Dear Reader, at last another chapter! Thanks for your patience. Also thank you to reviewers of my previous chapter, LLTC, Shy Grey, Thaismarendaz, and Guest. I hope you enjoy reading! Cheers, CS
Chapter 147 Holding On and Making It Through
"The value of life does not depend upon the place we occupy. It depends on how we occupy that place."
Saint Therese of Lisieux
He was not well-liked at the moment. It might even be true to say he was hated.
But he'd done what he'd had to do.
Cody had never concerned himself with having to make unpopular decisions in the past. His troopers were well-conditioned to obey orders, and his word alone had always been sufficient. But this time he'd had to intertwine orders with the power of persuasion.
And the men had not been happy.
But as evening darkened the skies on the second day of their arrival at the Monastica, the commander had decided it was now time for the men to leave the healing rooms and get some rest. Having over a dozen exhausted, miserable troopers milling about in a medical facility was not the optimal situation, especially when the mental anguish was starting to take a toll.
He was convinced he was doing the right thing, and so with Fels au-Augusta to accompany them, he led the men, minus General Skywalker, to the Seba Tops. There had been push-back, but Cody had expected that. None of them had wanted to leave. Only the commander's assurance that they could come back three at a time after an initial eight hour stand down made the order tolerable. They would still be together in the Seba Tops to draw strength from each other, but being in such peaceful surroundings, they might just be convinced to get some sleep and come back with clearer minds.
Not only that, but Cody wanted a chance to talk to General Sywalker alone. There were questions to which he needed answers. And so, as soon as he felt the others were settled in, he set off back towards the healing rooms, pondering how he was going to approach the general with his concerns.
He had not gone far when he heard a voice behind him.
"Commander!"
Turning, he saw Jesse and Top approaching him.
"What is it?"
"May we have a moment?" Jesse asked.
Cody nodded, hoping they were not going to ask for an exemption to his stand down order. "Go on."
"We have some thoughts on why this whole thing happened," Jesse put forth. "We didn't want to say anything to General Skywalker because he's already under enough stress. What we have to say would only add to that."
Cody suddenly wondered if their suspicions might not be the same as his own.
"Let's hear it."
"We all saw what happened on Copia," Jesse began tentatively. "General Skywalker's rage . . . he caused the deaths of all those Copians, and we don't know how far his destruction reached."
"And?"
Top took over. "And what if that was part of Dooku's plan? What if the whole point of doing this to Rex was to get to General Skywalker? To make him angry enough that he would turn to the dark side—"
"General Skywalker has not turned to the dark side," Cody chastised. "Careful what you say, Captain."
"We're not saying he has turned to the dark side, Commander," Top pushed back. "But a Jedi would never use the Force to kill hundreds—maybe thousands or millions—of people. Only the Sith would do that. What if Count Dooku is trying to turn General Skywalker to the dark side, and he used Rex to stoke the general's rage."
Cody drew in a deep breath. These thoughts were almost an exact mirror of his own.
"I'll admit, the same thought had occurred to me," Cody conceded. "Even though the Jedi aren't supposed to have attachments, I think it's been pretty clear that General Skywalker has a strong attachment to Rex. And if we clones recognized that, there's every reason to believe Dooku recognized it as well."
"So, what do we do?" Jesse asked. "Do we tell General Skywalker about our suspicions?"
Cody was firm. "We do nothing. I'll talk to General Skywalker—alone. I do think he needs to be aware of the possibility that this was all orchestrated for the very purpose we just mentioned." A pause. "But it will be devastating news for him, and it needs to be approached carefully. Do the rest of the men believe the same thing?"
"I don't know, Commander," Jesse replied. "We haven't spoken with them about it."
"But we do know that all those dead Copians are the dark shadow that everyone wants to talk about but everyone is afraid to," Top added. "No one wants to be accused of doubting General Skywalker."
"Do you doubt him?" Cody asked.
"No," both men replied in unison, then Top added, "But to question what happened back there might appear to be questioning General Skywalker, and none of the men wants that. Their loyalty forbids them from asking. They've followed General Skywalker all this way. And . . . to be honest, I don't think what happened really bothers them that much. None of us has any sympathy for the Copians. It's just the shock of discovering how powerful the general really is."
Cody nodded slowly. "Yeah . . . that came as a surprise to all of us." He looked at them with an expression that told them the conversation was over and that they were to hold their peace. "You two stay here, start working on putting together a rotation to come over to the healing rooms, and then get some rest yourselves."
"Yes, Commander."
Once more Cody turned to leave, but this time he'd gone perhaps fifty meters when he saw four figures approaching from the direction in which he was heading. Right away, he recognized Dogma, Denal and Major Swin. The fourth was a Vervien sister – an escort.
They met on the path.
"Well, I'm glad to see they found you, Major," Cody stated, his voice clearly indicating a meaning beneath the surface of the words.
