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| - A staccato of raps on the hatch brought me back to the realm of consciousness, and I blanched as I caught a glimpse at the chronometer, which showed quite clearly that I'd overslept by a great deal. “Just a minute,” I called automatically as I shed my BDUs which, like the sheets on my rack, were soaked through with sweat. After drawing out a clean set, I ducked into the tiny refresher and luxuriated in the hot sanisteam as it cleansed my naked flesh. The night had passed in the blink of an eye, without any sense of having slept at all, and I found this profoundly disturbing. Finally clad in a dry uniform, I opened the hatchway to see who had come to fetch me, and immediately snapped into a parade-ground salute. Vice Admiral Forn Dodonna, her eyes and sense broadcasting concern, returned it. “Captain Reyolé, are you well?” “I'm...no, Admiral, not technically.” I said before I could stop myself. Did Kavar tell her...? No, that's impossible, no Jedi would do such a thing. “When Lieutenant Ibratu'na informed me that you hadn't arrived at the troopers' muster area, I thought there might be something wrong,” the fleet commander replied. “Do you require medical attention?” Something seemed to be filling my head, like a heat haze, leaving no room to think of a reply. I simply stared blankly, stupidly, at the admiral, not taking in a word she'd said or a flicker of her sense in the Force. It, too, had suddenly become impenetrable; tapping into its energies had become like trying to tap a hole through durasteel with a child's rubber mallet. The last thing I remember was seeing her eyes, those piercing gray eyes, flashing as she beckoned for a corpsman, then everything went black. — — — ”We almost lost her, Admiral, thank the Force you were there,” said an unfamiliar Mon Calamari voice. I tried to open my eyes at the words, but they wouldn't cooperate. I then tried to open another set of eyes and found, quite to my astonishment, that the Force worked almost as well as my normal vision. The chief medical officer, whose name I didn't recall, was standing to my left, while Master Kavar, Admiral Dodonna, and Captain Kathla had arrayed themselves on my right side, along what must have been a bed in the sickbay aboard Vibrosword. “Doctor Oopal, she's starting to come around,” a woman, possibly a corpsman, said suddenly as I continued to take in the scene via the Force. “Very well,” Oopal replied. “Give her the stimulant.” There was a soft hiss, and my body gave an almighty spasm as pain shot through me from scalp to toes. I gasped heavily, then bolted upright; I hadn't been restrained, but my sudden movement almost upset a small IV dispenser and a tree of monitoring equipment. My fleshy eyes were still not working, though I could feel my lids and lashes fluttering back and forth. “I...I can't see!” I blurted out. “My eyes...they're broken...” “Easy, take it easy, Laera,” Master Kavar replied, laying a hand on my shoulder and letting the Force pour into me through him. “You're going to be alright.” I took several deep breaths, briefly casting my other senses around the sickbay before turning my awareness inward. After falling into the familiar patterns of deep, meditative breathing with the Jedi Master's help, I became dimly aware of what was going on. The cybernetics which had been used to bring about my resurrection were now gone, I could no longer feel the absence of life-energy within my body that defined their presences. “Wha...what happened?” “There was a cascade malfunction with your implants,” Dr. Oopal said gravely, his sense making it clear that he considered my blindness to be the least of my worries. “They had to be removed and replaced with hastily-synthesized organic tissues. You've been out for nearly two days.” “Can you tell us if she'll recover fully, Doctor?” Admiral Dodonna asked, equally concerned. “At this point, I can't even guess how she survived the initial breakdown,” the medical officer replied with a confused gesture. “It must have been something to do with the Force, but that is well beyond my scope of knowledge. What I can say is this: given time and therapy, Captain Reyolé should make a complete recovery, but right now I don't think she's even fit to leave this bay, let alone resume her duties.” “But...no, that's not possible!” I protested vehemently. “I have to go on this mission, I have to train the platoon!” “I wish that were possible,” Dr. Oopal replied mournfully. “Your eyesight can be restored, but not until we reach a planetside hospital. There are also