which has some younger readers. Still, fair warning that things are hinted at, and there is some blatant violence that occurs. I also loved that several reviewers have questions about the Copians' history, why they are handling Rex the way they are, and even where is Major Swin! Love it, love it! In this chapter, part of my revision was to add some explanation of the Copians without getting too down in the weeds. But I assure you, in the next several chapters, all questions will be answered. Maybe not the way you hope or expect, but all will become clear. Again, thank you all for being such wonderful readers and reviewers. Peace! CS
And PS . . . okay, a bow to Space Shuttle Endeavor. Now I just have to fit in Discovery, Atlantis and Columbia . . . I'm such a space geek!
Chapter 141 The Rot Within
"A dead thing can go with the stream but only a living thing can go against it."
The Everlasting Man
G.K. Chesterton
Not a single question.
Not a single one.
They weren't after any information.
Whatever Count Dooku's reason had been for delivering him here, it hadn't been to extract information. And although the Copians relished torture for its own sake, it seemed like a lot of work, a lot of effort to deliver a single clone captain halfway across the galaxy to a planet of master torturers simply to give them another subject upon which to practice their skills.
And it certainly was beneath the dignity—if there be such a thing—of a Sith Lord.
And so Rex was left wondering: what was he doing here?
The question was even more pressing following the latest round of torture; and focusing on the reasons why was preferable to dwelling on the things they'd done to him. But he could not escape from the pain; he bore the signs of torture in his body now. And he could not slough off the memories; they were too fresh, too threatening, too foreboding of things to come. He could pride himself on his training as a clone trooper, his resistance to crumbling under the hand of the torturer, his ability to overcome the psychological attacks, to withstand the stresses of almost any situation.
But even the E&E training he'd undergone as an ARC trainee had not prepared him for this. How could it? Yes, E&E had gone beyond the training parameters, but there had still been boundaries. Captain Skidz would never have even contemplated using shock rods. Yet, to the Copians, such devices were only the mildest edge of possibilities. Rex knew that now. Inflicting pain might give the Copians thrilling satisfaction; but Rex was starting to believe that witnessing fear and panic was their true source of visceral pleasure.
The shock rod had made him scream. The shock rod had left scorch marks where it had been used on his body. The shock rod had made him feel as if he were little more than an animal on the receiving end of a prod. At the moment of its use, he'd believed it to be genuinely excruciating.
But compared with what had come afterwards, he now viewed it as little more than the sort of toying gesture of a predator displayed with its prey. In fact, his entire experience thus far in the lower level seemed geared towards increasing both his terror and the Copians' level of enjoyment.
Despite all the horrors he'd witnessed both on the battlefield and off, and despite the fact that he had long ago decided that the capacity for brutality and cruelty knew no ends among virtually every populace, no matter their proclamations to the contrary, Rex had never ruminated over the fact that there existed an entire race of beings, a planet-wide consortium of creatures whose defining characteristics and chief exports were their belligerency and their skill as torturers.
Of course, he'd known of the Copians. He'd had plenty of run-ins with them on the battlefield. He would never forget his encounter with them on Bertegad. He'd done the requisite research on their tactics and methods. He'd even taken a shallow dive into their history, but he could find nothing to account for the path of violence their planet had taken. Other than the same sort of internecine violence that plagued most worlds, there was nothing particularly noteworthy in their development as a society that might account for the prevalence of such brutish tendencies.
Whether it was a genetic predisposition or the result of cultural conditioning, somehow over the millennia the Copians had honed their craft and continued to do so even to the present. Technological advancements meant there were always new means and methods, and the old ways were never beyond tweaking.
Rex discovered as much when they'd finished using the shock rods on him.
He'd believed – foolishly, he now realized – that following the torture, they'd finally deliver him to a cell where he would be permitted to recover just enough to make the next session another descent into agony. But that was not what happened.
Instead, they'd carried him back into the hanging room. They'd set him on the ground on his stomach, bent his legs at the knees and bound his ankles to his wrists. They'd wrapped a chain around his neck and . . .
He shuddered. He'd told himself he wasn't going to allow the recollections to take over his mind
. . . they'd hung him. They'd hoisted him off the ground, left him dangling at the end of that chain. Unable to breathe, unable to swallow, to use his arms or legs. He was going to become just another body in this chamber of corpses. His reactions to their mind games must not have been entertaining enough, and they were prepared to end his life here and now, move on to other victims who provided more interesting viewing. Panic had led to the reflexive attempts to use his hands, but bound as he was, his body had only writhed like a dangling silk worm. His thoughts had begun to fragment.