"She was in the gardens right behind the healing rooms, Sir," Dogma reported. "When we returned to the waiting room, Doma Maree told us where everyone had gone and sent Sister Kiaya to show us."
Cody turned to Sister Kiaya. "Thank you, Sister. I'll take it from here."
Once Kiaya had moved off, Cody dismissed Denal and Dogma. "Those buildings there are our lodging. Fels Augusta is still there, helping everyone settle in. He can assign you quarters."
"Yes, Commander." The two clones headed towards the Seba Tops.
Cody was direct. "Major, you are not to go about unaccompanied while we're here. Is that clear?"
"And why is that, Commander?"
"You already know why. And if you want to test me right now, I'd advised against it," Cody said with a graveness in his voice that was genuinely intimidating.
Major Swin scowled. "I can't make you trust me, Commander. You've already decided I'm up to something nefarious. So I won't ask you to trust me anymore. But I will ask that you treat me with at least a modicum of respect. We are all in violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. We're all going to have to face the music of what we've done. And just like you and the other clones, I'll consider it worth whatever punishment gets meted out; because whether you believe me or not, I do have feelings for him. You not believing me doesn't change that."
Cody was unmoved, his face impassive. "Are you finished, Major?"
"I suppose I am, Commander."
"Then report to the Seba Tops to get a quarters assignment, and do not leave it unless you are accompanied by one of the clone troopers or General Skywalker himself. Is that clear?"
Major Swin grit her teeth. "Perfectly clear . . . Commander."
Echo turned to see Yusani picking through the bowl of food stuffs left on the table by the door.
"Anything good in there?"
"All good," came the wispy reply.
"But you're looking for something in particular?"
Yusani did not reply but instead regarded him quizzically. It occurred to Echo that, being Basic was not her primary language, she might not understand phrases such as in particular.
"What are you looking for?" he restated the question.
"Best," she replied before pulling out a small oblong purple fruit. "This best. Zukka." She held it out to him. "For you."
Echo smiled his appreciation and took the zukka. And although he could have easily popped the whole thing into his mouth, he took a bite and gave the remaining half to Yusani. "We share."
Yusani became suddenly bashful, and her lopsided face flushed pink. She dug one grimy hand into her pocket and produced five zukka, two of which were mostly squashed and leaking their yellow innards.
This made Echo laugh, a wonderful feeling under the circumstances. "So, you've been over here picking them all out. I see, I see." He stuffed the remainder of his half-eaten zukka into his mouth, then picked Yusani up into his arms. She had certainly grown in the last nearly three years, but she was still a little girl and no burden. "I think it's time to get you back to your room."
"No," she protested. "I want stay here with you."
"I'm tired," Echo explained. "I need to get some sleep."
"I sleep here," Yusani insisted.
"They'll be worried about you," Echo said. He opened the door and stepped outside. "See, it's getting dark, and I'll bet there's more rain coming. We need to get you back to the wayward houses." Seeing the pouty expression and glistening eyes, he chose another tack. "Let's make a game of it." He swung her around onto his back. "Pretend you're riding a Losla. And you can feed me the zukka on the trip."
Yusani made a chortling sound. "Losla no eat zukka!"
"Well, this one does! This one's a special Losla."
"Losla Echo."
"Yep . . . Losla Echo."
Thirty minutes later, Losla Echo was dropping off his rider at the front door of the girls' home where one of the matrons took charge. Now fortified by the sweet nutrition of five zukka, Echo decided he was not ready to go back to the Seba Tops. Commander Cody had really only ordered the men not to come to the healing rooms.
Echo took it to mind that he could find peace and rest elsewhere within the Monastica without being in violation of the Commander's order. He began walking without much idea of precisely where he wanted to go, but at length, he found himself standing in front of the Taber, its massive doors beckoning.
But this time, upon entering, he was surprised to find the place almost empty. Only a dozen or so people were present, and they were not praying but rather appeared to be preparing for a service or cleaning or . . .
"Oh no, no . . . if they've stopped praying . . . " A spike of fear drove straight through his heart. He turned to leave and ran directly into a Vervien who had come in behind him from the vestibule.
"Echo."
"Anaide?" Echo was pleased to see her, but other more pressing matters were on his mind.
"Yes."
"Where is everyone? This place was filled to overflowing this morning with people praying. Why have they stopped?" Echo asked anxiously.
"They have not stopped," Anaide replied in calm contrast to Echo's desperation. "They have simply moved into smaller groups in the lesser prayer houses. The Taber has other ceremonial and liturgical uses which must continue even under these circumstances."
Echo felt a wave of relief wash over him. "I thought . . . . I thought they'd stopped because the captain . . . "
"Because the captain had died?"
Echo's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Come, sit with me."
They moved deeper into the Taber and sat down in one of the pews.
