Dear Reader,
First, thank you to my reviewers: Shadowlight17, blobfish3690, LLTC, Moonwatcher404, cristinatodirasc, Christina TM, thaismarendaz, and Jessica Wolfe. I so much appreciate you all taking the time! I apologize in advance to any General Piell fans out there. It's just that I really disliked his character! There's no warning for this chapter other than some emotional scenes. No torture or descriptions of it. Enjoy. CS
Chapter 142 The Journey to Bertegad
"Love hurts. Love scars.
Love wounds. It marks
Any heart not tough
Or strong enough
To take a lot of pain.
Love is like a cloud.
Holds a lot of rain."
Bryant Boudleaux
Nazareth
Kix was at his wit's end. He'd tried everything within his ability. With no success. Nothing made any difference. He could feel the eyes of every one of his brothers upon him; but he could not bring himself to meet their gazes. At the moment, he was their only hope.
And he was letting them down. He was forced into the role—as were the rest of them—of spectator, watching his captain die and somehow feeling cheated, as if this entire venture had been for nothing. They had been too late, and now Captain Rex did not even know he was dying in the company of friends. One brief moment of lucidity—such as it was—had quickly passed and everything was deteriorating rapidly.
For the sake of his brothers, Kix had to keep up a strong front. After all, this was his profession. He was considered one of the best field medics in the GAR. And he'd gone through a lot to get to this point. This was where his strength lied. If he broke down now, that would violate every self-imposed rule he'd created for himself so long ago. He'd had his share of meltdowns, but never when at a wounded brother's side. Care of the sick and wounded always pushed other concerns aside. It was only when he was prevented from doing that for which he had trained, as on Umbara; or those rare times when he lumbered into the world of the dead, as with the mortuary teams, that the demons of Kamino writhed their way to the surface.
Rex had saved him from those demons. At least, in part. He knew the greatest effort had come from his squad mates. Jesse. Top. Hardcase. Pitch. Quick-thinking and devious, that lot. And he owed them his life. He owed his captain his life.
And yet, he'd not been able to repay the debt. Not once. Hardcase had died because he'd not been able to talk him out of his devil-may-care attitude on Umbara. And now, the captain was going to die because he did not have the skill to save him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement as Commander Cody entered the room.
With him was General Skywalker.
Now, all attention switched from the examination table to the general.
Anakin stopped on the threshold for a moment.
They would never know the courage it took for him to look at the man on the table. The remorse. The guilt. The sense of loss already pervading his soul. How was he going to continue to lead the 501st without Rex? He wasn't even sure if he wanted to go back now. The idea of simply gathering Padme and stealing away to some remote, untouched part of the galaxy had become a serious consideration over the past hour. Padme would understand. She, of all people, would understand.
Anakin wished with all his heart that he possessed her understanding at this moment. Perhaps then he would know how to approach the table, how to share in the clones' misery, how to comfort them. Instead, all he knew was his own agony—and that, he did not want to pass on.
It was his recollections of Padme now—hearing the words she would have said to him had she been there, telling him that he owed at least this much to Rex, to be at his side despite the anguish it might cause—that bolstered him enough to bring into the room and to the exam table.
Within the dull shimmer of the stasis field, Rex looked already dead. A sheet covered him from the waist down. There were a few what looked like IV lines strewn about, but they all appeared to have been taken out.
Everything Anakin could see—every patch of skin—had been damaged in some way. There was no safe place to touch him. There would be no looking into his eyes to offer visual encouragement or comfort. There would be no way of letting him know how much he meant not only to Anakin, but to all of them.
Anakin raised his eyes and looked across the table at Kix. He could see the fatigue and demoralized expression. "How are you holding up, Kix?"
"I've done everything I can think of, General," came the weary reply. "Nothing's working."
Anakin reached out and clasped his shoulder. "I know you're doing all you can. Just keep trying. That's all any of us can do," he said in a voice that was a marked departure from the Anakin who had been standing on the bridge only moments' earlier, refusing to come to the medical bay.
Kix spoke so softly, he was barely audible. "He's not going to make it to Temburra."
"We're not going to Temburra," Anakin stated. "We're going to Bertegad. We should be arriving within two hours."
As he spoke these words, Anakin could feel the surge of energy go through the room. It occurred to him that most of the troopers present had been on Bertegad before, and they knew what going there meant now.
The Monastica.
The superior—and oftentimes, mystical—nature of the medical procedures of the Austeniens and Verviens.
It meant that, although slim, there was now a real possibility that their captain's live could be saved.
"We just need him to hold on for two more hours," Anakin continued.
Kix regarded him with a pained expression. "I . . . don't know if I can do that, Sir. He's . . . every organ, every system in his body is breaking down. I don't know if I can keep him alive until we get to Bertegad."
"We have to keep him alive, Kix," Anakin corrected gently. "This isn't on just your shoulders. In the Force, we're all connected." He turned to face the others. "As clones, you have an even greater bond with each other." A pause. "You give what you can."
It was a perplexing and mysterious statement—something that might be common in the realm of Jedi, but a bit too far-reaching for the clones' to fully embrace. Still, coming from General Skywalker, it meant something; and if the clones could boil it down to something as simple as thinking good thoughts, it was worth a try.
Anakin now turned back to the table and slowly, tentatively reached his hand inside the field and rested it on Rex's arm.