serious concerns regarding the effects of this emergency procedure on your endocrine and nervous systems. What is more, the tissues will certainly have to be replaced with better substitutes when we return from the mission, and possibly even with more cybernetics.” “You don't understand,” I said, more calmly than I felt. “I can see you all just fine, if a little oddly-colored. See?” Reaching out with my left hand, I pulled a writing stylus from the physician's chest pocket, tossed it into the air, and caught it with practiced ease before slipping it back. “There isn't going to be a mission unless I return to duty!” “Laera, you don't have to prove anything to us,” Master Kavar said, his tone gentle but firm. “Lieutenant Ibratu'na has been following your example, and the boarding party has been training hard.” “Master Kavar is correct,” Admiral Dodonna agreed. “Captain, I don't want you to put yourself in jeopardy unnecessarily, and there are other things you can do in the meantime.” I turned to fix the admiral with an unseeing stare, though her aura was brimming with equal parts sympathy, concern, and, oddly, pride. “What could I do, ma'am?” I pleaded with her in hushed tones. “What else could I possibly contribute that would aid in this mission's success?” The ward descended into silence as I continued to stare down the other occupants in turn. After several long minutes, the Jedi Master cleared his throat with polite authority. “Could Laera and I have a few moments of privacy?” “Of course, Master Kavar,” Admiral Dodonna agreed, though her sense betrayed a bit of relief at being given the opportunity to return to her duties elsewhere. I cast my gaze at my lap as the others filed out as well, leaving me alone with the High Council member. “Laera, I told you two days ago that your well-being was just as important as that of the rest of the galaxy,” he began, drawing a chair and sitting down next to the gurney on which I lay. “It's unfair, I know, everything that's happened to you, everything you've been made to suffer through. But can you tell me, honestly, that your destiny lies with conducting this mission, even after what has transpired?” I twiddled my thumbs for a few moments as I gathered my thoughts, but as I opened my mouth to reply in the affirmative, a sudden epiphany hit me like the shockwave from a supernova. I'd been thinking when I should have been feeling. I'd wasted so much time—four long, arduous, exhausting years—pondering what I was doing, where I was going, and how I went about things, that I'd forgotten this most basic truth of the Force: feel, don't think. I closed my blind eyes, let go of my conscious thoughts, and let the Force do the talking as I felt for where my destiny lay. I had never before questioned the fact that I was meant to live a life of service to others, to protect the innocent against the rotten elements of a galaxy in turmoil, but it had always been in the broadest sense. At that point it became clear as transparisteel that there was only so much that Laera Reyolé herself could do, that it wasn't up to her to save everyone. Now, finally free of an ultimate responsibility that had never been mine to take in the first place, I allowed myself to be swept up in the currents of the universe as I asked them to show me my special destiny, and they replied in a rush of images and feelings. I returned my gaze to the here and now to regard Master Kavar, who seemed oblivious to the time I'd taken to feel this out. “Yes,” I said finally, my tone brokering no argument, not even from a member of the High Council of the Jedi Order. “My destiny lies with this mission.” “Then there may be a chance we can get you back in shape in time to fulfill that destiny,” he announced. “I promise you, we will make it happen, one way or another.” — — — The Jedi Master left Vibrosword's sickbay to begin preparations for whatever it was he had in mind. Meanwhile, I was left to my own devices, free to explore this feeling of contentment, at having finally realized that there was a reason, concrete and indelible, for my existence, and that I didn't have to try and hold the galaxy upon my shoulders. The details, I knew, would come in time; four years of Jedi training and active service had, at least, taught me that much. However, no sooner had I laid back in the hospital rack to relax for a bit than the hatchway was hissing open and Silas Dan'kre came scampering up the ward. “Captain, you're awake!” he exclaimed, rushing to my side and gently brushing my arm. “They only just let me in, but they wouldn't say what had happened!” “Take