And then he'd been able to breathe again.
It had taken him several seconds to realize he was back on the ground, still trussed hand and foot, but the pressure gone from his throat. He could breathe.
Until he was drawn up a second time. He could hear the snorting and huffing of his tormentors. Was it their equivalent of laughter? As he hung there, slowly losing consciousness again, he could feel them beating him, touching him, clutching, grasping, violating.
Again, he could breathe.
Again, he was raised.
Over and over again. Always brought to the verge of passing out and then revived. Beaten on the ground; beaten as he hung. Subjected to perversions that made him pray for the solace of unconsciousness.
Then, it was over. Or at least, this phase was over. The chain was removed. HIs wrists were cut free. The relief had been so powerful that he at last passed into an oblivion where the pain could not follow.
When he'd woken up—he had no idea how much later—it was to find himself once again unbound and left unattended. This time, as he sat up, he felt the lingering effects of his earlier ordeal. The tight, burning sensation from the shock rod contact points. The bruises from the beatings and from the chain they had used to hang him. The rope burns at his wrists and ankles. There were other pains whose cause he would not allow himself to acknowledge. He could not afford to dwell on the details.
He recognized the room. He knew the table in front of him held the body of the dead clone. One mangled and decomposing hand hung over the side.
He sat without moving for a long time. The truth was, he wasn't sure what to do.
"They want you to get up and start wandering around again, so they can track you and keep playing these games," he said. "They want to scare you. They think that makes the torture even worse. They want you to run from it so they can catch you." He raised a hand to gingerly touch his neck, finding the skin torn and raw. "They know death isn't the biggest fear. They'll do everything short of killing me." And once again, his thoughts were drawn back to the central question. "Why me? Why did Dooku come all the way out to Tralgaria just to capture me and bring me here? What is the purpose?"
So intent was he on answering the quandary that he did not hear the sound of approaching footsteps until they entered the room.
Five Copians and one being of a different species stood before him. He could not tell if they were the ones who had abused him earlier. To him, all Copians looked alike. But he could definitely see that one stood out from the others. Dressed in what passed as Copian finery, this one came forward and was accompanied by the non-Copian.
When they got close, they parted and two of the other Copians stepped forward. They dropped a body at Rex's feet.
A Copian with half its skull bashed in.
The fine Copian muttered some words.
"You killed this guard," spoke the other being, clearly the translator.
With the opportunity—possibly his only opportunity—to communicate with his torturers, Rex did not waste a single word.
"Why am I here?"
The translator conveyed his words. But when he spoke again, it was not to answer Rex's question.
"You must pay for killing this guard."
Rex scowled at the inanity of the statement. They were already torturing him. What more payment did they imagine was adequate recompense? "I don't care about your guard. I want to know why I'm here. You haven't asked me any questions. You're not after information. You—a Sith Lord made it his business to bring me here. I want to know why."
No reply was forthcoming. Only a command.
"Stand up."
Rex summoned his defiance. "I'm not getting up."
"Stand up," came the repeated order.
"Silflay hraka."
The translator gave a wry grin. "Do you really want me to translate that?"
Rex regarded him with disdain. "I don't care if you do or not. Just make sure he understands: my commanding officer will come looking for me. And when he gets here, you'll all wish you were dead."
The translator seemed to get a certain humor from this bold assertion as he relayed the message.
The fine Copian only grunted in a guttural manner.
The translator provided the meaning. "If he does come . . .by the time he gets here, you will wish you were dead." As he spoke, the fine Copian made a gesture towards his entourage, and without the slightest hesitancy, they slid the dead clone off the table, the body falling in pieces to the floor.
Rex drew back then could only stare in horror as the Copians stepped onto and into the corroded body as they approached. They hauled him to his feet, but Rex still had plenty of fight left in him. Here, in this room where all manner of torturous tools were strewn about, he had plenty to choose from – if he could get his hands on them.
As they dragged him towards the table, he threw his weight into them with all his strength, driving them with their backs to the table, giving him the opening to grab a long, narrow metal stake, no wider than a stylus, off the side board. Instinct took over as he drove the stake through the eye of one guard then pushed another guard off with his foot before withdrawing the stake and plunging it into a third guard's throat.
The fine Copian sent up a squeal of warning, although he himself displayed no sign of panic; and within seconds, half a dozen more guards entered the room.
