Dear Reader, thank you first of all to my reviewers: Shadowlight17, LLTC, thaismarendaz, princess-rey-tano, Jessica Wolfe, Sued13, and Galaxy000. Such wonderful, thoughtful reviews! I am just overjoyed every time I read a new review, because they give me good feedback about what works and what doesn't. So, again, a sincere, heartfelt thanks! Onto this chapter: while there is no graphic depiction of torture in this chapter, there are references to the fact that torture did occur and that it was brutal. No injuries are described; just generalizations. Also, I have been holding off for a long time on Saber Squad's back-story and the Kix mystery. How Saber Squad came to be in the 501st. Instead of taking a big break to tell that story (as I did with the ARC arc), I am working it in as flashbacks, a little here, a little there. I know it's tough, because we all want to see what happens to Rex. We all want to see how Maree handles the situation. But I want to tell Saber Squad's story as well, and not as a separate story, but as part of this one. So, I hope you will enjoy the flashback in this chapter. And there will be more flashbacks in future chapters. For reference:

CT-5579: Jesse
CT-4441: Top
CT-2080: Hardcase
CT-6116: Kix
CT-2085-4: Pitch

Lastly, there are some intense emotional "sidebars" in this chapter and the very human dilemma of faith in the face of tragic circumstances. Still, I hope it will not be too upsetting. Regards, CS

Chapter 143 Faith and the Broken

"The light of truth burns without a flicker in the depths of a house that is shaken with storms of passion and fear."

Thomas Merton

The room was busy.

Filled with doctors and nurses and technicians.

There must have been a dozen of them, at least, attempting to attach and insert lines and tubes; adjusting the cold field; hooking up monitors.

But they all stopped when Maree entered the room.

It was a formality of tradition in deference to the Skrit-Na, but with no practical purpose, for the Doma could perform the Skrit-Na amidst the activities of the doctors.

"Please continue," Maree said softly. From her place just inside the doorway, she could not see Rex yet. He was hidden behind the wall of personnel and equipment. She made her way around the room to the other side of the treatment table, Mikiel never more than a step behind her.

She was not afraid to see him. Even Mikiel's warning had not dissuaded or put any reluctance in her heart. No, it was a peculiar sense of anxiousness mingled with foreboding that had accompanied her into the room. And now, as she caught her first glimpse of Rex, she knew Mikiel's warning had been well-warranted.

There was a moment—perhaps a long one—when everything seemed to slow down. The hustle of the medical personnel grew distant and silent. The machinery, the equipment faded into darkness, until all that remained was the man lying on the table, bathed in the reddish light of the cold field.

He was barely recognizable—a gaunt, disfigured shadow of the man Maree remembered. Yet, in her mind's eye, she saw the man who had danced with poise and elegance at the celebration of Finirest; who had run with child-like abandon through the wood with her; who tried to entice her into the water with him. She saw the unflappable stoic who, surprisingly, had gotten sick at the sight of the Losla birth. She saw the man who had kissed her—not as a sign of sexual desire but as a pledge of his love. And she saw the man who had made the promise. The promise to wait. To wait until after death, if that was the only option.

Her love for that man of her memories was now the love for the man lying before her.

She needed nothing more than to look at him to know that he had been tortured, very nearly destroyed. The injuries covering his body were not the result of some accident or the brutality of the battlefield. They were not the ravages of some illness. They were the signs of a systematic, calculated tearing down of every system, the overwhelming of every sense. The gallant captain who had needed nothing was now in the most desperate need. To see him like this was beyond painful, beyond sorrow. It was devastating. But now was not the time to give in to the anguish. If Rex was to fight for his life—if the doctors were to fight for his life—then grief had to be waylaid for the present.

"Who did this to him?" she asked, moving to stand beside the table.

"The same ones who attacked the school and the Taber. The Copians." This response, from au-Mikiel, dispelled the sense of isolation, brought the rest of the room and medical team back into sharp relief.

Kix added, "He was taken prisoner and tortured. We've been searching for him the last three weeks."

Maree looked up at the clone medic, registering his presence for the first time. For a fleeting moment, it occurred to her that the last time the clones were here, it had been Kix whose life had hung in the balance. Now, here he was, trying to save his captain's life.

"Has he been awake?"

"No," Kix replied. "He had a moment when he . . . he was . . . right when we first found him, he did speak, but just to say Commander Cody's name. That's been it."

Maree gave a minute nod. She drew a deep, calming breath then placed her hand on Rex's forehead.

The flood of discernment brought a small groan of pain from her lips: not physical pain, but the pain of sorrow as the atrocities that Rex had suffered made themselves known to her. It was as if the damage had no end; no part of his body had been spared. It was ghastly, barbaric . . . inhuman. How could he possibly have endured? What must have gone through his mind as they'd done whatever unspeakable things to him that had resulted in such injuries?

