Author's Notes: My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has been keeping up with the story, and a warm welcome to the new readers who have since then discovered this little tale. The interest is most appreciated!

As always, I continue to hope that I am doing justice to the spirit of Star Wars as well as the respective authors and characters from which I borrow. Again, I gratefully accept constructive criticism as a means to help me develop my skills further as a writer.

Disclaimer: I make no money, and I only write about what I enjoy. I own none of Karen Traviss' characters, and I hope she is not too upset that I have borrowed them to help tell the tale. Crimson Squad, the Tochin people, Gan Pohin, Moff Harkin, and anyone else I create are mine. Everything else belongs to George Lucas. All opening chapter quotes are my own design, unless otherwise specified.

Chapter 16

I always thought they'd be the ones to survive. They thrived on defiance, and our training sergeant, Gan Pohin, spent more time defending them than was tolerated by the other sergeants. Eventually, everyone on Kamino had dubbed them the "Reject Squad." Even I had thought that they might pull off some defiant miracle here on Tochin and walk out of the ashes of Hazar's wreckage. I regret having felt hope for my rival brothers, and I understand a new pain now, the pain of losing those I considered my family.
Clone Commander, CC-2341, "Tarj" discussing his grief with King Vollan Psach

Tochin Moon III
786 Days ABG

Mouse popped another raw RubyFruit into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he continued the task of getting what was once a speeder's communications station working. After things had settled down with Dusty's revelation about Denon, Les'ika had taken some time away from the group to find something productive to do. Jas, as always, was faithfully by her side, and when the two of them returned, they had brought with them more RubyFruit and a few handfuls of yellow berries that Jas insisted were delicious despite their tartness.

Mouse still wasn't certain what he thought about the kind of devotion that Jas could so easily exhibit for Les'ika, and he didn't like the idea of narrowing his focus down so tightly to just one person. Then again, Mouse usually was a very narrow man by nature, but there was something liberating to him about working one-on-one with machines and weapons as opposed to sentient beings. Confining himself to any one person left him thinking in terms of claustrophobia. At least with the machinery, he could walk away from it and leave it alone for a while without having to worry about whether his inattention was causing concern for his absence.

Putting the rest of the raw RubyFruit into one of his belt pouches, Mouse decided to indulge himself with the remainder of his treats later. He preferred the fruit cooked, especially after Les'ika had spoiled him with it prepared that way, but there wasn't any sense in making a fire in the early evening. If they decided that they would stay in their current position until the morning, then they would work on a creating fire, and he was certain that the princess would keep herself busy cooking their newfound hoard at that time.

Mouse poked his fingers through the scattered pieces of the communications equipment and knew he had postponed fixing the apparatus for as long as he could, realizing that none of them could stop the inevitable. They were men destined for war, and even though Mouse would be happy somewhere doing general repair work, he knew such a life for him would never be. He just hoped that Jas would adjust back to the life of a soldier as quickly as Dusty had after Denon. In fact, now that Mouse thought about it, he was harder on Dusty earlier today than he needed to be. His brother had never let on that anything had happened that night with Cerina Browlin. In fact, Dusty had returned to the apartment his usual self, not some man so changed that he was unrecognizable. Mouse suddenly wondered how hard that must have been for Dusty, to pretend as though he never experienced a night with a woman. It had to be making him insane on some level for having to endure an experience so personal and not have anyone who could relate to his concerns. Mouse silently reasoned that maybe enduring the silence Dusty had for so long had been the cause for why his brother had grown increasingly trigger-happy in the last few months.

Mentally grumbling for allowing his concentration to get further distracted with thoughts that he didn't want to be thinking about, Mouse knew that the gray box before him would never get repaired if he kept daydreaming. Looking at the device, it was no larger than his helmet, and the outside casing made it look like it had been through a war. Ironically, Mouse found that rather funny because, technically, Zech's transport actually was involved in a war, or at least was the result of choosing the opposing side in one. Unfortunately, however, the more Mouse worked on the comm. box, the more he had realized just what a state of disrepair it had been in because of the way detonation charges exploded. Some of the damage he had come across was minor, simple fixes like a couple of the protective sleeves being stripped and shredded away from the wires. There was even a screw that had been bent beyond repair, and Mouse had earlier found alternate ways to remove it so that he could rework the delicate machinery as well as the circuits inside. His attempts to open the dented casing had eventually been successful before their scuttle with Dusty, but now he was beginning to battle against the fading daylight.