Rex knew he could not fight this many. He turned and ran into the hanging room. He pushed the bodies into swinging motion to try and put some distance between him and his pursuers. If he could obscure their view just long enough and make his way into the furthest depths of the room, he still might have a chance of eluding them – for however long that might last.
With his adrenaline pumping and every nerve in his body firing in support of the idea of escape, every thought of futility was driven from his mind. Credit such single-mindedness to the template he shared with each one of his brothers – the Jango Fett DNA upon which he was built. A genetic aversion to giving up when even the slightest ability to resist still existed. It served him well on the battlefield, and under these circumstances, it gave him hope. It gave him the belief that he could somehow prevail. He could escape them long enough for help to arrive. He could outwit them, outlast them.
Had he known the degree to which his combativeness excited his captors, he might have opted for a different course of action. Yet, in the end, there was no winning, no prevailing. Whether the Copians derived great pleasure or only mild satisfaction, the end result would be the same. Torture leading ultimately to death.
Rex could not know the terms under which the Copians were operating, the fact that they had no orders to keep him alive indefinitely. They would receive word from Count Dooku when their hands were free to kill this trooper in whatever way they deemed most fulfilling – from their perspective. But in the meantime, he was theirs to do with as they pleased. And his feistiness was certainly proving entertaining – and, interestingly enough, lethal. That added a whole new layer of titillation. This captive was not a helpless, cowering, quivering plenak. He might eventually to be reduced to such a state; but at the moment, despite having already been subjected to certain methods, he was defiant, able-bodied, and determined.
"Taitha, these two are dead." The translator straightened up from where he had been examining the bodies of the two fallen guards with interest.
Taitha, the fine Copian, huffed behind his tusks. "Yes, they are. This is . . . quite invigorating."
"Do you leave it to the others to capture him? They might tear him apart on the spot."
Taitha was not concerned. "They are brutes but not fools. They know their job is to bring him back here." He began to remove the jewel-embroidered waistcoat that gave him his sophisticated air. "Send word to Makai that he will not be needed right now. I will send for him later." He rolled up his sleeves and took a leather apron from a peg on the wall. "It has been far too long since I have enjoyed myself. This one . . . I want for my own doing."
Endeavor would do.
The Twilight had been destroyed during Obi-wan's ill-fated trip to Mandalore months earlier. The Kismet and Starliner had gone down with the Resolute.
There were very few non-GAR ships left in the inventory, and Anakin needed something that would not be recognizable as belonging to the Republic.
Endeavor was a beautiful piece of engineering from the Bestine IV shipyards, a non-war vessel designed as a high-end VIP luxury transport. Capable of carrying up to thirty passengers, boasting a sizeable cargo bay, and with speeds that topped out at the uppermost limits, she handled like a jewel, the sort of ride every pilot dreamed of.
Confiscated during an encounter with Weequay pirates—she was clearly a stolen vessel—Admiral Yularen had ordered her impounded until her rightful owner could be traced and the ship returned. For two months she had sat silent in bay 8, nestled neatly between two shuttles both awaiting repairs. She looked like a queen between two knights.
But as far as Anakin was concerned, she was about to earn her keep. He was going to find out what lay beneath the silicone tile surface, how sturdy the sweptback delta wings were . . . how much roar the engines really possessed. Could she be a rescue ship? Could she go the distance?
He entered the bay somewhere around 0300. There were very few personnel present, less than a dozen, and they were working intently on their own business. The corner where Endeavor and her shuttle entourage sat quietly had not a soul in the vicinity. Perfect. Anakin cross from the doorway to behind the row of ships. He slid past the first shuttle, skirted along the mooring pillar, and—
"I was wondering when you'd show up, General Skywalker."
Anakin stopped in his tracks. He should have seen this coming. He should have known.
He should have known Cody would be the spearhead. He'd been so focused on his own relationship with Rex that he'd completely overlooked the bond between his captain and the commander – a bond that, for all intents and purposes, surpassed his own.
"Commander, what are you doing here?" Meaningless question, for they both knew what he was doing there, but it came almost automatically from Anakin's lips.
"We've been waiting for you."
"We?"
"Me and Endeavor," Cody replied. "I knew you'd be going to find Rex, and I knew you wouldn't be taking your own ship or any of our Republic ships. Endeavor was the best bet. I'm going with you."