"I'm here, Rex. I'm here, and I won't leave you. Stay with me, stay with us. You've held on this long. I know you won't give up. Neither will I. Whatever I can give you, I will. Draw from me. If you can do it, draw from me."
He felt no stirring, no consciousness. Despite his words of encouragement to the others—and to Rex—he had to acknowledge that Rex might be too far gone. Bertegad might end up being nothing more than a final resting place. He raised his eyes and looked directly at Double Barrel.
"Can the Eagle help?"
DB swallowed. "I don't know."
"Ask him."
"He hears you. He isn't answering."
Ajax spoke up with passion. "You were dead, and he brought you back to life. At the Monastica, you were crushed to death when the Taber was attacked. He saved you and brought you back to life. Why can't he do the same thing here?"
Double Barrel was put on the spot. How was he to explain something he himself did not even understand. "I don't know. He just says only Finirest can do what he did with me. I don't know. This is—what he is in me is only—it's only a part of his—I don't know! I can't explain it!" His voice took on an angry, defensive slant. "Don't you think if I knew of a way the Eagle could save the captain, I would have already done it?! Do you think I want to stand here and watch him die?"
Beside him, Denal placed a hand on his shoulder. "No one thinks that, brother. Without you and the Eagle, we never would have found the him at all."
"If I knew how to save him . . . " DB's voice trailed off in misery. He suddenly wished for the days when he'd been nothing but a crack-shot sniper, when the expectations of him were so much less than they were now.
Ajax moved to stand next to his friend. "I'm sorry, DB. I wasn't implying anything like that. I really was hoping the Eagle could do the same for the captain that he did for you. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," DB replied, self-conscious that the attention had turned to him when it should have been focused solely on the captain.
Anakin watched this interaction among his troops. Their spirits were in tatters, their nerves frayed. Hopelessness sat on their shoulders almost like a visible cloud.
"You say, give to him. You are right."
Anakin gave a start at the sound of the silent voice. This voice he knew. He had heard it before.
It was the Eagle.
The voice went on. "The power you use. It binds life together. It also binds time. Where I reside, there is no past, present or future. You are still within time. You cannot go back. But that which you use for your power . . . you can bring the past into the present."
Anakin was baffled. "What does that mean?"
"The others . . . they see only the present. Everything within them right now—their energy, their souls—is forlorn and negative. You know of what I speak. It is a never-ending struggle for you. But the soldiers cannot see the future. They cannot draw hope from a future that that they cannot see. Their strength, the strength they can give to him, must come from the past. You must do that."
Anakin pondered these words. They were confusing, yet he felt as if he were being shown a particular direction, a sort of thoroughfare to ease the pain of the moment – for all of them.
"Did Rex ever tell you about the first time we met?" he asked at last.
Other than Cody and Denal, the question was met with headshakes and quiet murmurs to the negative.
"It's a good story," Denal said with the fond, knowing smile of nostalgia.
"It is," Cody concurred. "You should tell it."
Anakin managed a minute grin. After all, it was a good story.
"You know, I wasn't happy about getting a new first-in-command," he began. "We were less than six months into the war. From day one, Captain Stamp was my first-in-command. And I didn't think they could come any better. He was everything I could have wanted. And then Sector Headquarters decided they needed him. Believe me, I was . . . fit to be tied."
"I don't know why I trusted you to pick out my new first-in-command."
Obi-wan had heard this complaint, this grousing lament, repeatedly over the last week. And he'd reminded his former apprentice time and again, "I didn't pick him out. I suggested him to you based off Cody's recommendation. You trust Cody's judgment, don't you?"
"I trust his judgment for you," Anakin replied. "But you and I are very different, Master."
"And you think Cody doesn't know that? He knows you. He knows Stamp, and apparently, he saw something in his roommate that made him feel it would be a good fit," Obi-wan replied.
They had come to a window, fifty meters long, overlooking Resolute's largest hangar bay. The ship was docked on Palus 4, a planet used primarily as a staging area for ships heading to locations further out on the rim. Resolute was taking on some new equipment and new personnel. They were also transporting another Jedi general to his new assignment.
Looking down over the busy goings-on in the hangar, Anakin remarked, "I feel sorry for Battle Group Dragon. You think they know what they're getting?"
Obi-wan was diplomatic. "Master Piell is . . . gruff, but he's . . . he knows how to get the job done."
"Why couldn't this new captain go to work for him, and just leave me with Stamp," Anakin grumbled.
"Because Master Piell's first-in-command isn't the one who was snatched by Sector Headquarters," Obi-wan answered the obvious. "But whoever ends up being Master Piell's first-in-command will have to be a very patient and . . . long-suffering type."
"Well, Master Piell will probably meet his before I meet mine," Anakin snapped. "Mine hasn't even reported in yet."
"Isn't that him down there?"
Anakin followed Obi-wan's gaze. Sure enough, down on the floor was a trooper wearing 501st blue, a pauldon and kama – the marks of an ARC trooper. The 501st had no ARC troopers – other than its new captain.
And so it stood to reason . . . this was Captain Rex.
He was wearing his helmet, busily engaged in marshalling the new equipment on board and into place.
"Doesn't he know we have load masters for that?" Anakin harrumphed. "Last thing I need is a first-in-command who thinks he need to direct traffic."
