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| - Daddi didn't know what was worse: the fact that his little girl was dead, or that his wife was taking it so hard. She hadn't stopped crying since the hypercomm message had arrived, and he didn't blame her. He was little better off, to be sure; he had known that this might happen, that with Laera being a Marine, the chances were high that she would become a casualty in the continuing war against the Mandalorian invaders. This did not make the pain of her death any easier to bear. What did help, if only slightly, was the fact that he and Ceylon were far from alone in their grief. Along with the notification had been included a summons to a mass soldiers' funeral, to take place in orbit above Corulag, which would honor his daughter and others who had died in the liberation of Onderon and the bloody retaking of its jungle moon, Dxun. As the couple wandered the grand concourse aboard the luxury liner that had been appropriated for the task, they saw dozens of Army, Navy and Marine officers and ratings making their way toward the giant auditorium where the service itself would take place. It wasn't due to start for another half hour, so they took their time. “Please excuse me, but are you the Reyolés?” a polite, well-educated female voice asked from behind them. “Yes, that's us,” Daddi said in a vain attempt at levity as he and his wife turned to regard the speaker. Ceylon tried and failed to suppress a sob, and he himself had to work hard at resisting the urge to sniff loudly when he realized that the speaker wore the robes and lightsaber of a Jedi. “Who might you be?” “Just call me Vima,” the Jedi said warmly, nodding deferentially. “I'm glad you could make it.” “W-we had t-to come,” Ceylon said haltingly, trying again to master herself. “Laera was our only child...” “I understand,” Vima said, and Daddi got the distinct impression that she meant every syllable. “Truly, the galaxy is diminished for her loss.” Daddi swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. “Th-thank you, Master Jedi.” “Your grief pulses like a beacon in the Force,” Vima continued. “It is your love for her that makes it so strong. Embrace that love and the memories you have of your daughter, and she will never truly be gone from your hearts.” “Did you know her at all?” Ceylon asked tentatively. Vima nodded sagely. “I had the privilege and pleasure of knowing her quite well, yes,” she replied. “I am, in fact, indirectly responsible for her death. I approved her request to lead the mission that killed her.” The statement, though it was said as an apology, nevertheless had a profound effect. Daddi was rocked back on his heels, and Ceylon seized her husband's hands in a viselike grip. After a few beats, he was able to recompose himself. “We appreciate your candor, Vima,” he said finally. “But I don't think there would have been any way to keep our Laera from going.” Vima smiled at that. “You know your daughter well, Mr. Reyolé,” she said, almost regretfully. “She told me herself that if I didn't let her go, she would sneak aboard the transport anyway.” Ceylon gave a watery chuckle in spite of herself. Daddi couldn't explain why, but he suddenly felt a surge of affection for the robed woman standing before them. “She would've pulled it off, too,” he said proudly. “Laera was always doing things like that. When she was just a kid we couldn't...well, we didn't have the wherewithal for her to go with her class on a field trip to the capital, but she went along anyway. Neither we nor her teacher could figure out how she managed it.” The trio began to make its way toward the auditorium. “She never stopped thinking of you,” Vima said. “You raised a fine daughter.” “Will you be speaking at the service?” Ceylon asked meekly. “I'll be giving a general eulogy,” Vima replied. “We lost a lot of good people on Dxun, and there won't be time to address everyone.” “We understand,” Daddi said as he gazed at his feet. “Thank you for your time, Master Jedi.” “You are most welcome. I hope the service helps you to find peace.” Arm in arm, Daddi and Ceylon walked a little way further down the concourse. Spotting a cluster of dress red-clad Marines engaged in muted conversation, among them a number of officers and varying grades of sergeants, the couple drifted toward them. One of them, a Rodian wearing master sergeant's insignia on her arms, was at the center of the discussion. “...still can't believe she's gone, after all she managed to achieve,” the alien said, her head bowed. “Tuffass understands,” a short Marine of a species the Reyolés had never heard of said by way of reply. Daddi instantly recognized the name, but the manner in which it was uttered puzzled him. “Commander Reyolé will be missed.” “I hope we're not intruding,” Daddi said to the gathered