This was not like refusing Jesse and Sixer. This was Commander Cody. The very idea that Cody was prepared to abandon the 212th to go find Rex, to disobey the rules of being a soldier, to leave Obi-wan . . .
Anakin could not say no to him. He just couldn't.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.
"One hundred percent, General," came the assured reply.
"This may be the end of both of our careers," Anakin pressed.
"I don't care. My best friend or my career. There is no choice."
Anakin could see the resolve in Cody's expression, hear the finality in his voice. And the truth was, he'd be happy to have the commander with him. They both knew the consequences. They would take the risk together.
He nodded slowly. "Then let's go."
Together they headed up the boarding ramp. The top of the ramp opened into the rear airlock which led into a large sitting area.
And here . . .
"Welcome aboard, General Skywalker," Jesse announced. "Commander Cody told us you would probably be joining us."
Anakin looked around the room. Jesse, Kix, Pitch. Sixer and Sempe. Ajax and DB. Dogma and Denal. He then looked back to Cody. "You left out a few details."
"I'm sorry, General," Cody replied. "I wanted to make sure you'd come with us." Seeing General Skywalker's expression, he added, "We're all in this, Sir. And we're better as a team than separately. We're going to need all the help we can get."
Anakin looked from man to man. They were determined. "You all understand what we're doing is going explicitly against orders. We're going back into an unsecured area. If we run into trouble, we won't get any help. And when we get back, we may all be thrown in the brig."
"We all understand that, Sir," Jesse replied. "We're all ready to take our chances."
"Then . . . our first stop is Tralgaria," Anakin nodded.
"Do we even know if the captain is still on Tralgaria?" Ajax inquired. "If Count Dooku has him, he might have taken him off-world."
"It's a starting place," Anakin replied. Even from his visions, he couldn't tell where Rex was – not yet. But he was not going to give up trying. But first things first. They had to get off Challenger and far enough away to evade any pursuit. He turned to Cody. "The second we fire up the engines, everyone's going to come after us. We'll have to clear the hatch in seconds before they shut it down."
Cody regarded him with confidence. "All taken care of, General."
Anakin raised an eyebrow. "Taken care of?"
"Taken care of, Sir."
Anakin did not question him again. If Cody said things were taken care of, things were taken care of.
"Well, where's the flight deck?"
"Up those steps," Cody replied. "Uh, General—" He followed close on Anakin's heels as the latter went up the steps two at a time. There was something else he needed to tell him.
"I can't wait to see how this girl handles—" Anakin cut off as the two pilot seats turned, revealing Three Point and Zinger.
"You and me, both, General Skywalker," Three Point stated. "Welcome aboard."
Cody interjected, "I've brought along two pilots."
Anakin crossed his arms over his chest. "So I see. Three Point, you know—"
"No words are necessary, General. I gladly relinquish my seat to the more experienced pilot," Three Point said, rising to his feet.
Anakin finally found a reason to smile under these trying circumstances. "Just until we clear the area."
"As long as you want, General."
Suddenly, Anakin was glad he'd run into Cody. He was glad the commander had brought along this team of men. Whereas moments ago, he had been ready to do this on his own, now he was relieved not to be setting out alone. He took the pilot's seat and looked over at Zinger.
"You think you can keep up with me, Zing?"
"I'm already ahead of you, Sir," Zinger replied. "Coordinates for the jump to light speed are already in. Once we're clear, all you have to do it punch it."
Anakin nodded once. "Good man." He strapped in. "Everyone ready?"
"Yes, Sir," Cody replied. "And General, don't forget: they'll come after us but they won't stop us. They're on our side."
"Alright then. Let's do it." In the silence of his thoughts, he added, "We're on our way, Rex. We're coming."
This qualified as one of the most outrageous things he had ever done. Or certainly, the most grotesque.
In the confusion following his flight into the hanging room, the disruption he'd caused by swinging the multitudes of bodies, the idea had come to him quite unexpectedly.
Desperation had made him ready to try anything, and the sheer magnitude of the gore of his surroundings had made any kind of moral norms—including respect for the dead—irrelevant. And so he'd gone where he'd figured they would last think of looking.
Up.
He'd chosen one of the chains along the length of which at least a dozen bodies were hanging. He'd climbed up, using the bodies as hand- and footholds like scaling the face of a cliff. It was a horrific experience, his fingers digging into the rotting flesh, punching through the skin. The stench, the congealed blood seeping down his arms and past his shoulders to draw tacky lines down his back and torso.