Dusk continued rolling into the wooded land and Mouse was ever aware of how it was causing the shadows to grow darker. With the light fading quickly, Mouse now placed his buy'ce on his head, using the zooming capabilities to enhance the smaller details on the components while he had the headlamps activated to brighten his workspace. He knew he had to work even more quickly now, before dusk would finally give way to night, and he decided to just hone his thoughts solely onto the equipment before him.

Dusty stayed by Zech, keeping a vigil on the baron, especially now that he had awakened. The traitorous noble had enough sense to realize the predicament he was in and came to the conclusion that if he didn't cooperate, Crimson would just continue to keep him unconscious at their discretion.

Shortly after Zech had awakened, Dusty had dragged him into the woods to allow the baron a few moments to handle his body functions, not out of any respect for the man's dignity, but simply because none of them wanted to be bothered cleaning any messes.

Dusty maintained his dark sense of humor about it all as he and Zech moved through the woods on their "nature walk," jibing that he had uncoordinated feet and he might accidentally trip Zech into a Pallid Viper's nest or slip while he had his gauntlet blade out and how such a cut would attract a Fangbird that they could use to make into another decent meal. Not once did Dusty offer to remove Zech's gag, and no one offered him any of their water or rations. In fact, Dusty went as far as being certain that Zech kept his back to Les'ika at all times and was warned that if he even attempted any eye contact towards her, it would result in far worse treatment that what he had already sustained.

Jas had settled himself into a nook between a couple trees and some shrubs where the baron had no visual on him. Arlesse had accompanied Jas shortly afterwards and sat beside him lost in her own thoughts. The two of them had maintained their distance from the group but remained close enough to be of assistance should Jas be needed. Earlier while they were picking RubyFruit and the yellow berries that Jas had learned were called Tartlets, they savored whatever precious moments they could. Jas asked questions about every plant and animal they came across, hungry to know every facet of Les'ika's world through her eyes. He wanted to remember Tochin as a part of her and not just through what was fed to him in his flash training.

Arlesse, likewise, learned everything she could about Kamino and growing up around identical faces. She even had Jas tell her about the training sergeants, the Mandalorian warriors who made every clone into a soldier. She found herself fascinated by the descriptions of the armor and colors the Mandalorian trainers wore. Jas also told her about the core beliefs in the Mandalorian culture, how family bonds were more than just blood, and it made her understand even more how these soldiers were so devoted to each other. She felt highly privileged for having been able to share in Crimson's tightly woven circle, and she wished she could find some comparable way to thank them for their generosity with her.

Curling herself against Jas' armor, Arlesse, felt a comforting warmth in her chest as Jas' arm encircled her. She felt safe and accepted with him, content in a way she had never known before and as she rested her head against his shoulder cap, Arlesse silently studied the outline of Jas' face. She watched for the child in his eyes and the minute facial expressions that he made while deep in his thoughts. Arlesse knew she had no reason to ever doubt Jas' promise to stay by her side, and now that he had been so true to his words, she believed that he would never walk away from her without putting up a decent fight.

Jas had instinctively wrapped his arm around Les'ika and wondered how he would ever return to war again, holding deadly weaponry rather than the softness and warmth of this young woman. He wondered if she would haunt him during moments when he needed his concentration the most and if he would be able to block out those memories without feeling guilty for doing do. He tried to imagine how he would ever sleep at night without listening to her soft breathing or her sighing while in close proximity. He had grown accustomed to those sounds, intuitively aware of when she was uncomfortable or battling a nightmare, and he was certain that once he and his brothers left Tochin, he would never know any of that again.

Jas was aware of Les'ika watching him, still considering himself fortunate to have experienced the acceptance and compassion bestowed upon him by a civilian. He had no idea how or why they connected, and if he was unsure about other clones experiencing romance, he was certain that he was the only one who had earned the affections of a princess. For a few days, Jas had been important to someone other than his brothers and that was something he would undoubtedly never forget.