it easy, Silas,” I said, deciding that now was not the time to tell him where he'd be going, if my intuition was correct. “Just a bit of trouble with the tech.” “What 'tech' are you—” he began, then slapped his forehead as his fur bristled in astonishment. “No, it can't be...that stuff is supposed to last for a lifetime—two lifetimes, in fact!” Though I couldn't pick out the precise details, from what I could perceive of the lieutenant's aura and the discolored outlines of the sickbay, he was attempting to slice into the medical computer and retrieve my chart. “Dan'kre, stop that at once!” I admonished, slapping his furry hand away from the input board. “But...how can you...?” he stammered, obviously having gotten to the part about my symptoms. “It says you're blind!” “In my physical eyes, yes, Silas,” I said soothingly, directing his hands away from the computer and holding them in my own as I sat up. “But I can see you just fine with the Force. Look, why don't you stop worrying about me and tell me what's been happening with the platoon?” “Okay...sure thing, Captain,” he said, breathing a sigh that didn't quite dissipate the anxiety that had pounded within him. “Well...Lieutenant Ibratu'na asked me for some ideas on what to do next, so I suggested a few exercises for his unit to try out. After you had taken ill, he and I had them practicing on the lander, learning how best to get in and out quickly. They're pretty good, for Army nerfs; whatever you had them doing before, it seems to have worked. And I'd keep an eye on that Corporal Dar, she's got potential.” I nodded, blowing a sigh of my own and tightening my grip on the Bothan's hands for a moment. “And what have they been doing today?” Dan'kre's aura seemed to blush a bit, but he continued. “You know those plans you had me look over?” he asked tentatively. I nodded for him to continue. “They weren't bad, but they weren't that great, either. I took them through a refined set; by the time we make the rendezvous with Battleaxe, each squad should have all three plans—direct, destructive, and circuitous—memorized.” “That's good,” I nodded gratefully, relinquishing my grip on his hands and reaching up to pat his shoulder. “In fact, that's great. Thank you for being there for me, Silas. I know we can pull this through.” “You seem awfully certain about that, Captain,” he said, taken aback. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were planning to come along anyway.” “Not 'planning to,' Silas,” I said, resolute. “I am coming along. And I intend to do what I signed on to do, no ifs, ands, or buts. By the way, how are your piloting skills?” The Bothan's fur shot upward in a look of extreme duress, but he knew better than to balk at answering a direct query from a superior officer. “I am...competent enough...after a fashion...” he replied dully, completely at a loss for anything else to say. — — — With ship's night approaching and the intelligence officer nearly catatonic with shock, Dr. Oopal returned to the ward to perform a routine checkup, shooing the lieutenant back to his own quarters. “Interesting,” he said absentmindedly in that gravelly voice so common to his species, his eyes rolling outward as he examined me. “Very...interesting.” “You don't seem quite sure of what you're seeing, Doctor,” I said matter-of-factly. “Yes, one of the curses of working on Force-sensitives,” he muttered distractedly. “You people are constantly pulling tricks that keep us regular physicians baffled, and it's not helping my sanity. Particularly in your case.” “You've treated Jedi before?” I inquired. “Once or twice,” he said as he continued to touch his probe to some rather sensitive parts of my anatomy. “Young Georg Oakes was quite a mess when they got him back here after Lannik, but he healed up remarkably swiftly considering that we didn't have a Jedi healer in the fleet. He insisted on keeping that scar, however...a pity.” As the chief medical officer finally put his diagnoster away and began tapping at the medical computer, his aura flashed with irritation. Turning my head toward the hatch, I could see why; every other Jedi aboard Vibrosword, including Master Kavar, had just walked in. “This really isn't the time, Master Jedi,” Dr. Oopal protested, raising his webbed hands to hold the six humans at bay. “Captain Reyolé needs rest, once I figure out what's going on with her metabolism.” “We appreciate your efforts, Dr. Oopal,” Master Kavar began, politely but firmly. “If it weren't for you, we would have lost her altogether. Now, it's time for us to lend our own brand of support.” “But