"Cut him some slack, Anakin," Obi-wan chastised. "He's probably using this opportunity to get to know the men—"
"Great, oh great . . . there goes Master Piell," Anakin interrupted.
Obi-wan was thoughtful. "He looks angry. This won't be good."
On the floor down below, Rex was getting acquainted with his new command. And what better way to show the men that he was one of them than to get right in the middle and get his hands dirty, so to speak. Marshalling equipment was never fun. In fact, it was nerve-wracking, where every centimeter had to be taken into account; and maneuvering or directing heavy, unwieldy machines into tight quarters was a demanding exercise.
With a nervous load master chasing behind him at every turn, Rex found it quite humorous that the man clearly did not trust him – and probably with good reason.
"Where do you want this one?" Rex would ask, and upon receiving an answer, he would then take over directing the clone drivers responsible with positioning and securing the machine.
He'd seen twenty or so pieces into place into two neat rows, with more than another fifty to go, when, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a child approaching from his right.
Ah. Not a child. No, definitely not a child.
"What are you doing? You put my ship in the very back! All this must be moved. Now!"
The load master replied tensely, "General Piell, your ship is in the back because we will be off-loading all this equipment before we reach your rendez-vous—"
"Put my ship in front. I will decide when to depart for my rendez-vous."
"General, this plan has been carefully laid out and approved by the chief logistics officer—" the hapless load master began, but General Piell was having none of it.
He turned his glare on Rex. "You. You are in charge?"
Rex was placid. "Yes, Sir, I am."
"Move my ship."
"I can't do that, Sir. It's like the chief said: this plan was carefully calculated for load disbursement in transit and ease of off-loading on the other end," Rex replied with requisite politeness and respect. "Your ship will be safe where it is."
"And if I need to make a fast departure? Do you think I want to go all the way to where your fleet is waiting for you? And then wait for all this equipment to be transferred to other ships? I will take my leave when I deem best." He looked at the two clones. "This whole place is a mess. It's like watching two amateurs. I thought clones were trained in efficiency. It does not show here."
From up above in the cockpit of a newly built grasshopper—or formally, the All Terrain Tactical Enforcer, AT-TE, for short—Denal peered down at the goings on. He could hear the Jedi's blustery demands and his new captain's banal responses. How he wished he could see the look on his captain's face.
"General . . . " Rex waited for the Jedi to provide his name.
But it was the load master who filled in the gap.
"Piell."
"General Piell," Rex spoke with evenness and clarity. "This floor belongs to the load master. The equipment belongs to the 501st until it's signed over to the other ships. If you are dissatisfied with the arrangement of the equipment, I suggest you take your complaint to the Chief of Logistics or the ship's captain. If you're complaint is with me, you will want to see General Skywalker."
"Skywalker, of course! You would be one of his." The general said it as if it were an insult, yet Rex took it only as a distinction of pride.
"This is his flag ship, Sir," Rex pointed out. "And I am his first-in-command."
"First-in-command," Piell sneered. "How will you command soldiers when you can't even command loading a ship? You could never work for me."
"No, Sir," Rex concurred, and his irony was not lost on General Piell.
"Ah, I detect something of an attitude, Captain." A one-sided grinned curled his lip, but it was not in humor. It was almost a mockery. "Where is your General Skywalker?"
"I don't know, Sir."
"And I am not surprised." A pause. "Move this . . . junk and put my ship up front." He turned and began to walk away, tossing casually over his shoulder, "And don't damage it. It's brand new. I used my own credits to buy it. None of this second-rate military rubbish."
Rex looked on for a few seconds. There was no sense in arguing or standing his ground over something so minor. Not on his first day anyway. He motioned to Denal. "Okay, bring her out so we can move his ship." He turned back to the load master. "Time to reconfigure."
"It shouldn't take me too long to—"
The whirr of moving gears suddenly gave way to a horrendous crashing sound.
Both Rex and the load master turned to see . . .
Rex actually laughed once before stifling his reaction. It was unfitting of him and . . . well, if he gave in to it, he might send the wrong message.
"Sergeant! What the hell happened?" he barked, yet he could not even pretend to sound angry.
Denal was already slipping down from the cockpit. "Oh, Captain, I, uh . . . sorry, I guess I had it in reverse."
General Piell's ship—his new privately owned ship—was nothing but a flattened pancake of metal and circuits beneath the AT-TEs left rear foot.
"Reverse?" Rex challenged.
"Well, yes, it must have been, or else this wouldn't have happened."
The un-helmeted load master grinned.
And then came the barrage.
"What have you done?! You idiot!" Piell was storming towards them, frothy and enraged. He gestured wildly at his destroyed ship. "You—" he shoved a short, stubby finger up into Denal's face, but the action was like having a child wag their finger at you. It did not carry the gravitas meant to be associated with it. "You did this on purpose! You heard me saying to be careful of my ship, and then you did this! I will have your rank pulled!"
"It was an accident, General," Denal replied, sounding anything but contrite. "I was . . . riled up after hearing you talking to my captain, and I guess I just forgot to take her out of reverse."
"You fool! You fool! All of you, fools! Now, I will take necessary actions." Piell turned to Rex. "I hold you responsible. And I hold Skywalker responsible for you. This requires disciplinary action. I have never seen such levels of incompetence. Hmph! We get the army we pay for."
"Gentlemen."
All eyes turned towards the speaker.
"Skywalker! Good! I was ready to go find you."