Gath moved closer to Mouse now and returned his helmet to his head as well, using his spotlamps to offer additional light. As far as Gath was concerned, Dusty had Zech contained, and there was no sense interfering with Jas and Les'ika. They needed their time to continue their goodbye, and Gath had decided that their ongoing relationship was a war he no longer wanted to take on battling.

Static suddenly broke into the quiet moment, a cascade of crackles and garbles filling the air. Occasionally, something that sounded like a voice would filter though the noise, but it was again drowned out by the static.

Mouse kept adjusting the frequency through the communications box and had even taken a long metal wire and reached it upwards into the low branches above his head, hoping to get better reception.

Mouse flipped a few more switches on the back end of the gray case and pushed another series of buttons when the static finally died down, ebbing like an ocean wave going back out to sea. A man's voice began to grow louder through the speakers, as he was broadcasting a weather report for the local civilians.

Moving another switch and honing in on one of the few frequencies Mouse knew was designated only for clone traffic, he caused the weather reporter to fade. In that man's place came a familiar voice, sharing the same accent that all the clones in the GAR did. The clone sounded as though he was verbally communicating a routine patrol report about the area he was surveying near the palace gates.

Mouse flipped a switch and opened up the two-way communications now. Gath offered no hesitation as he immediately took the initiative to get their message out into the comm. traffic.

"Crimson Squad requesting extraction," Gath reported calmly, "I repeat Crimson Squad requesting extraction."

Jas felt Les'ika tense beneath his grasp, and he swallowed hard. Part of him was hoping that no one would answer, despite the other part of him that knew he had no choice but to return to the GAR.

"Name and rank, soldier," another voice, sounding very much like the clone who was making the report, scolded angrily in response. "Tasteless jokes about the dead are not tolerated."

Arlesse closed her eyes and clutched tightly to Jas' armor now. She felt her heart racing, as there was no denying that the imaginary chronometer had begun ticking faster. She listened to the rest of the conversation that took place between Crimson and the clone soldiers at her father's palace. She concentrated on their exchanges, needing to know how much longer she had with Jas before it would all truly be over.

"You still hold that grudge against Gan, don't you, Tarj? It's not our fault we were just a more personable squad than your do-good riff-raff," Gath replied, the sound of smug satisfaction in his voice as he recognized his estranged brother's voice anywhere. They had both trained under Gan, but Tarj and his men weren't training as commandos. Tarj was created and instructed to be a clone commander rather than be a part of any of the commando squads. He had the fortunate luck that his men were more inclined to obey their orders than Crimson had been. Because of that, Gan didn't spend nearly as much time with Tarj and his men as he had with Crimson, and friendly opposition had built up over the years as Tarj felt a bit slighted by his training sergeant. To make up for Gan's seeming lack of interest in him, Tarj often staged pranks and stupid little nuances for Crimson as a way to try and gain Gan's attention. Strangely, though, Crimson and Tarj found themselves more intertwined as brothers than any of them had planned. Crimson used Tarj's tactics as ways to expect the unexpected and hone their disobedience into inventiveness while Tarj learned to be the unexpected and it helped him to think beyond the traditional war games training that the Kaminoans had loaded into his flash-trained brain.

"You're one sick, shabuir," the voice belonging to Tarj responded, the anger not lessening. There was obvious bitterness in his words that another clone would dare to imitate some of his brothers who had perished nobly in their mission. "You were warned to stop impersonating the dead…"

"Find a superior officer and tell him that the dancing nerf pup took a nap," Gath interrupted, all serious now. "And, the nexu kitten came out of the cave."

There was the sound of a click, followed by a long pause. Collectively, the group held their breath not certain if the silence indicated that they had lost the connection prematurely or if Tarj had cut them off in his anger.

After a long few minutes, however, the communications clicked again, and Tarj's voice burst with emotion as though he was standing right along with them. "Fierfek! You di'kuts! How the hell did you manage to resurrect?"

"Even death rejected the Reject Squad," Dusty said somewhat cheerfully, smiling with satisfaction that apparently the rivalry between Tarj and Crimson had never subsided.