none of you are healers!” the Mon Calamari objected even more vehemently. “I cannot in good conscience let you practice an art in which you have no training, on a woman who is still very delicate!” “I understand your concern, Doctor, but please, this is at Captain Reyolé's own request.” It wasn't exactly true, but then truth has, as often as not, been a matter of one's point of view. It was enough, however, to get the medical officer to back off. Like any good doctor, he had to acquiesce to the patient's desires in matters like these. If I said that I wanted a Mandalorian shaman to take over my treatment, Dr. Oopal could hew and haw until Coruscant's sun went nova, but in the end he would have to accept my rather idiotic and masochistic request. Grumbling recriminations under his breath, the hapless medical officer left the sickbay, leaving me alone with Master Kavar and his posse. “Thanks,” was all I could say. “We're here for you, Laera,” Bastila Shan said, grudging respect evident in her sense. “We Jedi take care of our own.” The sentiment was echoed by the other Knights present, who began to spread out as Master Kavar wheeled my rack into a more open area so that they could surround me on equal sides. “We've hit upon a theory as to what happened to you, Laera,” he said, motioning for me to lie back down. “Revan and Malak, when they ordered their resurrection technology put into you, didn't seem to have taken into account the physiology of Force-sensitives. Or it might have been the fault of the supervising physician, we cannot be sure. What we do know is this: the cybernetic implants and your body are incompatible due to your sensitivity. We feel that, once you became conscious of your connection, and began to strengthen it through training, your own body began to reassert itself, taking over the implants' functions bit by bit until, finally, the entire system was rejected. This final collapse was what nearly killed you...again.” I laughed—I couldn't help myself—and the laughter became infectious as, first Keeh Rha, then Haydin Biddell, then the entire group, became overwhelmed with mirth at the utter irony of this entire process. Even Master Kavar chortled a bit, but he was the first to recover. “They sometimes say that laughter is the best medicine,” he quipped. “Now, let's get to work.” Finally managing to curtail my giggles, I lay still and began to breathe deeply. The senior Jedi placed a hand on my forehead, and one on my neck. To my right, Biddell and Keeh Rha stood, the former placing his hands on my upper arm and chest (taking care not to intrude), and the latter on my abdomen and thigh, respectively. The process was repeated on my left by Georg Oakes, opposite Biddell, and Noi-Vas Jenn, opposite Keeh Rha. Bastila placed her hands on my shins, then nodded to Master Kavar, and the combined Force energy of a Jedi Master, four Jedi Knights, and an experienced Padawan flowed into me. The sensation was utterly indescribable, and though it was far from uncomfortable, the intensity of it whisked away all conscious thought. — — — The rendezvous with Battleaxe was less than four days away by the time the marathon healing session ended, and though I wasn't back up to one hundred percent capacity, Master Kavar assured me that everything would be sorted by the time we were to make that final stopover. Back in uniform, but with a band of black cloth over my eyes to protect them while they continued to mend, I made my way to the platoon muster room, where Lieutenant Ibratu'na had assembled his people. They had spent the intervening day familiarizing themselves with the set of heavy boarding weaponry that Vibrosword carried, but what I brought with me made several of them whistle in appreciation. Dragging forty sets of Marine-issue heavy assault armor, loaded onto racks borne by two powerful repulsor sleds, I entered the room itself. “News travels fast on a ship this size,” I said warmly as the awestruck soldiers approached the neatly-stacked gear. “The efforts of each and every one of you to continue your training, despite the circumstances, makes me proud to serve as your commanding officer for this mission. You have well and truly earned the right to wear the armor of a Marine. Now, who wants to be my practice dummy?” “I'll do it, ma'am,” Corporal Seela Dar said, her aura beaming with pride and confidence. I beckoned her to come forward, grabbing a folded body glove off the top of the nearest rack and handing it to her. “You'll probably want to visit the refresher first,” I said with a lopsided grin. Less than a minute later, carrying