He should not be alive. He was holding on by a thread – or . . . it felt more as if something were holding onto him, refusing to let him go, as opposed to Rex himself fighting against death. With such injuries, he must have begged for death. No one could be that strong.

Yet, here he was, still alive, though barely.

But she could feel the life draining out of him. The thread was fraying. Whatever was sustaining him was not strong enough to defeat the deterioration that was running rampant through his body.

It was this deterioration that puzzled Maree. It was not a natural decline, even given the circumstances of Rex's condition.

"His injuries are . . . too many for me to even enumerate," she announced. "But . . . there's something else. There's something in him that isn't supposed to be there. It's . . . causing everything to break down on a cellular level." She raised her eyes to lock gazes with au-Linus. "The cold field will only delay the complete destruction of every cell in his body. It won't be able to keep up. As fast as it repairs one cell, twice as many are destroyed."

"What's doing it?" Linus asked. "Is it an implant? Some kind of device? A bio-chemical infusion?"

"I'm not sure," Maree replied. "There is no implant."

"An injection?"

"Perhaps."

At this point, Kix spoke up again. "When we found him, they had him in a sort of stasis field. When we freed him, he was stable at first. There was some minor deterioration, but as time passed, it grew more rapid until I knew he had only an hour left, if that. Somehow, he managed to stay alive until we got him here."

One of the other attending doctors announced, "We've got the results of the blood workup. He's got all kinds of contaminants in his blood, things we've never seen before. One of them could be what's causing him to hemorrhage."

Fels au-Sinti hinged on something Kix had mentioned. "You said he didn't start to get worse until after being removed from the stasis field and that a little bit of time had passed before you noticed him deteriorating. What if that field prevented whatever is inside him from activating? Or perhaps something was active within the field that kept him alive, and now that he's not in the field, it's no longer active."

"It's possible," Kix replied.

"Did you get any readings on that field?"

"A few, but Echo might have more information," Kix replied. "He was trying to deactivate the field."

"Brother Sinti-" Linus began.

"I'm on my way to talk to him right now," Sinti cut him off and headed for the waiting area.

Linus looked to Maree. "Do you feel anything else from him, Doma?"

She felt a great many things but not of a medical nature. She felt the desolation of an abandoned soul, and this was more terrifying than the injuries and steady decline of his physical condition. Whatever had been vibrant within the confines of Rex's being had grown dim, barely discernible. He had suffered more than just physical torment, more than mental mind games. His torturers had taken something from him that even Maree could not quite pinpoint. She discerned a hopeless emptiness, as if he had given everything away.

"He's . . . he's not fighting." She chose her words carefully. "He's alone. He's not trying to come back."

"From what we've seen so far, that doesn't surprise me," Linus replied. "I hate to think of what he went through. But if we can keep him alive until we can do surgery and let the cold field repair the rest of the damage, we can make it like these injuries never happened."

Maree looked at Linus, and her eyes conveyed the depth of her sadness. She still had her hand on Rex's forehead. "But we can't change what's in here. We can't erase the memories. The wounds he carries inside . . . no medicine can heal those. That has to come from within him." A pause as she sought to maintain her composure. "And right now . . . it isn't there."

"It must be there," Kix protested forcefully. "I know the captain. He wouldn't still be alive if he didn't have the will to live. He wouldn't have made it through all that just to . . . just to die after we found him. The captain would never give up. Never."

Maree was struck with Kix's demeanor; not because it was defiant or contrary, but rather because she was used to him as a patient. For the majority of the clones' stay at the Monastica, Kix had lain in critical condition in the healing rooms, unconscious and unresponsive. It was only at Finirest—and at Maree's audacious request of Me'Ente Loge—that he had at last come to his senses. Even by the time the clones had left, he had still been weak and bed-bound, his squad mates hovering around him like a protective cloud. Now, here he was, healthy, strong and in his element. Maree would never have imagined he could be this assertive, despite having noticed the commonalities of the clones' template—confidence being one of the most prominent.

"You may be right, Kix," she replied gently. "I pray that you are. I can only tell you what I sense through the Skrit-Na. But you—you and your brothers—you all know him better than I do. And if you say he would never give up, then there's hope. "

At that moment, au-Sinti entered with Echo.

"Brother Linus," au-Sinti began, "Echo may be able to help us."

Echo picked up from there. "I have cybernetic implants that allow me to interface with different information systems. When I was trying to deactivate the stasis field, I plugged into the console but I couldn't find a way to turn it off. But, there still might be information we can use to generate a stasis field here."

Linus felt his hopes go up. "Can you plug into our medical system?"

"I don't think I have an adaptor for that," Echo replied. "But we can use Endeavor's computer systems to see what I've got in here and go from there."