Rex felt caught off guard. This was not how he'd expected to meet his new commanding general. He straightened up reflexively but said nothing.
"It looks like there's been a bit of a problem," Anakin noted.
"These buffoons destroyed my ship!" Piell went on. "I trust you will take care of this, Skywalker."
Anakin looked at the markings on the non-ARC's armor. "Sergeant, excuse us. And . . . you might want to move this off his ship." Anakin led the way to a side corridor. "I think an explanation is in order." His voice now was firm and no-nonsense.
"I'm Captain Rex, Sir," Rex introduced himself and removed his helmet. "Your new first-in-command."
For a moment, Anakin was speechless.
He had seen hundreds, thousands of clones. But none that looked like this one.
A blond buzz cut. The same face and yet like no other clone. Fierce and subdued at the same time. Defiant and obedient. Respectful and challenging. Adult and child – all in one.
What in hell had Commander Cody seen is this man that had made him think he would be a good fit for the 501st? For him?
But if Anakin thought for one moment that he was the only one doing the assessing, he was mistaken; for Rex was getting some initial impressions of his own.
"He's so young. But he carries himself with authority. What is that expression on his face? Is he angry? He doesn't really look angry. Great, he's going to be impossible to read. Right now, he probably is wishing he could have his previous captain back."
"Taking charge before you've even reported in?" Anakin said.
"I did report in, Sir. I checked in with the duty desk, and they said you were in a meeting," Rex explained. "So, I jumped right in because that's what a good first-in-command does. We don't wait to be told what to do."
"Most officers would try to get the lay of the land first," Anakin pointed out mildly. While he was not thrilled with losing Captain Stamp, he was admittedly intrigued by the quietly brash manner of his replacement.
"There's not much tactical difficulty in loading equipment, Sir," came the smooth response.
"And yet, there's a crushed ship in there—a tactical error?" Anakin pressed.
Rex's face was impassive.
"Oh, this is henskishka!" General Piell burst out. "It was no error! It was incompetence, plain and simple. You—" he glared at Rex, "—are incompetent. Fitting that he should come to you, Skywalker."
Anakin was used to General Piell's rude, biting manner. He'd experienced it plenty of times before. He could even let the insults slide right past him, for he knew that the Lannik were, by nature, prone to speaking their minds yet usually without malice. Sometimes, Anakin even found his manner to be humorous. But at this moment, he only wanted the discussion to be over so that he could focus his full attention on his new captain.
"We'll see if he's a good fit or not," Anakin replied. "But in the meantime, he'll start the process of getting you a replacement ship."
"That ship was my own personal vessel," Piell stated. "I used my own credits to buy it. How will he replace it? Clones aren't even paid a wage."
"In fact, we are, General," Rex corrected. "Not much, but enough to go out and buy a drink or two."
Anakin could barely hold his countenance. While Stamp would have simply ignored Piell's barbs, this one apparently felt compelled to respond to every provocation.
"Enh, and perhaps you were drinking before coming to the job today," Piell jabbed.
"No, Sir, I was not," Rex replied. "And if I may say so, I didn't think the way you approached me and my men in the hangar was appropriate. It was unprofessional and uncalled for."
Now, Anakin was a heartbeat away from either busting out laughing or finding a rock to crawl under.
General Piell gave a one-eyed glare then turned to Anakin. "This is your problem, Skywalker. I expect disciplinary action to be taken. And I expect my ship to be replaced with the exact same thing. In the meantime, you can find me the best single-man ship in your inventory. My tasking is critical, and I won't be delayed because of the incompetence of your soldiers." He cast an eyes of aspersion in Rex's direction. "Good luck with this one."
As Piell made his way back towards the hangar bay, no doubt to continue his tirade, Anakin found himself alone with his new first-in-command. And he intended to start things off by making sure this hotshot knew who was really in charge of the 501st.
"Walk with me, Captain."
They walked towards the lift that would take them back to the observation hallway.
"First of all, welcome to the 501st."
"Thank you, General."
"Your first day isn't turning out so great, is it?"
Rex was not going to play into that line. "On the contrary, Sir, I think it's going . . . smashingly."
Anakin gave him a sidelong glance, saw the tiny smirk hiding at the corner of the captain's mouth, the satisfied glint in his eye. "You're rather cocky, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't disagree with that assessment, Sir," Rex replied. "I was told you like that in an officer."
"Who told you that? Cody? Well, he's . . . yeah, that's pretty accurate." Anakin stopped and faced him directly. "So, what really happened with the ship?"
"A . . . miscalculation from the operator."
Anakin's expression made it clear he did not believe him. "Who was the operator?"
"Sergeant Denal."
"Denal . . . I don't know him. One of ours."
"He is now." Rex paused. "He was one of the ARC training cadre."
"The ARC cadre? How did we ever merit getting him? It's impossible to pry those guys away."
"He came with me, Sir."
Why did this news not surprise Anakin. "With you?"
"I requested he be reassigned when I found out I'd be coming to the 501st."
"I see," Anakin nodded. "And his first action of note was to destroy General Piell's ship, with you standing right there as it happened."
"I will counsel him on his . . . lack of attention to what he was doing, and his disregard for proper safety protocols—"
"And how do you intend to replace General Piell's ship?"