her BDUs over one arm, the black-clad noncom returned. “Most of you know how to put on your basic battle armor in your sleep,” I began, relieving Dar of her uniform and setting it aside. “But Marine armor is a bit more complicated. This suit is vacuum-rated, and its seals will keep out anything from airborne pathogens to nuclear waste, as long as you keep your helmet screwed firmly on your face. This is partly why they call us 'jarheads,' apart from our first battle helmets resembling spice jars.” That got a laugh out of nearly everyone. I handed Dar her helmet, which she turned over in her hands. “These buckets are marvels of technology, folks,” I explained. “The visor contains a heads-up display that tracks movement, low-light and thermal vision modes, and an auto-polarizer and sound-dampener that negates the effects of flashbangs. It's also got an internal comlink and loudspeaker, as well as small reservoirs of pure water and nutrient paste in case you get hungry or thirsty. For even more fun, this thing can crack open a humanoid skull like an overripe melon!” As Dar tried on the helmet I had handed her, I began tossing more of them to the other troopers present, saving the last one for Ibratu'na. “The techs worked this one up especially for you, Lieutenant,” I said, handing him the oversized bucket that included ample space in the back for him to tuck his lekku into and still achieve full seal. “You honor me, Captain,” he said gravely as he accepted it, though he, like everyone else, was a bit uneasy with the fact that I was doing all this while wearing a blindfold. “Alright, let's not get too comfortable with these things just yet,” I admonished as the men and women of the boarding party continued to examine their new gear. “Corporal Dar, let's continue, sans the helmet if you please...” For the next hour, I slowly decked the corporal out in her new white black and red suit, piece by piece, explaining each one to the assembled platoon as they received their own examples. Using the hapless Tatooine native as an impromptu woman-nequin, I showed them how to personalize the fit of each part for quick and easy removal and reattachment. Once Dar had been fully decked-out in armor from head to boot, I dismissed the rest of the platoon so that they too could change. “That couldn't have been very fun,” I said to her once everyone else had left. “It wasn't that bad, ma'am,” she responded with a smirk, tossing her helmet from hand to hand. “As a kid, I had a bad run-in with an overly-large womp rat that was worse.” I slapped Dar's armored shoulder and returned her grin with a predatory smile of my own. “Lieutenant Dan'kre tells me that you in particular performed quite well during training while I was out of commission,” I said in a low voice. “That you in fact demonstrated significant initiative and even got a couple of the privates out of a jam while playing on our lander.” “That's right, ma'am,” the corporal replied with a small nod, her sense somewhat uneasy. “Well then, you should take a look at this,” I began, retrieving a small datapad from my hip pocket and handing it to the young woman, who took it. “You are now Sergeant Seela Dar, and if you choose to accept the offer, I'm willing to recommend you for transfer into the Marine Corps. The opinions of senior field commanders carry a lot of weight with the recruitment board, the same goes for Jedi Knights.” “I...Captain, I don't know what to say,” the newly-minted sergeant replied breathlessly. “How would this work?” “The Marines are always looking for good people from both the Army and the Navy, officer or enlisted.” I said, the predatory smile melting into one of genuine affection. “If you accept, the recommendation will be sent back to High Command when we drop out of hyperspace to rendezvous with Battleaxe. From there, it's only a matter of surviving our mission, and then you'll be sent to Carida for the expedited training course, which takes nine weeks. Depending on how well you do—and I'm betting that you'll do just fine—you will be given the opportunity to go on to advanced training courses, such as scout/sniper school. After that...it's really up to you, but at the very least you'll be given your own squad.” “Scout/sniper school...” Sergeant Dar repeated, awestruck. “Captain...please, I have to do this.” “I knew you would say that,” I replied, ruffling her hair in a motherly sort of way. “You were born to be a Marine, but the Army got their paws on you first.” “Thank you,” she stammered. “Thank you so very much...”
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