"Brother Sinti, go with him," Linus said. "Josat, Cepha,you go as well. "

As the three doctors left the room with Echo, Maree turned to Mikiel. "We need the people to pray. Please—" Her voice caught for a moment. "Go tell the people to pray."

"I have already given word. I did that the moment I saw what had happened."

"Then please, bring au-Ogusta. The soldiers know him. He can look after their needs," she went on.

Before leaving, Mikiel prompted gently, "They will want to know his condition."

"Tell them I will come out shortly," she replied. The truth was she was loathe to leave Rex, for fear that he might take his last breath in her absence. Now that the tasks had been assigned and everyone was moving, she took the opportunity to look upon Rex with the gaze—not of the Doma, not of the possessor of the Skrit-Na—but of the woman who loved him.

If she had not loved him, it might have been too difficult a task.

To Maree, this was one of the most incomprehensible things she had ever seen. Why would they have afflicted such atrocities on him? Surely, the ability to extract information had shrunk to nothing against a prisoner who could not even manage consciousness. No, this was the work of zealots, of beings whose sole joy in life lay in orchestrating and then voyeuring the suffering of others. Rex had told her as much the first time the Copians had shown up. Back then, knowing what they were capable of, the captain had been ready to throw himself into their hands if it had meant he could deter Maree from freeing the souls to fight the battle. That situation had turned on a skilled – and somewhat lucky—shot from Double Barrel. Rex had come away unharmed.

But not this time. Somehow, the Copians had gotten their hands on him; and what they had been deprived of two years ago, they had now made good on.

It was brutal. It was grotesque. And Maree was fearful of delving too deep. Even the most superficial application of the Skrit-Na had told her more than she wanted to know, more than she could bear to know. And yet, she was filled with shame; for she knew Rex had borne such wounds, such torment in his body. Was she so unwilling to fathom the depths of what the enemy had done to him? Did the truth frighten her that much? If she was to be there for him, did she not need to know the extent of the depravity?

"Let the doctors do their work first," she said silently. "If they can save him, that is when he will need my help. The full truth can wait until then."

"Doma, we must try to get a breathing tube in." This interruption came from one of the brothers. "If you please . . . "

"Of course," Maree conceded, but before moving out of the way, she leaned over and placed a soft kiss against the parched, cracked lips. "I'll be waiting."

Straightening up, she decided it was time to face the others.

She walked out into the waiting area.

Cody was the first to greet her. She held out her hands, which the commander took in his own. The rest of the room gathered round, General Skywalker at Cody's side.

Maree wasted no energy on finesse. "He has little chance of surviving," she announced, her voice low and filled with tightly controlled grief. "Even the cold field—he is . . . breaking down faster than the cold field can repair him. Right now, it can only postpone the inevitable. Unless Echo and the doctors can figure out how to replicate the field that held him on Copia, he will not survive."

"Is there nothing your people can do?" Cody implored, calm and measured.

"We are doing all we can," Maree replied. "There is something inside him that is destroying his body at the cellular level. We have to find a way to stop it. They're looking for a way to do that even as we speak; but the best chance for success is to duplicate the stasis field from Copia."

The commander felt the trembling of her hands in his. He studied her eyes, and he knew right then that everything Rex had told him had been true.

She loved him. She absolutely loved him without qualification.

The dignity and grace with which she was comporting herself at the moment was nothing short of astounding. But Cody could feel it within her. A quiver, in the way of a dam holding back too much water. Was she doing it for them, so they wouldn't succumb to the sadness and disbelief? Was she doing for Rex, thinking that such a show of stoicism was what he would have wanted? Or perhaps she was doing it to dispel any suspicions of her feelings for Rex?

But the longer Cody held her unblinking gaze, he recognized that her show of strength was for herself, the bolstering of her own bulwarks against the encroaching devastation.

"How are you doing?" Cody asked in a voice well-practiced in decorum. He had learned the art of earnestness from General Kenobi.

"This was not how I wanted our reunion to be," came the grave reply. "I never gave up hope that you might all return someday. Maybe not all of you, but at least some of you. A few. One . . . or two." She lowered her eyes.

Cody craned his head to regain eye contact. "One."

She gave a single, rushed nod. "One." She leaned forward into the commander's embrace, but only for a moment before drawing back. And with tear-glistened eyes, she drew in a shallow breath, composure regained, if somewhat frayed. "Tell me how this happened? How did he come to be in this state? How was he taken prisoner?" She actually sounded angry, but every man present recognized it a cover for what she was really feeling. The same thing they were all feeling: that it was too late. There was nothing to be done. It was only a matter of time. One of the best people they knew – perhaps the best—was eye-to-eye with death and likely about to take the walk together.

It was at this point that Anakin came forward. "This happened because of me."

All eyes were upon him. Maree and the clones were puzzled by his statement.

"How can this be your fault?" Maree asked.

"I never learned to worry about him."