"That's a tough one, Sir. As the general pointed, I don't' get paid enough to replace it," came the honest reply but spoken with what was clearly a false earnestness. "I think he'll need to file a claim with the GAR's legal—"
"Is this what I can expect from you, Captain? This sort of flippant, toss-the-rulebook attitude?" Anakin challenged.
And for a moment, Rex thought he was going to be canned before even having a chance to get started. His contrition now was genuine. "No, Sir. I came here to be the best first-in-command you could ask for."
"Yeah, well, you've got big shoes to fill."
"I brought my own shoes, General."
Anakin looked at him, trying to get a feel for what was going on behind the hazel eyes. "I don't know about you. You can consider this a trial period."
"You won't be disappointed, General Skywalker," Rex replied, though his confidence was not quite what it had been at the start of the day. "This is where I wanted to be. I won't let you down. I'll never let you down."
"This morning, notwithstanding?" Anakin poked.
Rex cocked his head to one side. He should let it go. Let it go. Just let it go.
"With all due respect, Sir . . . " He couldn't let it go. "Jedi General Piell is . . . he's . . . "
"He's a bastard, I know," Anakin finished the sentence for him. "And you've made an enemy of him. But his anger is short-lived. The Lanniks are all like that: brusque, over-bearing. They say what they're thinking without any regard for how it might be perceived." A pause. "I don't know what he was saying to you all down there, but I can imagine it was pretty terrible. So . . . maybe your sergeant, what's his name—Denal? Maybe he was pushed too far."
"It was an accident, Sir," Rex reminded him.
"Sure it was."
A brief silence passed between them.
"Shall I go back down and finish getting the equipment in place, General Skywalker?"
Anakin grinned. "No, I think it's best to get you off the hangar bay floor before we have any more accidents. Besides, we have a tactical planning mission in a few hours. You're expected to be there."
They resumed walking.
"So, what's with the look?" Anakin inquired bluntly. "The hair? The cross-shooters? You look like a gun-slinger."
"I am a crack shot, Sir," Rex replied. "As for the hair . . . I like to stand out." He weighed his next comment, but only for a second. "I think you can understand that."
"Oh? Meaning?"
"Meaning that your reputation precedes you, General. You're know to be a stand-out yourself, for being unorthodox and well . . . a bit on the wild side," Rex explained. "That's why I wanted to come here. I think I'm perfectly suited to be your first-in-command."
"Well, you're arrogant enough," Anakin replied. "We'll see if your skills match your bluster."
Rex gave a slight grin. "Commander Cody said something very similar to me at ARC training."
"And?"
"And?" Rex was perplexed.
"Did your skills match your bluster?"
"I'm here. First-in-command of the 501st, the best battalion in the GAR," Rex replied. "What do you think?" Realizing he was being perhaps a bit too familiar, he quickly added, "Sir."
Anakin could already feel himself being drawn in.
There may not be another Captain Stamp in the entire Grand Army of the Republic; but there sure as hell wasn't going to be another Captain Rex. For better or worse, Anakin and his new officer were going to be in it together. An uncertain and exciting prospect.
"I think . . . I think I need to keep an eye on you."
"Well, that explains the chill between the captain and General Piell," Echo noted quietly.
"I always wondered why they didn't get along," Sixer added. "He never told us about any of that. Neither did you, Denal."
"Did you really crush his ship on purpose?" This from Ajax, who was grinning from ear-to-ear.
"I can neither confirm nor deny that," Denal replied with an angelic expression.
"That means, yes," Dogma opined.
"That's a pretty gutsy thing to do," Sempe chuckled.
"And crazy," Sixer added. "You could have ended up getting kicked out of the 501st before you'd even completed one full day."
"I wasn't going to kick him out," Anakin came to the rescue. "I knew that . . . if Rex had thought highly enough of him to bring him along, then he had to be the real thing."
"Yeah, but after a start like that, you must have wondered if you were even going to keep the captain around." This, also from Sixer.
"The thought crossed my mind," Anakin admitted. "But deep down, I knew. I knew he was the perfect first-in-command for the battalion. For me." He looked at Cody. "You were right, Commander. I never told you, but you were right in recommending him. I guess you knew me even better than I knew myself."
"I knew you needed someone to push you," Cody replied. "Someone who could keep up with you and had the capacity to be just as dare-devil as you. Stamp was all those things. And I decided—maybe a bit presumptuously—that when Stamp left, you needed something more. You needed someone who could match your . . . degree of emotion. You already General Kenobi to help keep you even-keeled, to . . . well, if you'll pardon the expression, Sir, to be the voice of reason, the restraining factor." He looked a bit embarrassed. "I know Jedi aren't supposed to give in to their emotions, but your emotions always seemed to make you stronger. And when I met Rex, he was . . . " He gave a chuckle. "He was nothing but a ball of energy and emotions and fire. He reminded me of you, General."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Anakin grinned, and in the midst of so much worry and sadness, it felt good.
"As it was intended, Sir," Cody replied.
Silence fell over the room.
"Don't stop. Keep going. Raise their spirits. He can sense that."
It was the Eagle.
Raise their spirits. What else could he say to them? What stories could he tell?
He would have to think of something.
Finirest was over.
The Festival of Me'Ente Loge had ended yesterday, and now the pilgrims were slowly leaving, filing through the gates to make the desert crossing.
As joyful as the occasion was, Doma Maree always looked forward to the days immediately following the end of festivities, the return of peace and solitude, a chance to relax and return to her private meditations.