"Well, that definitely sounds like you diniis. I see you're still proud of being the Kaminoan's finest rejects."

"Just remember one-hundred percent, ner vod," Dusty bragged from his position by Zech, trying not to laugh when Tarj called them lunatics. "Last time I checked the status, you were only at ninety-six-point-eight."

"Look, we can debate statistics and tell stories over caf later," Gath cut in, still resenting the "reject" status and how their reputation continued to precede them with it. He thought for certain that after their time apart, even Tarj would have put the past into a different perspective. "Any chance you could get me an extraction for six wets?"

"Six?" Tarj asked, his voice conveying someone who was completely dumbfounded.

Gath's answer was quick. "Five friendlies and one for the interrogation team."

"Well, now, haven't you been productive? I see you're still trying to overachieve your objectives. The question is are you smart enough to get location coordinates for my team?" Tarj said, trying to gently rankle Gath.

"You want a challenge?" Gath responded, rising to Tarj's taunt. "Go ask the locals about the burned down equinine farm. Maybe you'll find someone who remembers where it's located."

"Wait one," Tarj said as silence came over the comm. for a couple moments.

Dusty could imagine Tarj scrambling to find a civilian in his close proximity who could tell him the information he needed in order to do the extraction. He was certain that they had to pull up either an electronic map or find an old flimsi one because there weren't many civilians who could rattle off positioning coordinates, let alone know what positioning coordinates even meant.

After a number of silent minutes had passed, Tarj finally returned and his voice carried an air of relief. "See you in about forty-five minutes, Crimson."

"Crimson, out," Gath finished as Mouse cut the transmission.

"Good old Tarj," Dusty laughed as he began packing up their supplies and making certain that Zech was going nowhere without their assistance. "Never thought we'd see him again after Kamino."

While the others continued chatting in good humor and reminiscing about their days in training, Arlesse looked to Jas and saw him staring at her. For a long moment, neither one could find any words.

"We knew this would happen," he finally said, wondering why his chest felt like it was being crushed under an enormous weight. He should be happy to see Tarj again, and even though he felt no resentment to his brother, he couldn't find anything about the upcoming reunion that made him want to leave this forest.

Arlesse swallowed down the sadness in her throat and curled tighter into Jas, her voice soft. "Please, just hold me until you no longer can."

Tochin Moon III
786 Days ABG

Out in the distance, the high-pitched hum of a LAAT/i gradually increased in volume, turning the silence into nothing but a vehicle's engine. Jas recognized the whirring sound of the engine as it rose and fell in pitch while the pilot skimmed above the treetops, raising and lowering the LAAT/i to account for the varying height of the trees in the forest.

Arlesse couldn't help looking up into the dark sky, trying to seek out the source of the distant noise. She refused to uncurl her fingers from Jas' just yet, asking, "That's them, isn't it?"

"Yes," he replied sadly. Normally, he would welcome the LAAT/i's engine, grateful to get away from whatever situation he was in and look forward to a rest at the end of the mission. However, this time the sound only served as a countdown to the conclusion of the past few days and an end to the moments that had given him an opportunity to share emotions that most of his clone brothers would never know.

The engine of the LAAT/i had grown increasingly loud now, and Jas was certain that the vehicle had found the open field where the equinine farm was once located. There was a change in pitch as the LAAT/i's repulsors kicked in, and Jas was certain that the pilot was assessing where it was safest to land amongst the debris that Mouse had caused earlier when he set off the thermal detonators on Gunna's ship.

Jas regretfully untangled Les'ika's hand from his and watched her slip away from him as she stood against the tree that they had been hidden behind. She lowered her eyes and stared at the darkness of the ground, her eyes blinking hard against the emotions that wanted to spill through. Her fingers twisted nervously before her as though all her confidence had suddenly been erased.

"You'll be okay now," Jas told her as he lifted his helmet off the ground and held it before him.

Arlesse raised her eyes and found him watching her with concern etched on his face. She took a deep breath and spoke softly. "I don't normally get to say goodbye to anyone. Everyone just leaves."

Jas nodded in understanding. He didn't normally get to say goodbye either. He had lost brothers daily, even if they were estranged. Not even Gan offered a goodbye on the day they embarked from Kamino. Their training sergeant, their ba'vodu, had merely watched them load onto a transport ship from the distance with his head down as though grieving.