It was a blunt, straightforward statement . . . that raised more questions than it answered.

No one said a word, and this was indication to Anakin that he should go on. He needed to go on.

"When you have a first-in-command like Rex, he's always one step ahead of you," he began. "He's out there, planning and plotting. He's fearless and he's smart. Daring. You don't worry about someone like that. He came through every time. He never let me down. Whenever he got injured, he bounced right back. He would seem even stronger and bolder when he returned. You get to the point when you take for granted that nothing will ever happen to him. After Saluecemi, you would think I'd be more cautious, or that I'd realize that he wasn't indestructible." He shook his head in self-recrimination. "I didn't. Not for a split-second. He went full steam-ahead, and I encouraged it. I never worried about him. It didn't matter how dangerous the mission. I never worried about him. This is the result."

"General . . . " Jesse straightened up. "We . . . we think there's more to it than that." He glanced at Top, who was sending some kind of unspoken warning that now was not the time.

But at that moment, the door to the treatment room opened and Kix stuck his head out. "Echo is back with au-Sinti and the others. They're trying to adjust the cold field to make it like the Copian stasis field. Pitch, get in here. There are some highly toxic elements involved—"

Pitch balked. "I don't know anything about toxic elements. I blow up osik—"

"And a lot of the explosives you use have other states of matter—and different uses according to state. Stop fekking arguing with me and get in here. We don't have much time," Kix demanded.

Pitch gave a quick glance at Jesse, as if for support, for he did not need permission. Jesse nodded. And in Pitch went.

As soon as the door closed again, Anakin turned to Jesse. It was clear he had not forgotten Jesse's last statement. "Go on with what you were saying."

Jesse hesitated a moment and was about to open his mouth when Top stepped in. "It can wait, Sir. It's more important that we all stay focused on the captain."

"What good will our focus do?" Jesse asked in a short manner that gave the briefest glimpse of how the situation was affecting him. To the rest of the clones present, it was very reminiscent of the Jesse of Umbara.

At this point, Sempe spoke up quietly. "It's another way of referring to prayer. And the people here would say it makes a big difference."

Anakin could feel the tension, just as he had felt the despondency in Endeavor's sick bay. Whatever it was Jesse and Top wanted to tell him, he believed Top was right and that their thoughts at this point should not be distracted but rather centered on Rex.

"We'll wait until later," he decided. "I think we all have enough on our minds right now."

Maree now felt an overpowering need to be back in the treatment room as they tried to replicate the stasis field.

"I must go back inside. But the . . . Seiba Tops are prepared for you, if you wish to rest. We can also have something brought here for you to eat." Her attempts at hospitality were forced, but no one could be critical of it. "I imagine you will all want to stay here in the waiting room until—until there is something more—" She was having trouble finding her words. "More definitive."

Au-Ogusta had arrived with Mikiel. At this point, he spoke up. "Doma, go. I will attend to them."

Maree scanned the faces looking back at her. The same face yet so different from man to man. She recognized many from the previous visit; other were new. It was the first time she noticed a woman with them, but that fact barely registered at the moment.

"Whether you believe in prayer or not, Sempe is correct," she stated. "We do believe it can make all the difference in the universe. I—I would ask you pray now."

She turned to go back inside, then Anakin's voice stopped her.

"Doma Maree."

She knew what he was going to say even before he spoke, but hearing the words aloud drove a cold shiver down her spine.

"You will come get us if he—if he—"

"I know you will want to see him before he dies," she replied without looking back. "If they can't stop the deterioration, I will make sure . . . he is surrounded by friends."

With that, she went back into the treatment room.

A long silence ensued. No one knew what to say. No one felt like speaking. All they could do now was wait.

Pitch watched every move the Austenien doctors and technicians made. He was amazed at their speed, their acumen, the way they remained perfectly calm and collected under pressure.

It was given to him to monitor the stability of the highly toxic liquids and gases with which the Brothers were working in their effort to duplicate the stasis field. So while he kept one eye on the meter readings, his other was trained on the actions of the Austeniens, to make sure that one small mistake did not result in a situation in which more people than Rex would die.

Beside him, Kix was carefully watching the effects of the Austeniens' actions on the test cold field they were using, in relation to simulated vital sign readings of a human being.

So far, it was looking promising. The technology was something neither Kix nor Pitch were particularly familiar with, but the speed at which they were absorbing what they were seeing gave them both a sense of confidence.

It had been a long time since they had worked together like this.

A long time.

Cadet trainees on Kamino.

Back then, they had had to work together to solve problems, even as their disparate specialties were being developed at the same time.

Jesse, Top and Hardcase –they had been trained as straight-up infantrymen from day one. Weaponry and tactics were their areas of expertise. Pitch and Kix, though, in addition to learning the basics of being in the infantry, also had been assigned areas of specialization that entailed training that did not include their squad mates. Kix, the medical field. Pitch, ordnance and demolitions.