At last he came to the top, and here his precarious perch trembled beneath his weight. The uppermost body was bones held together by a leathering veneer of skin. It would not support his full weight if he used it as a prop; yet he knew his own strength would give out eventually if he did not have the means to give his muscles a rest.
Glancing around, his eyes saw something that might be just what he needed. The dead creature at the top of one of the nearby chains was huge, three-to-four times taller than an average human, with a massive skull that was still intact. The being had been hung by the neck, and the crown of the skull offered a broad surface on which Rex could take cover.
It was not a long jump, maybe three meters. He tensed his muscles and sprang, landing with room to spare. Hanging onto the chain, he drew his legs up onto the skull and was absolutely silent.
He could hear his pursuers still moving through the hanging room below. He heard doors opening and closing. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes. The huffing and snorting came and went and came and went; and even though Rex could not distinguish any inflection in the sounds, he imagined the Copians' ire was growing as their search continued. When—if—they found him, they would make him regret his actions. Or maybe this sort of resistance gave them a thrill, added to their sense of the chase, made the capture and punishment all the more to be relished.
A tremble rattled through his body. It was better not to think about it.
Taitha stroked his tusks with indulgent anticipation.
This prisoner was proving to be very exciting. Three hours and he continued to elude them. It seemed impossible, for the options were very few. He was either still inside the hanging room; had passed through the rear door, which led only to the vivisectionist room where there was truly no place to hide; or he had somehow passed through the vivisection room without notice and made it into the larger labyrinth.
There were no other possibilities. He had not come back through the torture room. That would have been easily detected, and Taitha had stayed in the room the whole time, directing the search.
"What a gem you are," he thought with a sense gleeful admiration. But it was not admiration for the captive's ability to conceal his whereabouts. It was admiration for his own foresight and brilliance in accepting this assignment.
Not every team was anxious to accept an assignment on behalf of a Sith Lord. In fact, no other teams had volunteered to undertake this tasking.
"They don't know what they're missing. Only you had the courage," he congratulated himself.
As a member of the Copian Regent's euphemistically named Information Extraction Corps, Taitha had started, as most novices did, at the lowest grade as a member of an Interrogation Team. The Interrogation Teams were the perfect starting point for new corpsmen learning the trade of torture management. The idea of "interrogation" made the methods employed by the "interrogators" more acceptable; the torture was used on behalf of a greater good – public safety or securing harmful information. From there, the novice moved on to one of the Justice Squads, the units responsible for carrying out punishment for crimes as determined by the Copian judicial system. Most novices spent years in the Justice Squads, honing their craft and nurturing the kernel of lust for witnessing suffering that existed in all Copians.
After a stint in the Justice Squads, the career path of Torture Managers branched into different specialties. There were those who went into the entertainment field with a focus on spectator events and broadcasts. Others filled roles as trainers and recruiters for the Corps. Then there was advertising and propaganda. Lastly, there were the ranks of Master Torturers, those who carried out the research and development of new methods of torture; those whose skills were reserved for the special cases of political and military enemies, or whatever the Regent's Office deemed necessary; those who enjoyed torture for its own sake, who even subjected themselves to their own methods on occasion for the thrill of it. These were bizarre beings. Bizarre and highly regarded in a society that cherished its history and reputation in the field of torture.
Taitha's team of Master Torturers was one of the best, the sort of Copians who embraced a challenge. When the Chief Master Torturer had announced a job from a Sith Lord, Taitha had waited patiently to see if any other teams would volunteer. The silence that ensued had led the Chief to threaten the team leaders, stating that he would assign the tasking if no one volunteered.
It was then that Taitha spoke up. He'd intended to take the job all along; but coming to the Chief's assistance by volunteering in the face of a threat, he knew it would put him in even better stead. And it had worked. He'd been given every freedom to proceed with this prisoner as he wished; and thus far, things had far exceeded his expectations.
This clone captain was not only resilient but resourceful. His endurance was remarkable. The degree of torture to which he'd already been subjected would have had the effect on most men of destroying their fortitude, driving out the will to fight, reducing them to quivering, slobbering wretches.
Not so with this one.
This one delivered.
Taitha, like most of his fellow Copians, had a great appreciation for the concoction of fear, the suspense of the chase, the psychological torment of the unknown, of uncertainty. Taitha was brilliant at using all three aspects to bring the most excitement to a situation. Exposing a victim to the possibilities that awaited him was one of the most effective ways he knew of to drive terror. Pain, in and of itself, was pleasant to observe. But the terror of what might be coming . . . that was ecstasy.