"Then, we should share this goodbye together," he told her quietly.

Arlesse swallowed hard, braving herself to use one of the words that Jas had taught her. "You and your…vode need to stay safe. None of you are rejects, and you're always welcomed back here. I'll make sure my father knows that."

Jas heard the repulsors of the LAAT/i shut down, and he knew that if they didn't catch up with the others in the open field, Tarj would send out a search party for them. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes at the emotion that his small gesture contained. When he pulled back, he saw the sadness in her eyes, the same sadness that he felt in his own, and his voice was quiet, regretful. "Goodbye, Les'ika."

Arlesse watched as Jas put the helmet on his head. Her voice was a mere whisper, mourning for the man beneath that she would never see again. "Goodbye, Jas."

The sound of scuffling boots surrounded them suddenly, and Jas clenched his fist in silence as he realized that they had not moved quickly enough. Three troopers had found their way to the tree where he and Les'ika had been delaying their departure.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" one of the troopers asked.

Arlesse took a couple seconds to respond, as she was still lost in her memories of Jas, staring at the gray-armored man before her. Finally breaking her eyes away, she looked to the white-armored soldiers and nodded her head absently.

Jas was aware of how Les'ika's trust seemed to have waned. She knew that the clone troopers would not bring her harm, but to her they were faceless soldiers. She had no connection with them, nothing to give her a sense of humanity. Crimson had laid themselves before her as men and so did the trooper who had died for her protection. Jas felt like he was abandoning Les'ika, leaving her to strangers who knew nothing about her, other than what they had probably been fed in some last-minute flash-training session.

Deciding to ignore protocol and the rules for just a while longer, Jas quickly reached forward and grasped her hand. He could see that Les'ika needed someone she could trust, someone who was familiar to her and could ease her back into her life at the palace. Jas knew that he couldn't stay with her for the full transition, but he could certainly stay by her side until she was back on the grounds of her home. Jas felt he had earned that right, that privilege, to be the one to bring her home because he had been with her since the start in Hazar's prison cell.

Aware that Les'ika had suddenly relaxed as though someone had put a comforting blanket around her shoulders, Jas could feel her tension melt as her small fingers squeezed around his hand.

"I'll take her to the LAAT/i," Jas proposed, making sure his voice made no room for compromise.

"Understood," the trooper responded as he moved before them, illuminating the way with his spotlamps. The other two troopers fell in behind the commando and the princess, taking the rear guard.

As the group moved closer to the LAAT/i, four more troopers emerged from the vehicle. One of the troopers had markings in green along his arms and legs, signifying the rank of a clone commander. The green coloring on his helmet was designed to give the appearance of aggressive war paint. It made the T-visor of the helmet look like an angry, hellish alien and the markings on the sides gave the impression of jagged cuts along the being's cheeks. The back of the commander's armor was covered with a thick, leather swath that extended down from his belt to the back of his knees and was trimmed in green along the edges.

As Gath and the rest of Crimson had made their way towards the LAAT/i, Dusty continued to push Zech rudely, offering unconvincing apologizes whenever the baron tripped over something in the field. Mouse stayed close to Zech and kept lifting him by the scruff of his neck every time he lost his balance.

The clone in the green-striped armor lifted his hands to his helmet and removed it from his head. Again, his face looked the same as the men in Crimson, but his hair was much longer than Dusty's, the thick locks extending down past the nape of his neck and tied neatly in the back. He eyed the four commandos and the two civilians that accompanied them.

Gath likewise took off his helmet upon greeting the brother that was his faithful competition their entire lives. Gath allowed a smirk to cross his features. "Nice to see you, Tarj, and the skirt still suits you, especially now that you let your hair grow out."

"I've told you more than once it's a kama, you di'kut," Tarj snapped, trying to restrain from releasing his laugh of relief. "Also, I got tired of dealing with hair cuts. It's a lot easier to just tie it back, but then you always did like to do things the hard way. Speaking of which, I should have known that when they assigned me here, I'd be hauling your shebs out of trouble."