"Despite the reasons for your being here, I am glad to see you," Anaide began. "I have wondered often how you were doing. We get only limited information on the war effort, and even that information is sporadic at best and often late in coming. Still, I prayed for your safety and the safety of your friends." She was silent for a long moment, looking at the obvious cybernetic implants and the lingering scars of past atrocities. "But it seems that not all of my prayers were answered."
Echo surprised her, however, by adopting a posture of consideration. "I was injured on a mission into enemy territory. In fact, the explosion that I was caught up in was so violent, no one thought I could have survived. And the truth is . . . I shouldn't have survived. It was the Separatists—the Techno Union—that kept me alive, if you could call it that. They hooked me up to machines that breathed for me, pumped my blood, kept all my organs working; they kept me from dying, but I . . . I wasn't really alive."
Anaide was both intrigued and horrified. "Why? Why did they do that?"
"Because I . . . knew all our battle plans," Echo replied, sounding pained by the memory. "I used to study and commit to memory every plan, every scheme, every . . . word that came from the captain's mouth. Rex was one of, if not the, greatest tactician in the GAR. Once the Separatists found out they could access those plans in my brain and use me to direct counter movements . . . that's exactly what they did. For eighteen months, I directed Separatist forces against my own brothers. I'm responsible for thousands of deaths, maybe hundreds of thousands. I've been afraid to look at the death and casualty rates for those battles where I knew I was involved."
Anaide put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "You had no choice. You had no control over what they did to you."
"I know that. That's what makes life tolerable now," Echo replied. "And none of my brothers has ever held it against me. Not Captain Rex, not Commander Cody. Not even General Skywalker." A pause. "It was Captain Rex who rescued me. I made a vow with myself that day that I would stay by his side until one or both of us were dead. I would do anything for him." He averted his gaze and the heat rose in his cheek. "And then I . . . I let myself be convinced that I could be of more use with another unit. Maybe there was a little bit of . . . feeling like I didn't fit in anymore. But there was also a sense of . . . elitism. The unit I went to—they were called the Bad Batch—was like no other unit in the GAR. With my new cybernetic abilities, I thought I belonged with them. So I left the 501st. I left the captain. It was a mistake, and I wish I could take it back."
"You're not blaming what happened to him on the fact that you left the 501st, are you?" Anaide asked.
"No, no," Echo relied. "I'm just saying that I wish I'd had these past few months with the captain rather than with the Bad Batch. Captain Rex has always been my . . . my idea of the perfect officer. And I walked away from that."
"But you're back now," Anaide pointed out. "You're here when he needs you the most."
"What if I'm too late? What if we're all too late?"
"Then it is the will of the Creator. He lays out our paths," Anaide answered. "How we respond to His will, that is what matters."
"I'm finding that hard to believe," Echo pushed back gently. "I don't know what good can possibly come from what happened to the captain. Why would your god ever will such a thing?"
Anaide was not dissuaded. She had encountered many doubters and non-believers—as well as outright deniers—in her lifetime. Echo was only expressing what she had heard countless times before.
"Take your own situation," she pointed out. "Despite all that has happened to you, you are still here for your captain, and at the most critical time. Your misfortune has given you enhanced capabilities that can help you and your brothers in this war. The fact that you are alive means there is still something for you to contribute in this life."
Echo nodded a meager concession, adding, "But I would have been happier never to have been injured in the first place, never to have fallen into the hands of the Techno Union, never to have been used against my brothers."
Anaide now raised her hand to cool the flushed cheek. "Happier, perhaps. But happiness is not the purpose of existence."
Echo eyed her doubtfully. "Then what is?"
"As a Vervien, my purpose is to serve the Creator through serving His creatures. Not everyone has the same purpose. It is up to each man to discover his own reason for being here. We bring value to life when we fulfill our purpose."
"And how do we know when we've done that?"
"We never do. We aren't privy to those secrets. Those answers lie on the other side of the veil. Our part is to do the right thing . . . as often as possible, knowing that there will be many mistakes along the way." She fixed him with a stare. "It is only when we give up that we forsake our purpose."
Echo managed a weak grin. "I'm not going to pretend I understand any of that. I'm someone who's always liked to see stuff in black and white, to be able to reach out and touch something to know it's real."
"But you prayed here in the Taber earlier. I saw you," Anaide pointed out. "Would you be willing to join me in prayer now?"
Echo nodded. "I think I would."
Cody encountered General Skywalker sitting on a bench outside the healing rooms.
"General, is everything alright?"
"Yeah. They've moving him to another room in their . . . it's like a continual care wing. They said right now it's going to be a matter of waiting. I just stepped out here to keep out of their way and to get some fresh air. They'll come get me when they're done," Anakin replied. "The men all settled in?"
"Yes, Sir, and not too happy about it. Still, I think everyone will feel better after a few hours sleep," Cody replied. "That includes you, General. I think you could do with some shuteye."