Of course, he'd received very specific and firm instructions in this case. The prisoner must be kept conscious and cognizant until word came otherwise. Extreme terror and emotional turmoil were just as important as inflicting pain. Accidental death was unacceptable and would punished by forfeiture of his own life. Use of enhancing or controlling drugs was permitted, as long as it did not interfere with the prisoner's experience of fear or pain.
Strange parameters, indeed; but Taitha did not care about the reasons behind them. This was a job tailor-made for him and his team. He'd put Makai in charge of the operation, Makai being one of his most effective team members . . . twisted even for a Copian. Makai had a predilection for sexual torment, though he'd shown a fair amount of restraint thus far. After all, they were early into the process. There was plenty of time for Makai to show his prowess.
But now Makai would have to share his time, for Taitha had seen something in the clone captain that he wanted for himself. A challenge like never before. The pleasure of a difficult prisoner to break. His own personal well of motivation.
Copians could not smile. Their facial structure did not permit it. But the sentiment of joy and self-satisfaction was real and powerful. It was what Taitha was feeling at the moment.
He could only wonder how he had been so fortunate as to be alive at such a time; how the universe had shone on him with this assignment; how fulfilling and wonderful the coming days would be. And if he had his way, the coming weeks, months . . . maybe even years.
"We've got two flights of Headhunters coming after us," Jesse noted from his place at the weapon's station on the flight deck.
"No problem," Three-Point replied. "They're with us."
"With us?" Anakin asked from the pilot's chair.
"They knew we were planning this. They'll make it look good until we make our jump, and that will be less than thirty seconds, once we're fully clear of Challenger," Three-Point explained.
"That's enough time for them to get a tractor beam on us," Anakin pointed out.
"That won't happen," Cody assured him. "But raise the shields. We will take a few hits, but not in critical places."
Zinger raised the shields. "She doesn't have much in the way of anti-armament shields, mostly atmospheric protection."
"They know where they can hit us without cause much damage," Cody reemphasized.
"You sure about this, Commander?" Anakin asked dubiously.
"Positive, General."
Even as he spoke, an impact rocked the ship, followed rapidly by a second.
"You should still at least pretend to take evasive maneuvers, Sir," Cody quipped. "Make it look legitimate."
Anakin never had to be told twice to turn on the flyboy in him. He immediately dropped a reverse Split S, with the fighters following. Pulling back up behind Challenger, he soared down along the conning tower, skimming the surface between the forward dual turrets.
"Uh, General Skywalker, we need to put some distance between us and Challenger, so we don't catch her when we jump—" Zinger began.
"Just tell me when," Anakin replied, his blood surging with the space acrobatics.
"I'm ready to go now, S-Sir!"
Anakin flipped Endeavor over hard into a barrel roll, loving the way the ship handled. She had power and smoothness; precision and maneuverability. Now, as they soared away below Challenger's hull, he spared a glance at Zinger. "Your move, Co-Pilot."
Zinger had only to tap the engager. The stars stretched out before them.
Endeavor jumped to light speed.
"She's a beauty," Anakin nodded with satisfaction. "That was one of the smoothest jumps I've ever felt." He unstrapped and got to his feet. "Three Point, she's yours." A pause as he walked towards the back of the flight deck. "I'll be in the back."
Cody noticed how quickly the general's demeanor went from exhilaration from the flying to severe and grave in an instant. He followed him into the lounge.
"Everything alright, General?"
"Nothing's alright, Cody," Anakin replied. "It won't be alright until I get my captain back." He paused and turned to face the commander. "You know, I thought I wanted to do this alone, but . . . I'm glad you and the others are with me."
"The feeling is mutual, believe me, Sir," Cody replied. "If Count Dooku is involved in this, a Jedi Master will come in handy."
Anakin inclined his head. "I'm not a Master, Cody."
"To Rex, you are," Cody said quietly. "He's always said you're the most powerful, the most skilled Jedi."
"Every first-in-command says that about their Jedi general," Anakin demurred.
Cody regarded him earnestly. "That may be true, but . . . they would also admit—at least, privately—that you are one of—if not, the most powerful Jedi."
Anakin gave a one-sided smile. "I think Master Yoda and Master Windu would be surprised to hear that."