Two areas of expertise that couldn't be further apart.

Yet, during those formative years on Kamino, before active duty made full use of their specializations, Kix and Pitch had spent countless hours with their squad mates, pouring over whatever problems the cadre threw at them. They had worked side-by-side in those days to solve a common puzzle.

For Pitch, listening to Kix calling out changes in mock vital signs, the sense of togetherness, even under these dire circumstances, brought back memories. Good memories.

And bad.

But then, it was impossible to have one without the other.

"Oooh, that's—you'd better be careful."

"I think that's too much."

"You're going to blow us all to smithereens."

"If you all keep distracting me, yes, that's exactly what will happen." CT-2085-4 was used to the ribbing from his squad mates. They seemed to actually enjoy pushing him to the limit. Clearly, they trusted the controlled environment of the lab to provide enough safeguards that they could afford to have some fun at their brother's expense. "And you know this is supposed to be a group effort. I already know most of this stuff. You guys are the ones who should be doing most of this work."

"Hey, we're all doing our part," CT-4441 insisted. "But this is the important part, and if we screw it up, we'll have to repeat the whole module."

"So, we're trusting our success to your skill." This came from CT-5597 the only one of Saber Squad to have a name. He went by Jesse, a moniker bestowed by his squad mates perhaps a year earlier, when his propensity to take charge likened him to the term jensee, lapine for a domineering leader. It was funny, because Jesse was not at all overbearing. Still, he did possess a certain low-key charisma and certainty in his manner that made it easy for the others to defer to him.

"Oh, no pressure there, thanks, Jess," CT-2085-4 smirked, never looking away from their experiment.

At the biological age of eight, the clones' developmental age was sixteen: the age at which they began learning the finer aspects of rigging explosives and other dangerous chemical processes. Certain clones were already specializing in that area—2085-4 was one of them—but all clones were expected to have a rudimentary understanding and capability.

And that was the subject of today's lab exercise.

"Don't look now, but Roder is on his way over." This from another member of Saber Squad, CT-2080.

"Everyone look busy," CT-4441 said in a hurried, low voice.

"You're supposed to be busy!" 2085-4 snapped. "You're supposed to be helping."

"Here he comes, here he comes."

Burrek Roder was a Cortairsin-humanoid, very serious-minded, and a master chemist.

As he approached Saber Squad's lab table, he was not surprised to see that four of them were mostly observing and heckling the actions of their fifth. It had been this way through the entire module. Yes, they all helped, but they left the heavy lifting to the member with the most training.

"Sik-sik . . . Saber Squad up to its usual tricks?" The Cortairsin stood just beyond the circle of cadets, watching their actions.

"No tricks, Professor," Jesse replied. "We're just making sure 2085-4 doesn't make any mistakes. You know how careless he can be."

Roder allowed a faint but real smile to turn one corner of his mouth for a split-second.

"He is the only one of you who is not careless," came the reply. "The only one I would trust unsupervised with these chemicals."

"Well, it is going to be his specialty," 4441 noted. "He should be good at it."

"And you, Forty-Four Forty-One," Roder replied with distinct pronunciation, "What are you supposed to be good at?"

"Leadership," 4441 grinned.

"Sik-sik. Leadership, indeed. The thought of you leading men into battle is almost as frightening as the idea of handing a weapon to CT-2080." The tone of Roder's voice made it clear that he was taking a non-malicious shot at them. The truth was, he liked Saber Squad. They stood together, fully intertwined to the point where, even as five very distinct individuals, they operated as one like-minded unit. They were protective of each other, attuned to what each one was feeling – physically and mentally. They could read each other's emotions and knew how to act accordingly.

There was no contention in the squad.

But that didn't mean they were trouble-free.

There was no such thing as a trouble-free squad.

Saber Squad's problem was in their drive to be outperform every other squad. They had to be the best, and pity the squads that got in their way. Still, despite their cut-throat tactics, they were well-liked, owing mainly to the fact that they were, at their cores, five kind-hearted souls who were amiable and good-humored beneath the win-at-all-costs demeanors.

CT-2080 took the jibe in stride. "Not just any weapon," he said with devious grin. "I want the big guns."

"Now, that is scary." This came from the fifth member of the squad. CT-6116 was quieter than his squad mates, which was not saying much. But he was thoughtful and sensitive. Too sensitive some times. He was in the medic training path, and in the same way that 2085-4 excelled in ordnance, 6116 topped the class of medic trainees in his cycle. Yet, there were times when he came back from his medical training appearing subdued, even despondent. His squad mates did not pester him about it. They imagined that learning how to deal with battlefield injuries involved a lot of unpleasant simulations.

"Careful, 6116," 2080 warned. "I just might decide to show you something really scary."

"Wow, this conversation deteriorated quickly," Jesse noted.