"I think so, too; but I'm not ready to leave him yet," Anakin replied.
"If anything happens, I'll comm you right away," Cody assured him.
"I appreciate your concern, Commander, but I'm staying here by the healing rooms for now." And that ended that part of the discussion.
But Cody had a more difficult and delicate matter to attend to. He sat down beside General Skywalker, let a few seconds pass, then started with an innocuous question.
"Did they have any updates on his condition? Were the transfusions working?"
"They didn't say. They only said we would have to wait and see if the cold field can overcome all the damage," came the flat answer.
"Is Doma Maree still in there?"
Anakin nodded, "I think so."
Cody, known for his soft touch with the troops, tried the same approach now. "What was it that she felt when you were in there with Rex? She seemed pretty alarmed."
Anakin knew how astute Cody was, so he had to give a credible answer. "I couldn't reach him. I couldn't make it through the darkness surrounding him."
Cody let his silence ask the question.
And at length, Anakin continued, "There was a danger of me getting . . . bogged down."
"Bogged down? In the darkness?"
Here, Anakin lied. The commander had a right to know some things, but not all. "Bogged down without getting to him."
"That . . . does bring another question to mind, General," Cody tread lightly. "About what happened on Copia."
Anakin had expected this, and now here it was.
"What do you want to know?"
"On the way out, every Copian we saw was dead."
"Yes."
"I don't disagree that they got what they deserved, General," Cody prefaced, "I only want to know if you did that."
Anakin hesitated. "It wasn't a conscious thing. Until I saw them all lying there, I didn't even realize it had happened." He got to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. "When I saw what they had done to Rex, I . . . something took over inside me. I could call it rage, but it was more than that. It was so deep, I couldn't find its source, and I realized I had seen glimpses of this coming. The room shaking and pipes bursting. I had visions of that."
"Do you know if you killed all the Copians?" Cody pressed carefully.
"I don't know," came the honest answer. "But I wouldn't care if I had." He took a few steps away and stood looking off into the gardens. "But for all this . . . for everything we've done, it still might not be enough to save him. We rescued him, but we can't save him."
"That's what we're trying to do, General," Cody stated. "And bringing him here has given him the best chance of survival."
"Those chances are slim, Commander."
Cody felt as if he were seeing, for the first time, the depth of General Skywalker's feelings for Rex, and he could not help but be astonished; for there was not a shred, not a speck of the detachment required of a Jedi. Not even a pretense of it. And the pain the general was feeling at that moment was so palpable, due to his own perceived failure, that it could not be hidden.
"Then he will die safe and among friends," Cody replied.
"That's no comfort, Commander."
"It isn't meant to be comfort, General. Just a statement of fact."
Anakin absorbed these words. Cody was right, of course. In fact, throughout this entire ordeal, the commander had been the most collected and reasonable of all of them. He'd been a sounding board for Anakin, pushing back when necessary and with just the right amount of pressure. He'd stayed level-headed and determined, never giving in to anger, fear or despair. He'd been the ideal for such an undertaking, and Anakin remarked internally how much he had underappreciated the commander's many talents, not to mention his mere presence and its effect on those around him.
Yet, he knew of the bond between Cody and Rex. He knew this had to be taking a toll on the commander, even if he gave no indication of such. Perhaps it was part of Cody's stoic nature, but Anakin would give him an opening, nonetheless.
"How are you holding up, Cody?"
"I have a dozen or so men who need looking after," Cody replied. "They agreed to risk everything—their careers, their lives, their freedom—to go look for one man. It took a lot of courage for them to do what they did. And right now, they're all thinking it might come to nothing." He stood up and came to stand face-to-face with the general. "And not one of them is thinking about what he might have given up or what might be waiting for him when we return. All they care about is that they might lose their captain." A pause. "Looking after those men is taking the full part of my focus. That's what I owe Rex. And . . . it's helped keep my mind from going places that I'm not ready to go yet."
Anakin nodded. He would not press the matter. "Well, you can add me to the number of men you're looking after."
Cody cocked his head to one side. "I already have, General. " A pause. "And . . . along those lines, there is one more thing I . . . think I should talk to you about."
"Go on."
Cody steeled himself for the task. "I may be out of line, Sir. After all, the Force isn't my area of . . . expertise. But part of me wonders if all of this isn't . . . isn't about Rex at all. It's about you."
"Me?"
"Don't you think it's possible that . . . Count Dooku only used Rex to get to you?"
"You think he did this to Rex to hurt me?" Anakin sounded doubtful.
"Not to hurt you, General," Cody replied. "To enrage you. To make you so angry that you . . . would lose control and . . . " Cody would not mince words. "Turn to the dark side to get revenge."