But most of all, it was an opportunity to enter the realm of Finirest and become acquainted with the new arrivals. There would be tens of thousands of them, and if they existed within time, it would have taken years to meet them all. But within Finirest, time held no sway.
Stepping inside the Taber in the dark of night, when there were only a handful of worshippers present, Maree always found herself struck by the magnificence around her. Two years ago, the structure had been in shambles. She would never forget that day of tragedy. She would never forget her own transgression with the souls in her care. She would always be grateful for the Republic's help in rebuilding the Taber.
She would always remember Rex's willingness to sacrifice his own life to prevent her from taking advantage of her calling and jeopardizing her role as Doma.
She thought of him often. Every day and every night. She recalled how his lips felt against hers and the promise he had made. The promise she had returned. Surely a difficult promise for him to keep, but not one from which she would try to dissuade him.
She missed him, longed for him, wondered where he was and what was going on with him. The one thing she never worried about was whether or not he had changed his mind with regard to their relationship. For if he had, she could not fault him. It would be understandable that the temptations might be too great, the prohibitions too hard to live with. Yet, when she recalled the sincerity of his countenance, the certainty of his words, she knew that he was a man of his word, a man who did not make decisions or promises lightly.
Would she see him again in this life?
It was a question she could not answer. Unlike the Jedi, who had the ability to see the future, her calling entailed no such thing. Even within the timeless world of Finirest, where the past and present were one eternal present, the future did not exist. The future belonged to that realm beyond Finirest, of which Maree's only direct experience was Me'Ente Loge. The Messenger's existence was promise enough of a future outside of time.
As she passed his statue in the Taber, she had a particular sense of his presence with her. She loved these moments when he made himself more palpable, less ethereal. It was not a visible thing. It was not the same as having a vision or hearing his voice. It was as if he had an enveloping warmth, a peace that transcended anything the world had to offer. And while such occurrences, outside of the celebration of Finirest, were few and far between, Maree treasured them to the point that each instance sufficed until the next.
She came to one of the small side chapels within the Taber and stood in the aisle, the creatures of the mosaic floor swirling beneath her feet. Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to move her spirit. A moment later, when she opened her eyes, she was in Finirest, the world of animal souls for which she was responsible until the end of time.
Here, the creatures came to meet her in ways that would be incomprehensible to most people. They appeared as both individual figures and clouds of intermingled energy. Constant movement—every moment of their lives gathered here in this one place; as well their existence outside of time, that state of being which they were now experiencing. To any other witness, it would have been complete and utter chaos, perhaps overwhelming; but to Maree, it was a jumble of beauty and mystery—the perfection of creatures who did not have the capacity to act against their nature. They had lived their lives as the Creator had intended them.
Maree had not always been able to see this world with the poise and control she now possessed. It had taken her over three hundred years to master the ability to enter Finirest. Her predecessor had taught her as a child. It was not a necessary skill for a Doma to possess, but it added a dimension of intimacy to the role. Maree visited the souls almost every day.
But today was special, because it was her first visit since the most recent Finirest, and she was excited to meet new souls. She was always amazed at the excitement, the sheer joy that ran like countless streams through the realm of Finirest. These souls were thrilled to be here, and yet this was only the most insignificant glimpse of the glory that awaited them, a glory that even Maree herself could only guess at. The words of the sacred texts admitted their own inadequacy in describing the life to come.
But these souls – they were closer to the truth than she was. In their state of existence, they saw more, knew more, and—dare she say it?—understood more about the true nature of life, creation, and its Creator. And in its own way, this gave her great comfort: that creatures who appeared simple to the human eye could have a greater insight into eternity than the wisest of men.
The appreciation for the gift she had been given in knowing these souls only increased as she strolled among them in their world apart. Most species she knew, but there were surprises now and then, which told her that, even as some species declined, others arose to take their place. There were the souls of those that had died young, those that had died old. Those of peaceful deaths and those of violent deaths. Those of the fiercest predators, as well as the meekest prey. Here, their natures all melted into one while remaining individual and distinct.
In addition to the newly arrived souls, there were also those souls that had been here since before Maree had become Doma. My old friends, as she liked to refer to them. She did not see them every time she entered Finirest. But the oldest ones came often, and she enjoyed their company.
And here, one of the oldest was approaching.
The Eagle.
The Eagle.
He soared overhead and underneath, the moments of his life in the material world shimmering around him as he flew, like the glittering tail of a comet.
"You are excited today," Maree observed.
"He is close."
This reply was unexpected. Maree stopped walking. She could feel her heart starting to pound. Such a statement by the Eagle must have a purpose.
"Who is close?"
"The one who shares my soul," came the reply.
"Double Barrel?" Maree was more direct. She had no patience for cryptic references at the moment.
"Such an undignified name—"
"Eagle. Do you mean to say that Double Barrel is close to Bertegad?" Maree asked firmly.
"He is close to me in this place," the great bird replied. "The part of me that goes with him tells me he is close."
"Is he coming here?" Maree persisted, and she imagined her anxiousness was palpable to not only the Eagle but all the souls around her.
"He is coming here."
"Is he alone?"
"He is not."
Maree felt a flutter go through her. She dared not ask the rest of what she wanted to know. That, she would discover upon re-entering the world of time and substance outside of Finirest. She placed a hand on the crest of the smooth wing. "Eagle, it was good of you to tell me."