"That's cause you have a perverted mind," 2080 shot back.

Roder listened to this exchange and was reminded yet again that these were teenaged boys. Everything about their growth and learning was highly regulated; but some things even the rigors of Kamino could not excise. Among them, the propensity for teenaged boys to compete relentessly, form unbreakable bonds, and show their affection through insults and bravado.

"Boys, let me advise you to focus your attention on your experiment. You have less than fifteen minutes to complete this assignment. The boasting and childish threats can wait until you are back in the barracks."

"Yes, Professor," they replied in unison. And no sooner had Roder left than they resumed their heckling.

"I'm telling you, you're adding too much xanthan."

"Lower the heat. It's going to evaporate."

"If it doesn't explode first—"

"Would you all shut up?! You're distracting—oh, fek. Fek!" 2085-4 took a step back from the table as the contents of the vial began to bubble. "Look what you all made me do! Get down!" He raised his voice in warning for the entire room to hear. "Get down, everyone! Take cover!"

He saw 4441 getting under the table, reached down and grabbed his arm. "Not under the table—let's go!" They ran a few meters and dove under the next closest table, just as the experiment exploded.

When the smoke cleared, the table that had housed the experiment stood with a large hole, blackened around the edges. The floor beneath was charred.

"Fek and all . . . " 4441 said under his breath.

"Is everyone alright?" Roder shouted.

Within seconds, as it became clear no one was injured, 2085-4 heard CT-2080 erupt into laughter.

"Fekking incredible!" he boomed. He approached 2085-4 and slapped him on the shoulder. "You never cease to amaze me! Fekking incredible!"

"CT-2080, language, please." Roder had come to the remains of the table. After a brief examination, he turned his languid gaze to rest on 2085-4. He did not appear in the least bit upset. "What happened here, Cadet?"

"I got distracted, Professor," came the blunt answer, spoken with clear meaning.

His fellow members of Saber Squad averted their eyes, studied the results of the explosion, inquired after their fellow trainees. Anything to promote the appearance of innocence, when everyone—especially Roder—knew they were guilty as hell.

"Obviously," Roder stated. "And hardly surprising. But what I want to know is, what did you do wrong to cause this reaction?"

"I . . . I, uh . . . "

"Look at the edges of the hole here. What do you see?"

2085-4 took a closer look. "They're completely charred."

"Yes. And?"

"And?" 2085-4 was at a loss. He knew Roder was trying to teach him something, but he couldn't see it.

"Do you see the flakes around the edge?"

"Yes."

"There is no further degradation."

"No, there isn't."

"Is the surface hot?:

2085-4 put his hand close to the burn area and felt no heat. "No."

"And the residue?" Roder wet one finger, picked up a minute amount, and touched his tongue to it. 2085-4 copied his action.

"Do you know the taste?" Roder asked.

2085-4 was uncertain. He prepared to get another finger-tip, but Roder stopped him.

"Too much. It will make you sick. Nothing lethal, but it would make you sick for several days. Tell me if you know the taste."

2085-4 considered. "I want to say canathium, but that wasn't a component."

"And if I tell you, you are correct, and it is canathium?"

By now, all the other trainees had gathered round and were listening.

"Then that would mean I . . . didn't add enough xanthan before pouring in the reactor liquid."

Roder smiled. It was genuine pride. This boy was brilliant. He was already well on his way to mastering the toxic substances and explosive components used in modern weaponry. He wouldn't be just another trooper defusing and detonating bombs. He was the type who would invent his own versions of weapons to suit the situation.

"Precisely." Roder clasped his shoulder. "Good job, my boy. The little accident was well worth the learning experience." He added with a wink, "Since no one got killed."

The four other members of Saber Squad puffed up and let their chests swell with vicarious pride. After all the back-slapping had concluded, it was now left to Saber Squad to clean up the mess.

Labs had been the last course of the day before dinner, and at the rate they were going, they would miss the meal altogether.

"We're going to go to bed with no food," 2080 groused with light humor. "Dash 4, this is all your fault."

"A minute ago, you were all congratulating me—"

"Don't pay any attention to 2080," Jesse said dismissively. "He's just jealous. And if we hurry, we'll still get to the dining hall in time."

"They're open all day and all night," Kix pointed out. "What are you all worried about?"

"Yeah, but by the time we get there, all that'll be left are nutrient bars and . . . swill," 2080 persisted. "Who can eat that osik?"

"Language, 2080," 4441 quipped.

"You want some language? I'll give you something to listen to," 2080 shot back gamely. He was clearly looking for a confrontation in fun. With that, he let loose with a stream of such foulness that it actually caused more than one of his brothers to blush.

"Heh, heh. I've been around longer than any of you, but even I haven't heard some of those . . . terms."

The five boys did not need to see who had spoken the words. They knew the voice.