Anakin's reaction was not what Cody had anticipated. The commander had imagined there would be insult and anger, shock and hurt. But instead, he saw looking back at him, the calm, thoughtful gaze of a man for whom the idea being proposed was not so preposterous.
"It's a possibility," Anakin said after a few seconds. "But he can't honestly believe that I would ever be his apprentice, be a Sith."
"He knows you're powerful, General," Cody stated. "If he were able to turn you, that would be a devastating blow." A pause. "And hurting those you care about appears to be . . . forgive me for saying so, but it appears to be an effective way to bring out the power of the dark side. What other reason would he have for targeting Rex-and only Rex? What they did to him had nothing to do with tactics or intelligence. It had to do with luring you out and building the anger inside you. And now you've shown what that anger can do, that it can kill by its mere existence."
Anakin turned over Cody's words in his mind.
"Hurting those you care about . . ."
And of course, Rex was not alone in that regard. There were others who could be used against him as well . . .
Anakin placed a hand on Cody's shoulder. "I appreciate your honesty, Cody. And I'm glad you're here. There may be truth in what you said. But trust me, with Dooku being behind this, the last thing I would ever do is join forces with him. No . . . he's going to pay for this. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but if I can kill him . . . I'd consider that justice."
"I hate this. All this waiting. It's hraka." Top stood up from where he'd been sitting on Jesse's bed and went to the window to look outside.
Behind him, the three other occupants of the room shared his frustration.
Kix, who was actually lying on the bed, voiced his agreement. "I wish I could be over there right now. I'm a medic and here I am doing nothing, when I could be helping and learning from them."
"We've done all that we can. Even you, Kix," Jesse replied. "It's up to them now. And the captain."
Pitch chimed in. "There is still something we can do."
"I know what you're going to say," Jesse said. "Prayer just doesn't come naturally to us, and we spent hours doing it yesterday—or last night or whenever it was we got here. I've completely lost track of time."
"Besides, after all that praying, the captain is still close to dying," Kix pointed out. "I don't think the prayers did any good."
Pitch shifted in the chair in which he was sitting. "Don't discount the power of prayer. Prayers are the only reason you're alive. Doma Maree asked Me'Ente Loge to intercede for you, and he did—"
"Well, maybe her prayers are more potent than ours, since she's a holy woman. We clones don't rate very high on the holiness scale—" Kix began in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone.
"That isn't how it works," Pitch cut him off.
"Oh, for fek's sake," Kix groaned. "Don't bring out the religious zealot in you. I followed your lead in the temple, but it didn't make any difference. And this is hard enough already without being told to put our hopes in the hands of . . . make-believe."
"Kix." Jesse's voice contained a chastisement and a warning to knock it off.
But it was too late. Pitch got to his feet. "That 'make-believe' is what saved your life. It's sad that you don't even acknowledge what was gifted to you. But I was there. Jesse was there. We saw and we know. Sixer knows. Sempe knows. Are you going to tell DB that his eagle is 'make-believe'? Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it isn't real." With that, he pushed past Top and left the room.
Jesse scowled at Kix for good measure then went out the door after Pitch.
Top frowned and shook his head. "Why did you do that?"
Kix was silent.
"LB, what is it?" Top sat down on the bed.
"There's nothing else I can do," Kix said after a long hesitation. "And entrusting the captain's life to something as intangible as prayer just . . . ." He took a deep breath. "I fell into that earlier in the Taber. I really felt myself sinking into the belief that . . . that it would help. But it didn't."
"But it isn't just prayer," Top pointed out. "They've got medical equipment far beyond anything the Republic has. Their doctors are highly skilled. So what if prayer is a part of what they do. If it helps, why dismiss it?"
"Because there's no proof that it helps," Kix moaned.
"That's not true from what I've heard," Top pushed back. "Jesse and the others who were here with you the first time all had accounts of pretty miraculous things that happened here. I wasn't even here to see it, but I believe them. Why don't you?"
"I do believe them. I believe that stuff about the souls," Kix insisted. "It's just that . . . prayer, as a medical treatment, seems to be a hit-or-miss kind of thing."
Top narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "What's this really about, LB?"
Kix glanced up to see the intense gaze. He could manage only the briefest eye contact before looking away. "You know what it's about." A pause. "Memories I would rather forget."
Top nodded his understanding. "That's what I thought."
"For a man to get injured on the battlefield is one thing," Kix stated. "But to do the kinds of things that . . . "
Top now knew where the pain was coming from. "You don't have to say anymore. I understand."
"I shouldn't have taken it out on Pitch," Kix lamented. "Why didn't they engineer us with the ability to just turn off certain memories."
"Well, you probably won't believe me, but I think those memories are what make you the best at what you do," Top replied.
Kix cast him a doubtful eye. "So you say."
Kamino.
His squad mates were angry with him.
Well, not exactly angry. They were worried, frustrated, and impatient.