soldiers. “I couldn't help but notice that you mentioned our daughter. Did any of you know her at all?” The Rodian turned to face Daddi and Ceylon, her round, dark eyes glittering with recognition. “You are Daddi and Ceylon Reyolé, Laera's parents?” she asked. Daddi and Ceylon both nodded. “Please, it is no trouble at all,” the sergeant said, extending a sucker-tipped hand. “Master Sergeant Reeka Chorizzo at your service, Laera and I went through boot camp together.” “I think Laera mentioned you once,” Ceylon said, grasping the Rodian's hand and pumping it. “You were her first friend in the Marines.” “It was my honor, I assure you,” Reeka replied warmly, then indicated the diminuative alien. “This is Gunnery Sergeant Tuffass, he was our senior drill instructor.” The alien—Daddi recalled dimly that he was a Gand—extended a white-gloved tridactyl hand. He took it, noticing as he did so the polished, compact breathing equipment he wore over his insect-like face. Memories of past correspondences and long, enthusiastic discussions over the dinner table came flooding back to him. “The infamous Tuffass,” he said, managing to crack the ghost of a smile. “It is good to finally meet you, sir, Laera told us a lot about you.” “Tuffass was hoping that you would be here,” the sergeant replied. “He would like to think that the mists through which your daughter now travels will part so that she can see you one last time.” Ceylon nodded, apparently better able to digest the sentiment than Daddi was, though he managed to get the gist of its meaning. “Thank you,” she said. “Laera held you in high regard.” Daddi looked over the rest of the knot of Marines, looking for any other faces that Laera might have described. He spotted a tall, dark-skinned lieutenant commander whose blue eyes were just a shade lighter than his daughter's had been. His left arm was bound in a sling, and a scar snaked up from underneath his collar to disappear behind his left ear. “Commander Thedus Bimm?” he asked tentatively. “Laera told us about you in one of her last letters.” The officer nodded, his once jovial face set in a hard expression. “Yes sir,” he said heavily. “Laera was my commanding officer when I first became a Marine. I was former Army, and she gave me a crash course in Marine discipline.” “She said that you had started one of the largest ration fights she had ever seen,” Ceylon said, managing to hoist a smile. “Where did you get wounded?” Daddi asked in what he hoped was a respectful manner. “Jaga's Cluster,” he said frankly. “I took over her company when she was promoted to commander and fought in the battle there. Barely made it out, too; if it hadn't been for the intervention of Jedi healers, I wouldn't be standing here today.” “We were met by a Jedi earlier,” Ceylon remarked. “A woman named Vima. Did she tend to your wounds?” Thedus seemed taken aback. “Master Vima Sunrider?” he asked. “Goodness no. I was treated at the Temple on Coruscant.” “Wait, I know that name,” Daddi said, half astonished, half bemused. “Her mother was Master Nomi Sunrider, correct?” All of the assembled Marines nodded in unison. “Aside from Revan and Malak themselves, Master Sunrider is our highest-ranking general,” Reeka said proudly. “We owe her a lot.” “I just wish she'd been at Jaga's Cluster,” Thedus put in sourly. “If she had, I wouldn't be like this. But hey, the docs say I'll be back to fighting trim in a couple more months—can't say the same for a lot of others, though.” At that point, a few more soldiers arrived at the impromptu gathering. A mix of Army and Navy officers and ratings, they offered respectful nods to the Marines. “Any of you seen a Rodian—” one of them, an Army major, began, then halted as he noticed Reeka. “Sergeant Chorizzo, we've been looking for you.” “Major Estayo, Lieutenant Bradli,” she said as she and the Marine noncoms offered precision salutes. “What can I do for you?” “Master Sunrider wanted you for something, but she wouldn't say what it was,” the Navy junior lieutenant said, scratching at his ginger hair. “She's waiting for you by the military entrance.” “Understood, sir,” Reeka said, offering another salute before walking off. “We should probably be heading to the auditorium,” another of the Marine officers said. “The service is only ten minutes off.” The knot of soldiers began to drift apart at that, heading off in Sergeant Chorizzo's wake toward what Daddi and Ceylon could only assume was the entrance meant for members of the armed forces in attendance. Daddi gave his wife a hug, then stood on his toes to kiss her forehead. “We should probably get going as well, dear.” “Yes,” Ceylon whispered sadly. “It's time to say goodbye.” — — — The auditorium was packed to the gills with people; it was an effort to get decent seats, but the Reyolés managed it. Segregated by service branch, members