"Ninety-Nine!" They raced across the room—actually raced—to see who would get to him first. Sliding and vaulting over tables, cutting around corners at break-neck speed.

"Ah, my five pistons," Ninety-Nine greeted them with a warped smile. He let them hug him, fawn over him . . . treat him almost as if he were their father. At length, he asked, "I take it this is your work?"

"Dash 4's," 2080 piped up. "It was great! You should have seen it! He blew a hole in the table, and there was smoke and dust all over the place!"

"And now you have to clean it up."

Jesse nodded. "Screw the mix; make the fix."

Ninety-Nine chuckled. "You'll put me out of a job."

"Neh, we deserve to clean this up ourselves," 4441 admitted. "We were badgering 2085-4, and he got a little confused. It was our fault. It's our mess to clean up."

"You boys will have plenty of messes to clean up in the future," Ninety-Nine replied. "Much bigger messes. Much more important messes. Leave this one to me. You go get dinner before all that's left are the dregs."

The cadets looked at each other. To a man, they were in unspoken agreement.

"We'll stay." It was 6116 who gave their decision. "We'll stay and help you. And then we can all go eat together, even if it's only dregs." A pause. "The big messes will be there when we're on active duty. But once we get our assignments, we won't get to see you again."

"That's still a couple years off," Ninety-Nine reminded them.

"Well then, we'll use this as practice for those big messes," 6116 gave a small, earnest grin.

2085-4 turned his gaze towards 6116 and envied him his eloquence, his ability to speak such heartfelt sentiments without sounding forced or insincere. 6116 might not say a lot, but when he did speak, it was always worth listening to.

It would have surprised 2085-4 to learn that 6116 returned his admiration, held him to be of even greater account than he held himself. It wasn't any kind of false humility. That did not exist between the squad mates. It was an honest belief of 6116, that 2085-4 was the even keel, the balance, the ultimate professional.

And as the future would prove, a savior on more than one occasion.

"That's it! That's it! We've got it!" Echo called out excitedly from his station where he was watching for the readings on the cold field to align with those of the Copian stasis field.

"Yes . . . it looks that way," au-Sinti cautiously concurred. "But we have to be able to keep it stable."

A few seconds later, one of the technicians shook his head. "It keeps fluctuating."

Adjustment after adjustment followed. Each time, they were able to attain the proper field configuration, but within seconds, it would be to waver.

"Why can't we get this?" Sinti grimaced.

"The molecular rotation rate just won't stabilize," Echo replied, sounding frustrated and flustered.

"We're going to lose him if we don't get the answer soon," Kix stated unnecessarily.

Or perhaps it was necessary.

Pitch, whose naturally reticent nature had prevented him from doing anything other than the monitoring with which he'd been assigned, now noticed something in the pattern of the fluctuations.

"Echo, you suggested they replace PAR-2 with Schenoid, since there is no PAR-2 available," he noted. "But Schenoid has a much higher electron vibration in its gaseous state. Leaving the magnetic field at .2 Gauss allows the electrons to break free once the resonance gets too high. That's how we make Phynol bombs—"

"We're not about to blow all of us up, are we?" Kix asked.

"No, no, you need Phynol to do that," Pitch replied. "What I'm saying is that you need to increase the number of Gauss – probably to over 2.0."

"Increase the magnetic field to 2.0," Sinti instructed.

Seconds passed in silence as everyone watched the instruments.

At last, Echo announced, "No fluctuation. None."

Au-Sinti nodded. "Looks good here, too. Tell Linus to bring him in here." He then turned his attention to Pitch. "Well done, my friend. You've just given us a better chance to save his life."

Pitch acknowledged with a subtle nod. He knew there had not been much chance to begin with, so anything that increased his captain's chance of survival was greeted with a guarded hope. He could risk no more emotional vulnerability. None of them could. For whether Rex lived or died, the rest of them would need to have the courage and strength to be there for each other. There could be no caving in to the turmoil of feelings.

Maree stood near the wall, watching Linus and the medical team doing what they could to prolong Rex's life in the hopes that the cold field could be turned into the Copian stasis field. She had stayed out of the way as the doctors and nurses did their work. She had fought off the burning desire to touch him, to feel some kind of connection with him. She had the agonizing feeling that she was looking upon him for the last time – the last time in this world.

They had brought him here in hopes of saving him.

Yet, Maree had to face the very real likelihood that he would die here, before her own eyes. For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed her mind that it might have been better had he died in the field without her knowing. She imagined that as the years passed and he did not return to Bertegad, she would have reconciled herself with the fact that he had died somewhere far away from this place, most likely in battle. She would then have to content herself with waiting to meet him again in Finirest. Surely, that would have been preferable to the present situation.

But the idea was pushed aside almost before it began. Fear of what she was now facing was no reason to give in to cowardice and self-indulgence. Loving him meant being there with him in the worst of times, no matter how painful and frightening the situation might be.