And CT-6116 could not blame them. He'd given them reason to be worried, frustrated and impatient. His obstinacy had gone from being a nuisance to being a downright threat to his very existence. He could not help but berate himself for allowing things to deteriorate to this level; yet, he could not turn off those parts of his person wherein resided the compulsion to speak up against perceived injustices.
His failure to master his self-expression had now led to this point, where he had no choice but to bite his tongue and look the other way or else risk rehabilitation. But looking the other way was easier said than done, for the fact was that he had no choice but to look at, with great attention and focus, the medical cases presented to him; and each case was accompanied by the lingering questions of where had the case originated? Could the patient have been saved and was just being tossed away as a training case? It begged the question if one of CT-6116's very own squad or pod mates might at some later time find themselves in the exact same predicament, coming from a battlefield injury and being used to train upcoming medics.
How many of these case subjects did not even survive the trip to Kamino, yet they might have survived had they been treated at the forward locations?
With 800 medics per class and as many as 10 classes running per production cycle, the need for bodies upon which to practice had to be astronomical. And with training classes moving into such real-world scenarios, there were new test subjects arriving almost weekly, necessitating a highly organized and efficient logistical operation.
And that was how he tried to view the situation: from a pragmatic, impersonal and dispassionate standpoint. The necessary process to ensure well-trained medics.
Still, he could not fool himself. Every attempt to squelch the revulsion only added something to the knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He had managed to hold on over the past four months with the encouragement—and sometimes, bullying—from his squad mates. And now six more months remained before entering active duty.
"Medevac just finished off-loading. You ready to go help bring them in?"
6116 turned towards the speaker – a female Weequay who was in charge of receiving the inbound shipments of test subjects. She went by the name of Klosko, but without rank or salutation. 6116 hated her. He hated her cool indifference. He hated her business-like manner in the face of so many damaged and mangled patients. But this had been 6116's penance for the past four months, the final attempt to mold and conform him to the role of medic in the Grand Army. For other clones, it might have simply been a task to undertake; for 6116, it was harsh punishment, and it had taken a toll. He had spent those months putting on mental blinders, forcing himself to look past the gruesomeness of the process – but never once forgetting what he had seen and tucking the insult away deep inside with the hope time would dissolve the memories.
"I'm coming," he acknowledged. He took his data pad and followed her into the receiving hangar, lined wall-to-wall with the medi-tubes used to transport the patients. Ten or so other clones—some of them cadets—went inside as well. Thus began the process of cataloguing and assigning patients for the next day's training. Each medi-tube had a scannable chit with the clone's identification number, the unit of assignment, the location from which he had been shipped, along with the date the injury was incurred. Lastly, in some cases, there was a brief summary of injuries. But given the fact that these were training cases, part of that process was teaching medics how to identify injuries, so the vast majority of cases did not have these summaries.
CT-6116 began going up and down his rows, scanning chits and avoiding looking at the faces through the clear top panels. He noticed that every trooper in the two rows he had processed thus far had come from the 633d Mounted Infantry. They'd been fighting on Dantooine. These were, indeed, recent casualties. He made quick work of it, assigning each tube and its occupant to a particular class and table for the following day. When he had finished, he noticed several rows of medi-tubes in the adjacent hangar.
"A double shipment," he thought wryly. And since he was certain he would soon be asked to go and begin processing those tubes, he took it upon himself to get started now and be done as soon as possible.
There were at least a hundred tubes. He approached the first one, but there was no chit attached. He went to the next. Still no chit. As he moved down the line, he was surprised to find none of them had a chit.
Perhaps these were troopers that were being returned for actual medical treatment, but even they should have a chit.
CT-6116 looked through the clear face plate. The face beneath the glass was young, standard, and showed no sign of injury. Looking into several more tubes, he saw they were all young clones, looking as if they were the same age as he was. And there was no visible damage.
Perhaps the injuries were hidden within the tube. And although it was not part of the process, 6116 accessed the medi-tube's diagnostic feature.
"MTS-7117. Indistinct abdominal trauma."
6116 frowned. The diagnostic told him nothing. He moved to the next tube and ran its diagnostic.
"MTS-7118. Indistinct abdominal trauma. MTS-7119. Indistinct abdominal trauma."
Tube after tube read the same, with only the MTS number changing. But then he came upon something he had not expected.
"MTS-7392. CT-9821. Batch 28646-11R. Pod 792. Training accident. Multiple fractures. Internal injuries."
"28646-11R . . . that's in our pod. He's one of our pod mates." CT-6116 and the rest of Saber Squad were part of Batch 28646-11B, a sub-unit of Pod 792.
CT-9821.
He did not know CT-9821, but that was not surprising given the size of a pod. There were thousands of clones in a pod.
But it was without question that CT-9821 was not a battlefield injury. He was a training injury. Were all these training injuries? Why did they not all have CT numbers?