"Tarj, you just can't stand the boring GAR without us," Mouse jibed flatly.

"Wow, someone taught you to speak more than two-word phrases," Tarj laughed as he slapped Mouse's shoulder with relief.

"I take that credit. I make him so annoyed that he just yells whole paragraphs at me now," Dusty smiled as he pushed Zech onto the ground in front of Tarj.

"So, this is the package for interrogation?" Tarj asked, scrutinizing over Zech like he was damaged merchandise at a bazaar.

"Yeah. Separatist di'kut," Dusty answered, "Found him plotting to take out the king. I think this ups our percentage another couple notches. Is it even possible to be over one-hundred percent?"

Jas came before Tarj now, his hand still holding onto Les'ika's. Normally, he would have joined in the verbal bantering with Tarj, as something they were always good for was a laugh with each other. He could see that their time apart in the war hadn't lessened the teasing or the joking, but Jas was far from a jovial mood right now. He knew he had to break himself away from Les'ika, but he just wasn't ready yet to release her hand, and as she clutched to his hand, he knew she continued to feel the same.

"Good to see you, Jas," Tarj smiled guardedly to him in greeting, sensing that Jas was not in quite the same wistful mood as his brothers. His eyes glanced quickly to the way Jas held onto the princess, but with Jas' buy'ce in place, Tarj couldn't get a decent feel for his brother's true disposition.

Jas used his other hand to clasp Tarj's wrist in a typical Mandalorian greeting. "Glad you're still alive."

Tarj released Jas' arm and decided that he wouldn't dwell on his brother right now. Jas would eventually deal with his problems as he always had, and Tarj knew that he had to get back to the more pressing matters at hand anyway. He now bowed his head respectfully to the girl he recognized as the princess. Unlike the multitude of holo-images that the king had shown him during his time at the palace, Arlesse Psach no longer looked quite as refined as those holo-images had indicated. Everything that was enhanced and sophisticated about her in the king's holo collection didn't exist right now as the past few days of wilderness surviving with Crimson was evident in her appearance.

"Ma'am," Tarj said greeting her cautiously, aware of some sadness in her eyes that he hoped was due to missing her father. "We'll get you home quickly."

Arlesse instinctively squeezed Jas' hand tighter, her breath suddenly heavy. She couldn't help herself and turned her head to look at Jas, disappointed when his helmet remained on his head, covering his face.

Jas squeezed her hand in return, watching the entire scene around him through the HUD in his helmet. He saw the troopers hauling Zech onto the LAAT/i, while Crimson smiled happily in their reunion with Tarj. Jas was actually glad that he kept his buy'ce in place because the last thing anyone needed to see was the pain in his eyes. He never imagined in a couple days that he would feel so strongly for anyone, and especially not develop a romantic attachment with a woman. He had already wondered how he was going to adjust his thoughts and emotions when he didn't have Les'ika around anymore.

"Your father is awaiting your return," Tarj continued as he kept his interest on the princess, unable to understand why she seemed so disheartened and why her attention on Jas paled into some kind of deeper sadness.

Arlesse nodded in understanding and watched as Tarj slipped his green-marked helmet onto his head before he stepped inside the LAAT/i and reached a hand down to help her inside.

Jas stayed by Les'ika's side and put a hand on her waist to help steady her as she stepped up into the small transport. He remained with her after they had gotten inside, keeping one hand connected to hers as she took hold of one of the overhead handles.

The rest of Crimson entered behind them, and Zech was pushed into a corner where he was secured to a railing that was designed to hold prisoners. Two of the clone troopers guarded Zech, their stances practically daring him to do something stupid.

Tarj looked down to the princess. "Lift-offs can be rough, Ma'am. Make sure you've got a good grip."

Arlesse tightened her fingers both on the handle and Jas' hand. As Tarj had predicted, the LAAT/i rose with a start and if it wasn't for Jas' grasp, she was certain that she would have lost her balance. Closing her eyes for a few minutes, Arlesse concentrated on nothing but the warm strength of Jas' gloved fingers and knew that she only had this miniscule touch left to share with him now, but she was going to spend the flight back home lost in her memories of the past few days. She would never forget Crimson, and she would especially not forget Jas.