Cody was dead serious. "I don't." Seeing the curious expression on General Skywalker's face, he went on. "I think they see the same things we clones see. I may not go as far as Rex does with regard to his opinion about the Council, but . . . I agree with him that your skills are definitely enough that you should be a Master."
To hear this from Commander Cody—reserved, conscientious, measured Commander Cody—was unexpected and gave Anakin a feeling that the honor of Master had been bestowed on him, if not by the Council, then by the troops who saw his leadership in action. Still, he struck a humble reply.
"It takes more than skill and power to be a Master." He could hardly believe he was defending the Council's withholding of the distinction he had long sought, especially since he considered the Council's withholding of the title to be a result of bias and distrust. "It's . . . not my time yet."
"If your men's loyalty to you counts for anything, that alone would put you at the top," Cody said, letting a smile of his eye creep through. "They'd do anything for you, General, follow you anywhere."
"It's Rex they're risking everything for," Anakin replied. "It's Rex you're risking everything for. They would have gone to find him without me, and you would have, too."
"You had to have known they were going to go after him, Sir," Cody pointed out.
"I did," Anakin admitted. "I didn't want to take them with me, because I didn't want to . . . encourage them to go AWOL. You kind of took care of that." He eyed Cody with interest. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised that you decided to do this. I didn't think anything could make you break the rules."
"Neither did I," Cody conceded. A long sigh trailed from his lips. "I never thought anything could happen to him. For all the times he's been hurt, he's always bounced back. I was like everyone else, starting to believe he was indestructible. The idea he could be taken prisoner just seemed impossible."
"I know what you mean."
Cody hesitated a moment before inquiring, "Do you think we can find him, Sir?"
"If I have anything to say about it," Anakin asserted. "That's what I'm going to do now, see if I can find him in the Force."
"Can you do that?"
"Sometimes," came the reply.
"Have you sensed him since leaving Tralgaria?" Cody asked.
Anakin frowned. "Once. He was . . . I sensed that he was in pain." He set his jaw. "We're going to find him, Cody. I won't give up until we do."
Cody could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. He meant every word of it.
He was starting to tremble – not from cold, for, if anything, the place was hot and stifling; but rather from physical and mental exhaustion.
He hadn't moved for what he estimated had been at least three hours and now a thick lethargy was settling in his veins.
He needed to rest, to close his eyes; but he dared not try to sleep. His perch on the skull was precarious. He could not risk falling asleep and sliding off. He lay down on his side and wrapped his arms and legs around the chain, offering a more secure hold. He closed his eyes . . .
" . . . we pass ourselves by without wondering. That's you, Captain."
Maree's voice was soft and soothing.
He was walking with her along the northern pathways of the Monastica.
"I thought we were talking about the stars," he replied.
"We are." She was smiling. "That an ordinary man can be so extraordinary . . . that is where the wonder lies."
He offered her his arm. She accepted.
"I think you are a very good man. I fear you possess the kind of goodness that evil despises so much that it goes out of its way to try and destroy it."
He could hear an echo . . . far away, indistinct. It was meant to get his attention, but it didn't belong in this dream, this memory. It was trying to pull him away, and he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay here. In the Monastica. With Maree. In this waking dream where neither fear nor pain could follow.
Anakin searched.
It was not a skill he'd been formally taught. It was something that had come naturally to him over the years. Even so, he felt he was still woefully deficient in the art. He'd used it on purpose once to find younglings kidnapped by Cad Bane, but that was with guidance from Obi-wan and Masters Windu and Yoda. They had searched for the younglings through the Force, but those babies had been strong in the Force to begin with.
Rex, like every created being, had a presence in the Force, was not Force-sensitive in the least. Anakin's ability to detect him seemed to depend on the intensity of Rex's emotions, what he was experiencing. And that was not an easy trail to follow, for Rex was exceedingly well-conditioned when it came to keeping his emotions in check. His endurance and threshold for pain and suffering were even greater than that of most clones, a point of pride Rex had worked hard to achieve, apparently dating back to his experience in ARC training.
But that toughness was standing in the way now. Anakin could sense that Rex was alive but nothing more. He could not see the surroundings. He could not detect any strong emotions to latch on to. He called out to him silently, reaching out, trying to find some way, any way to establish contact, to let him know he was looking for him.