"CT-6116, these are not part of your processing."
It was Klosko.
"Who are these? Where did they come from?" 6116 asked.
"They are injured troopers, just like the others. I will process them personally once the other hangar is complete."
"Why are they over here separately?"
"They came in on a different shipment," Klosko replied carelessly, but 6116 could tell it was a front. The Weequay wanted him out of this hangar with as few questions as possible.
"What does MTS mean?" 6116 continued to press.
"Go back over to the other side," Klosko directed.
But 6116 was not one to give up so easily. "All the ones I looked at have MTS numbers, but only one had a CT number."
"We only process what we're sent, Cadet. One more question and you will be on report again." Klosko warned. She took a step closer. "And if they decide they've had enough, you may not like where you end up." She swept her gaze over the tubes.
"What are you saying?" 6116 asked quietly, perceiving a threat in her manner.
"My words stand on their own," she replied. Then, drawing even closer, she said in a low voice, "Watch your step, Cadet."
CT-6116 wasn't sure now if she was sending a warning or a threat. He only knew that he had more questions.
"One of these men is a pod mate of mine—"
"Go back to the other side. Now. Stop asking questions. I will report you if you persist."
CT-6116 hesitated then nodded. "Yes, Klosko." He stepped around her and headed back to the other hangar.
"Director Jazin?"
Jazin, a human, turned towards the sound of the voice behind him. He was surprised and somewhat dismayed to see CT-6116—his problem child—standing in the doorway into the main medical office, especially at this time of night.
"CT-6116. What can I do for you?"
"We just finished checking in the new training subjects, and I forgot that I'd left some of my gear in the lab. I just wanted to check in with you before I go in to get it."
Jazin seemed perturbed by such an idiotic interruption. "The lab is always open. Go get your things."
"Yes, Sir." 6116 nodded obediently and was on his way.
Yes, the lab was always open. The equipment was locked away at each station. But to be in the labs without authorization was a definite violation of the rules. CT-6116 had already drawn down enough attention with his past violations of many rules. He did not need to add one more – especially right now.
Upon entering the lab, he went to his assigned station—that would at least give the pretense that he was looking for his belongings. There were cameras everywhere, and he at least had to make it look good. He crouched down beside the table and plugged in his data pad. From here, he could access scads of medical applications that were not otherwise available from the standard plug-in ports.
He had to work fast. Down on the floor, he was not visible to the cameras, but if the footage should ever come under review, there would certainly be questions about what he was doing once he'd gone out of view.
One positive thing had come from his duty scanning chits. He had access to the database containing the scanned information.
"Here's tonight's arrivals . . . total number, 815." His pulse quickened. "There were only 780 in the group we processed." Even as he looked at the screen, the number popped up to 816, then 817.
"The ones from the other hangar are being added in," he surmised. "MTS, MTS . . . what does MTS mean?" He frantically searched from screen to screen, finding nothing. Then, on a whim, he input the number MTS-7117, one of the numbers he had seen earlier that night.
A data sheet popped up, but special credentials were needed to access the information.
"Damn!" he cursed quietly. "Okay, then, what about . . . "
He typed in CT-9821.
This time the screen provided more information.
"CT-9821. Batch 155-2. Pod 792. Redesignate MTS-7392. Training accident. Multiple fractures. Internal injuries."
6116 was perplexed. "Redesignate?"
The sound of footsteps entering the lab put an end to his search. He quickly shut off the scanner and was still.
After a moment's silence, a voice called out. It was Director Jazin.
"6116? 6116?"
6116 feared the director might come looking at every station and find him crouching down, hiding and not answering. That would not do. So, instead he straightened up and announced himself.
"Over here, Director." He began walking towards the door.
Across the distance, Jazin could not see that the cadet was empty-handed. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No, Sir," came the reply. "I've been looking all over. You know sometimes me and my lab partners hide stuff from each other on purpose. So, I was looking everywhere."
"Go back to your sleeping tower," Jazin ordered. "If anything shows up, I will make sure you get it in tomorrow's class."
"Yes, Director."
By the time he got back to Saber Squad's sleep tower, 6116's mind was so embroiled that he could not have slept even if he'd wanted to.
But as it turned out, even at midnight on Kamino, not every clone was asleep. That included 6116's squad mates.
Both Jesse's and 2085-4's sleeping tubes were fully extended. The two were in adjacent columns, directly next to each other. Jesse and 4441 sat one side. 2085-4 and 2060 sat on the other. At 6116's approach, they motioned for him to climb up.
"Where the hell have you been?!" 2060 demanded. "We've been waiting all night!"
"I had something I needed to do," 6116 replied, climbing up the ladder between the two columns and propping a foot against Jesse's sleeping tube.
"Well, sit down, we've got some news," 2060 went on.
"Good news, too," 2085-4 chimed in.
"I could use some good news," 6116 said, squeezing in next to 4441. "What is it?"