The Eagle did not reply. He watched in silence as the keeper left his world, fading like sunlight on the horizon. He knew what she would find on the other side. And he knew it was not his place to tell her. He alone among the souls had formed a bond with one in the world of time, the world outside this place. He alone saw what his companion saw, heard what he heard, and felt what he felt. He had developed an affinity with the soldier whose life he had saved. He had come to know and understand more about humans through his connection with the soldier than he had over the course of his entire lifetime or during his countless eons in Finirest.
And one of the most important things he had learned was that the moment must never be taken from a human. Experience was a first-hand encounter, paramount to the well-being of creatures whose ways of thinking had evolved beyond that of simple existence. Humans created their own purposes, their own reasons for doing things. Much of it seemed silly and superfluous to the Eagle, but he did not try to figure out the whys and wherefores of it. He was content to cherish and protect the one to whom he had given part of his own soul. He had seen what lay beyond the confines of that singular relationship.
And while he knew he was beyond the reach of the darker aspects, there was no reason to tempt fate.
Or the Force.
"General Skywalker, we've got Bertegad in sight."
At the sound of Zinger's voice, Anakin—still in the medical bay—looked at his chronometer. A feeling of gratitude and awe welled up inside him, almost—almost—bringing tears to his eyes.
That Three-Point . . .
He'd gotten them to Bertegad in just over one standard hour.
Anakin made a mental note, once again, of just how smart these men were with whom he was working; how clones bred for war had evolved over the short span of only a few years into some of the most fast-thinking, innovative problem-solvers he'd ever met; how Three-Point, the unassuming heavies pilot who eschewed the glamor of the fighter corps, had managed what just might be one of the most important space-travel feats of Anakin's life.
If Rex survived, it would be not only the most important, but the most meaningful.
"I'm on my way," Anakin replied. Then to Kix, "Give us five more minutes, Kix. You've beaten the odds so far. Five more minutes."
The sincerity and trust in his voice and manner were inspiring.
Kix's voice shook as he spoke. "I'll do what I can. I think—I think it's been you and the Eagle most of this time—"
"Wrong," Anakin replied. "It's been all of us. But without you, the rest of us wouldn't have made any difference." He turned and bounded down the corridor to the bridge, Cody and Echo right behind him.
Anakin and Cody stood behind the pilots' seats, while Echo took his place at the nav position.
"How are we on fuel?" Anakin asked, knowing that whatever Three-Point had done to shave off nearly an hour from their travel time, must have taken a toll on fuel consumption.
It was Zinger who answered. "Well, if we're reading her correctly, she's, uh . . . at zero. But—" he added quickly, "—she has two auxiliary tanks of 7,800 cBt."
"15.6 cBt to get something this size on the ground—in one piece?" Anakin sounded doubtful.
"No sweat, General," Three-Point replied, as the sweat actually beaded on his brow. "We're coasting in. She'll be a glider up until the moment of landing. Then we'll kick in with the retros and set her down right in the huge courtyard by the medical buildings."
"A four hundred ton glider?" Cody inquired.
"She handles like a champ," Three-Point said, reassuringly. "Either way, it will be a much better landing than the last time we were here."
"You might want to get everyone to strap in," Zinger suggested. "We'll be entering the atmosphere in about two minutes."
Maree emerged from the Taber into the burgeoning light of early morning. What had been timeless within Finirest had been several hours on Bertegad. The dark of night was giving way to the first rays of dawn. And a peculiar dawn it was, for the Easterlies had blown in – the rare meteorological phenomena that occurred less than once every century, when masses of pendulous, black clouds, reaching up to heights of greater than 20 kilometers, laden with the waters of months of gathering over the seas to the northeast, made their awe-inspiring appearance. They came rolling in with the eastern sunrise, making the sky darker than usual. Still a great distance off, they were already making their presence known, pushing along a steady breeze and flashing streaks of light across the distant sky.
Maree hoped that the pilgrims returning from Finirest would make the journey across the Sandheim safely. The storms would not arrive at the Monastica for another three or four days at least; but many of the pilgrims would be going right into it.
It might be prudent to send some of the brothers out with them to oversee a safe crossing. The pilgrim guides across the Sandheim were very experienced, but the Easterlies were an occurrence a person could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing. Yes, sending out some assistance was the proper thing to do.
She had started towards the cloister when she heard a sound . . . a sort of high-pitched humming sound, growing closer.
It was the sound of a ship.
The Eagle had been right!
She craned her head up just as a craft passed overhead, heading south. She caught only a glimpse of it as it steaked past. In that brief moment, she'd not been to tell if it had been a military vessel, Republic or Separatist. Not that she would have been able to distinguish between them either way. Her knowledge of warships was limited, and the smaller craft used by the respective militaries were so varied, she would have been hard-pressed to identify them as friend or foe.
But those were details she hardly needed, for she was certain this was what the Eagle had been speaking of. Double Barrel was on that ship. And if Double Barrel was here . . .
"Rex," she said under her breath. Her hope—nearly an expectation—was enough to swell her heart and send her at a quick clip towards the direction of the main gates.
The anticipation threatened to make her giddy, and she had forcefully remind herself that she did not know if this was, in fact, part of the Eagle's pronouncement. Was Double Barrel on board this ship? Was Rex on board? Or was this some other completely unrelated visit? Was it a visit? She could not see if the ship had set down; or if it had, where. If the clones had come, the question was why? Was there good news? Bad news?