But when the door opened and one of the cold field technicians entered with an urgent air, Maree hoped at least some good news was in the offing.

"They did it," the tech announced. "The cold field is working. Bring him in."

She watched as the team moved, and within seconds, they had Rex on a gurney and were wheeling him into the next room. Shortly after that, they had him installed in the cold field, now functioning as a stasis field.

And after less than two minutes of monitoring, au-Sinti announced, "Deterioration is slowing."

Linus nodded. "This is good . . . good." He looked over a number of readings on the panel. "Definitely slowing down with the cellular destruction. But we can't wait any longer. We have to start repairing as much of the damage as we can. The cold field won't be able to do it all on its own, not with the degree to which he's been injured."

"And the stasis field has very little of the cold field capabilities remaining," Sinti explained. "In order to get it to stop the deterioration, we had to change its basic function. Rather than repairing molecular breakdown, it has been reprogrammed to stop molecular destruction. It's still repairing, but at one one-hundredth of its regular ability."

"For now, then, we'll have to stop the bleeding the old-fashioned way," Linus announced. "Let's get in there."

Maree spoke tentatively. "Will you be able to save him?"

Au-Linus met her gaze, saw the tightly controlled fear in her eyes. He wished he could give her something positive, but he would not lie to her.

"He has more of a chance now," he replied. "But . . . I would still say his chance of surviving is slim. Less than ten percent. Had they not figured out the stasis field, he would have already died." He paused and despite the urgency of the moment, he took a few seconds to walk over and put his hands on her shoulders. "He will live or die by the will of the Creator, Doma. But right now, what he needs more than our skills are the prayers of the people. You must lead them, Doma."

"I cannot leave his side," Maree resisted. "If he is to die, then I want to be with him." No sooner had she spoken the words than she realized what she had done. She was saying he was as good as dead. She had already given up on him. But even more, she had insulted the Creator by not even considering that He would intervene to help Rex. When she recalled Me'Ente Loge's intercession on Kix's part—and knowing from whom Me'Ente Loge's power and authority proceeded—she felt a stab of shame at her doubt. "Forgive me, Linus. Forgive me. I should not have discounted the Creator's dominion and the power of prayer. I will go and lead the people." She turned her gaze once more to Rex lying on the table. This might be the last time she would see him alive. "I will be in the Taber. You will send someone if . . . necessary."

"Of course, Doma."

With that, Maree went back out into the waiting room.

Before even allowing the others time to ask any questions, she announced, "We are going to the Taber. I must lead the people in prayer. And you will all pray with us."

For a moment, there was dead silence.

Then Anakin spoke. "Yes, we will." He knew that if he agreed to it, the others would go along.

Like the others, he did not want to leave the waiting room. He wanted to be as near to Rex as possible. But looking at Doma Maree, hearing the tone in her voice, he had the sense that what she was proposing would be of more use than merely sitting here, waiting. He didn't care who believed in prayer or who didn't or who they prayed to. It only mattered who they prayed for.

As Maree led them out into the botanical garden that separated the healing rooms from the Taber, past the many small chapels already filled with people, Cody sidled up to General Skywalker.

"I think Pitch is the only one who knows how to pray, Sir," he pointed out.

"They don't need instruction," Anakin replied. "They know what they want. All they have to do is ask for it. Besides, the Doma said she is going to lead the prayers. All we have to do is follow."

"And hope that whatever deity she believes in has the power to do what we're asking," he added in the silence of his own thoughts.

They approached the Taber, and those who had been on Bertegad before were astounded. The last time they had seen the great structure, it had been partly in ruins following the Copian attach. Now, it was rebuilt to its former magnificence. Entering inside, they found it already filled with people in the act of praying.

Maree walked towards the dais, the creatures in the floor coming to life beneath her feet. In a way she could not explain, their response to her presence was a comfort. The people gathered in the pews were beloved, but they could not bring her the same joy and peace that came from the souls. She was tempted to enter the souls' realm even now, but that was not what the moment required. The souls already knew that their mere existence was prayer. Maree's role now was in the world outside of Finirest, for while the people needed no one to guide them in this sort of prayer, the truth was that Maree was the one who needed to take the lead. She had to do more than say just her own private prayers. She had to be of greater use. It was her role, but it was also what her heart demanded.

About halfway down the aisle, she caught sight of Fels au-Raphe. She turned to Anakin.

"I believe you already know Fels au-Raphe," she said quietly.

"Yes," Anakin replied.

Maree looked to au-Raphe. "Please find them a place to sit. Stay with them. Their prayers are more important than any of ours," Maree instructed.

"Yes, Doma."

She turned her attention once more to Anakin. "It will be the power of faith in the Creator from here forward. Faith in whatever He decrees." A pause. "For good or bad."