"Remember a few weeks ago, Captain Packar mentioned that they were thinking about sending cadet squads for the ARC trainees to work with?" This from Jesse.
"Yeah."
"Well, this afternoon, they made it official and announced the first batches to be going," Jesse went on .
A genuine smile lifted CT-6116's features. "Please tell me we're one of them."
"Of course, we are!" 4441 burst out gleefully. "We're the best, and now we get to prove it to ARC trainees and the cadre!"
"That is good news," 6116 agreed.
"It gets even better," 2060 put forth. "We leave . . . tomorrow!"
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow night," Jesse confirmed. "They'll give us mission details on the trip over."
"The trip over to where?"
"That's the best part. This training is off-world on a planet called Mayotta."
"We're going off-world?" 6116 felt the cloud lifting with every new revelation. For while he knew the mystery would still be waiting for him upon his return, he was also happy at the idea of going to another planet and having the chance to focus his energy on other matters.
"Yep, for a whole week," 2085-4 beamed.
"Oh, this couldn't come at a better time," 6116 breathed a sigh of relief.
4441 put a hand on his shoulder. "Everything okay?"
"I'm not sure yet," 6116 replied. "I've discovered a little bit of a mystery, but . . . I'm sure it will still be here a week from now." A pause. "So, what do we know about where we're going? I'm sure you all have already been doing some research."
"In fact, yes," Jesse confirmed. He held out a HOPO and they began to share what they had learned about their upcoming assignment.
Eight batches of thirty men each.
There were 240 men waiting in the hangar to load onto the transport ship that would take them to Mayotta.
Two-hundred-and-forty very excited troopers.
This was a pilot program for both the ARC trainees and the cadets. It was both an honor and a challenge to be chosen to participate. And of course, each batch was out to prove themselves the better soldiers. They maintained loose order while waiting to board the ship, chatting and mingling, tossing out bravado before the competition had even started. But that was what clones did. They worked together when needed and tried to outdo each other the rest of the time.
"We're going to torch the other platoons." This from a clone designated CT-8333-11. Or Double-Ones, for short. He was one of the thirty men in the same platoon as Saber Squad. He was a language specialist and a very quick thinker. "They haven't the brains or the strength or the character we have."
"Or the good looks," 2080 added with a wink.
"I just hope we get matched up with the best ARC trainees," 6116 put in.
"Enh, if they're not the best when we start out, they'll be the best when we're finished," 4441 announced with triumphant surety.
"I just wish they'd hurry up and get us on board. I'm ready to get off Kamino and see something new, even if it is just for a week." This was from a cadet nicknamed Bead for his ability to draw a bead on any target from the maximum distance.
"Uh-oh, looks like someone's coming to give us a send-off," 2085-4 stated. He was looking across the hangar where Kloska had just entered. "I hope to hell she isn't coming for you, 6116."
But she was coming for him. Directly for him.
"A word with you, Cadet," she said with no hint of emotion. It was all authority.
6116 followed her off to the side. "Is there something wrong?"
"I told you to watch your step."
6116 adopted his best expression of ignorance. "I don't know what you—"
"While I was inputting arrivals into the database last night, I noticed that someone else was also in the database."
6116's temperature rose and he felt the sweat forming under the collar of his utility uniform.
"Tracking your access code was easy for me," she grit her teeth. "And for Director Jazin. He knows what you did and where you did it from. He was going to have you pulled off this mission, but Captain Packar appealed to General Shaak Ti and she agreed to let you go. I have not told the director about the questions you were asking, and the use of the port only tells him what you were looking at, not what you were looking for. I will not compromise my position for you. But I suggest that while you are off-world, you find a way to lose that data pad."
6116 was stunned speechless. Dare he admit to her that everything she was saying was true? Was this some kind of trap to get him to admit what he had done? He had always despised her due to the way she handled herself like an unfeeling droid; but could he have been mistaken all along? Was such indifference due to the need to maintain a sense of detachment when confronted with such wicked practices?
"You can't change things. But you can be marked for rehabilitation," Kloska went on. "Heed what I say: forget what you saw, fall in line, or you might find yourself the next MTS." With that, she turned and made her way through the gathered clones back to the door.
6116 made his way back to his squad mates.
"What was that all about?" Jesse inquired.
"Oh, just . . . something I messed up doing the arrival . . . scanning in the arrivals," came the uneasy reply.
Jesse was doubtful. "Is that all?"
6116 appeared to pale a bit. "I, uh, I think I might be in trouble."
CT-2080 grinned. "So, what else is new? I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle."
"That's right, LB. Only a few more months and we'll be on active duty," 4441 added. "We can make it through a few more months, right?"
"Yeah," 6116 replied without much conviction. "Yeah."
But 6116 was wrong. They were all wrong. Time was running out, and not one of them realized it.