She quickened her pace to a sort of intermittent jog until she came to the near side of the healing houses. Beyond the buildings' facades, she could see what looked like billows of steam or dust or a combination of both rising on the other side. The ship had landed in the courtyard.
Soon, she would have her answer.
Fels Au-Mikiel hardly knew what to expect.
What strange ship was this setting down in the middle of the courtyard? It seemed a brazen act, one to which the First Servant was not disposed to take kindly. From the office where he'd been going over the day's schedule, he'd seen the ship come roaring in, spewing columns of . . . flame or something like it . . . out ahead of it, in an attempt to slow down.
And once it had come to a hover, it then lowered with grace to a perfect landing.
Right in the center of the Healing Houses' courtyard.
So, while Mikiel's initial inclination was towards outrage, instead he gathered his composure, summoned several of the brothers to accompany him, and headed for the courtyard. There were already scores of brothers and sisters and lay people lingering on the fringes, looking at the steaming, hissing craft, but mindful of going near it.
Au-Mikiel was halfway across the courtyard when the ramp lowered. He slowed his party until he saw who was coming down the ramp.
He was amazed—and baffled—to see General Skywalker. And with him, Commander Cody.
Well, at least, there was no need to fear their visitors; although the manner of their landing still seemed a bit . . . inconsiderate.
Au-Mikiel grinned congenially, though upon seeing the two men's expressions, he knew immediately that this was not a courtesy visit.
"General Skywalker, Commander Cody, you are most welcome," he stated as they met halfway. "But I can see in your faces, something is wrong."
"Fels Au-Mikiel, we need your help," Anakin began. "Rex has been injured—badly. He's close to death. We had to bring him here. Your people are the only ones who can help him . . . if it's not too late already."
Mikiel's manner grew serious and grave. "Where is he? Take me to him."
Even before they started up the ramp, Kix was on his way down with the hover gurney bearing the captain. They met at the bottom.
If Au-Mikiel was disturbed by what he saw, he did a good job of remaining calm, even as his facial expression and tone of voice made it clear that he was horrified by what he was seeing.
"Get him inside immediately," he said to one of the brothers who had accompanied him. "Find Linus and Sinti. They will take charge. Kix, you go with them." To another, "Go find the Doma. She was going to the Taber. Tell her it is urgent."
He turned to Anakin and Cody. "What happened to him?"
"He was taken prisoner . . . and tortured," Anakin replied. "We've spent the last four weeks looking for him, and when we found him, he was . . . like you just saw."
"Who was he a prisoner of?"
"The Copians," Cody replied. "The same race that attacked your school and temple."
Mikiel absorbed this, then seeing the anxiousness in the faces regarding him—for more clones had emerged from the ship—he motioned for them to follow. "Come, I will take you where you can wait for word from the doctors. We will get you something to eat, as well."
His last order was to one of the sisters, to prepare rooms in the Ceba Tops. Rooms that might or might not be used. He had a feeling no one was going to want to leave the Healing Rooms.
"Doma Maree!"
Maree was about to pass through the Healing Rooms into the courtyard when she was met by a brother whose demeanor was so frantic, it instantly put her on her guard.
"Au-Esterne, what is it? I saw the ship. Is it an enemy?" Maree asked.
"Au-Mikiel sent me to find you. It is urgent," came the breathless reply. "The clones have come back. Their captain is injured—very badly."
There was a moment when everything seemed to stop. Her breath caught. A pain stabbed at her heart then faded. Everything faded. Could the brother's words be true? She could hear a pounding in her ears. They had come back here because . . . Rex was injured.
He was injured.
And it was urgent.
Au-Mikiel had said it was urgent.
The clarity returned.
"Where is he?"
"They took him inside—"
Maree darted past him and into the building and headed directly for the critical treatment rooms. She did not even notice clones in the adjacent waiting rooms as she sped past.
She did not stop until Au-Mikiel intercepted her right outside the treatment room.
"Doma—"
"Let me see him—"
"Doma, you must prepare yourself," the First Servant warned.
She swung her head and looked at him with as much self-containment as she could muster under the circumstances. "Prepare? Mikiel, I have seen hundreds of thousands of sick and injured over the course of my time as Doma."
"Yes," Mikiel replied quietly. "But none that you were in love with."
This made Maree take a step back. She felt her legs and hands shaking.
He was right.
"Esterne said he's hurt badly," she ventured, and even her voice was trembling.
Mikiel drew in a deep breath and nodded slowly. "It will be hard for you to see."
Maree held out her hands. Mikiel took them in both of his.
"Will you go with me?"
Mikiel was reminded of why he so respected this woman. While she was his superior within the Orders, and many hundreds of years older than him, possessed of gifts he would never be able to fully understand, much less achieve, he recognized that, in essence, she was as simple as the animal souls she loved and protected. She was not immune to the sentiments of the populations among which she had grown up and served. She was capable of falling in love and had done so. She was vulnerable to pain and sorrow and anguish. And that was upon her now.
She did not want to face it alone, and Au-Mikiel would honor her request.
"Of course, Doma."
They went inside together.
Yes, lots of mystical stuff: past, present, future, within time, outside of time. Being in many places at once. If you know anything about Catholic teachings, you'll recognize a number of these ideas (although these aren't precise versions).