of the Army, the Navy, and the Marine Corps sat in the lower seats, while civilians from all over the galaxy sat in the upper balcony. The stage area, which was occupied only by a simple dais and podium, was backed by a huge transparisteel window that offered a panoramic view of the space above Corulag. The planet itself was visible to stage left, its terminator line turning the visible surface into a crescent. Save for a few mutterings here and there, the audience was eerily silent. At the appointed time a spotlight shone down onto the dais, cutting through the subdued lighting in the place. Into its cone of illumination stepped Jedi Master Vima Sunrider, erstwhile member of the Jedi High Council, daughter of the legendary Nomi, and a leader in the Republic's effort to beat back the marauding Mandalorians. Following in her wake was none other than Reeka Chorizzo, though the Rodian sergeant did not ascend the dais and she remained cloaked in semidarkness. “Soldiers and citizens of the Republic,” Vima said into the podium's comlink, which amplified her voice so that all could hear. “We are gathered here to pay tribute to those who have given their all in the defense of civilization, and in so doing, made the ultimate sacrifice of flesh and bone. We are here to commend those whose physical remains we have been able to recover from the battlefields of Onderon and Dxun to the eternal void of space, as a symbol of their commitment to keeping it safe for those who wish to live in peace. "This is but a symbol, however, for it is not their bodies which we mourn. Instead we say goodbye to souls, to spirits, to sentient beings, those we loved and have now lost. We commend their bodies to the void not only to pay respect, but to remind ourselves that we must forever be mindful of what can come from that void to bring harm upon those who are unable to resist its desire for conquest. It was space that spawned us all, and it is to space that we inevitably return. We stepped forth from supernovas; may those we honor step back in and find peace.” The Jedi Master pushed a button on the podium, and a few moments later a veritable tide of black objects came into view. As the first wave grew smaller, another wave was launched, and another, and still another. Hundreds of the black, coffin-sized pods were released, each generating puffs of what looked like smoke as they accelerated away from the starship's exterior. As the tenth and final wave vanished from sight, Vima resumed speaking. “There is one particular name we must also remember,” she said. “As the Republic assaulted the Mandalorian occupiers of Onderon, assisted by the citizens of Iziz who took up arms in defense of their home city, a Marine commander was in the thick of the fight of her life. Against overwhelming odds, she rallied those under her command and led them as they opened a hole in the Mandalorian defenses. This effort did not come without cost, and she fell in the struggle. In recognition of her conspicuous gallantry above and beyond the call of duty, it is my honor to present to the family of Commander Laera Reyolé the Cross of Glory, the highest award the Republic can bestow. Here to read the official citation is Sergeant Reeka Chorizzo, a longtime friend.” Daddi's heart seemed to disappear as Vima stepped back and the Rodian sergeant took her place. Beside him, Ceylon had dissolved into silent tears, burying her face in his shoulder. “Inserted into Iziz City on what was supposed to be a covert drop,” Reeka began, “Commander Laera Reyolé led her unit into the landing zone despite having lost the element of surprise. Demonstrating remarkable recall from her time serving in the city in her early career, she led her unit to the objective through the sewer system. In so doing she regained the initiative, penetrating the outer defenses of the target facility without incurring casualties. For three hours Commander Reyolé maintained contact with the enemy, urging the troopers and officers under her command to press onward despite repeated counterattacks. Leading from the front, she personally killed seventeen enemy soldiers, wounding more, and saving the lives of her comrades in trouble. Despite suffering severe casualties, she maintained her cool, leading her unit in taking over the facility. While clearing out the last pocket of resistance, she was killed in action by an enemy grenade.” A single tear glistened in her left eye as Reeka folded the flimsi bearing the citation and tucked it into her right pocket. Not bothering to whisk it away, she pressed another button. The eyes of everyone in the auditorium followed her own as she turned to regard the vast window and the single casket as it shot out into space. No one present knew that, in reality, the casket was empty.
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