He sensed nothing from Rex. Only that he was alive. And, if Anakin were honest, he had to concede that the concept of alive was different within the Force. The essence of a being – what others called the soul – continued to exist even after the physical vessel ceased. In the context of the Force, it was not always easy to discern between the physical life and the spiritual life. But it seemed to Anakin that, were he dealing with a soul released from the bonds of physical existence, he would have been able to find Rex much easier.
In a terrible twist, he was actually hoping to detect vestiges of fear or pain from his captain; for that would mean Rex was still physically alive, for released souls were not subject to the ravages of the temporal.
"Give me something, Rex," he whispered in the quiet of the private quarters in which he was sitting.
Endeavor had a dozen such quarters lining both sides of a single corridor that ran from the lounge back to the boarding area and rear airlock. Anakin had chosen a room near the back where he would be farthest from any disturbances. The clones had left him alone, and he hated the idea that he would have to go back out to them and explain that he'd not found anything.
Zinger's voice came over the ship-wide comm.
"We'll be dropping out of hyperspace in one minute."
Anakin opened his eyes. Had they arrived already? Even with Endeavor's speed, this seemed to be too soon to arrive back at Tralgaria. He got to his feet and headed for the flight deck. As he moved down the corridor, he saw Jesse, Sixer and Cody coming towards him.
"Commander, have we arrived?" he inquired.
"No, General. We're a little more than halfway."
Anakin knit his brows. "Then why did drop out of hyperspace? What's going on?"
"We, uh . . . we have a stop scheduled," Cody replied.
"A stop? What are you talking about? Why are we stopping?"
"If you come with us to airlock, you'll see why," Cody replied.
"I don't like surprises, Commander," Anakin replied, though in truth, he loved the unexpected. But in this case, he was opposed to anything that delayed them on their mission. "Why are we going to the airlock?" Even as he spoke, he went with them to the mid-deck where the airlock was located in the cargo bay above.
Pitch and Kix were already there, pressurizing the airlock and manning the slide guide where a first-generation x-wing was positioned just above the airlock.
"What is going on?" Anakin demanded, looking through the view portal. The x-wing had marking of the 90th Fighter Wing. Beyond the x-wing, another ship floated, waiting for its turn at the airlock. This one was an unfamiliar model, not a military craft, with no markings at all.
The 90th Fighter Wing . . . they were the air unit associated with the 808th. That could only mean—
The airlock opened.
"Top?" Anakin was stunned.
Top removed his helmet and emerged from the airlock. "General Skywalker."
"How—how did you know . . . "
It was Jesse who replied. "I contacted him, General. He needed to know, he deserved to know."
"It was my decision to join you, Sir," Top added. "I could never live with myself if I didn't try to help find Captain Rex."
"So, you left the 808th to come here? Does Master Shyfa know?"
"I didn't tell him," Top admitted. "Commander Ki'weya knows. He understood this was where I needed to be. He covered for me, so I could leave without being pursued."
"Well . . . I'm glad you're here," Anakin admitted. Then, turning to Cody, he asked, "And who's that?" as he gestured towards the other ship.
"I called in a favor from someone I knew would want to be here," the commander replied.
"I don't recognize the ship," Anakin stated. "Who is it?"
Cody raised his wrist comm. "Are you ready to dock, Echo?"
"As soon as you clear the x-wing," came the reply.
Anakin was both pleased and filled with a momentary trepidation. "You were able to contact Echo?"
"Yes, General."
"Is it . . . just Echo or are the rest of them . . . "
"It's just Echo, Sir," Cody assured him. "I told him to come alone. The Bad Batch isn't exactly stealth. We're going to need to move below the radar, and Echo brings skills that we wouldn't have otherwise. And Rex is important to him."
"Anything else you haven't told me yet, Commander?" Anakin asked. "Any more passengers we're picking up?"
"No, Sir. I apologize for not telling you sooner, but I didn't want to take the chance that you would say no to them joining us," Cody explained.
Anakin sighed as the fact of the matter dawned on him. While he himself had rushed off on this rescue mission with only the thought of finding Rex to guide him, Cody had given much consideration to the plan and its organization, the process, what hurdles they could expect to encounter, and who the best qualified troops were to counter those hurdles.
"No apology necessary, Commander. I know you'll always do what's best."
"And I won't keep anything else from you, General Skywalker," Cody assured him. "This is the most important thing I've ever done. I don't want you to think you can't trust me."
Anakin put a hand on the commander's shoulder. "I do trust you."
^^ Yes. I had to bring Top and Echo back in. They were in my original version and I love both of them too much not to have them as part of what's coming up.