Site-Ω-7, Sublevel 3 Medical Bay – 10:02 Local Site Time
The medical bay on Sublevel 3 had never been designed for this many species at once.
Standard Foundation protocol allowed for human, near-human, and select non-humanoid patients, but nothing in the contingency manuals covered clone troopers whose genetic baseline was human yet carried battlefield modifications no Earth surgeon had ever seen. Two bays had been cleared and isolated behind triple airlocks. White plastoid armor lay in neat stacks along one wall—helmets cracked open like eggshells—while Foundation med-techs in full hazmat suits moved with deliberate slowness among the wounded.
Five clone troopers occupied the beds. Three conscious but pale, two sedated after taking kinetic rounds to the chest plate. The injuries were survivable with bacta; without it, the trauma gel and synth-flesh patches were only buying time.
ARC-5597—Echo—stood at the foot of the nearest bed, arms folded, helmet clipped to his belt. His face was young-old, the kind of young that had seen too many battles. He watched a med-tech carefully slide an IV line into his brother's arm.
"Will he make it?" Echo asked. Voice low. Steady.
The med-tech—Dr. Lin, trauma specialist—didn't look up from the monitor.
"Stable for now. The gel sealed the worst of the bleeders. But there's micro-fracturing in the ribs and some internal bruising we can't fully assess without better imaging. Your armor took most of the impact, but not all."
Echo nodded once.
"He's tough. They all are."
Dr. Voss had come down personally—rare for her to leave the observation post. She stood just inside the airlock doorway, mask lowered, watching the scene with quiet intensity.
"We can move them to a more advanced suite if needed," she offered. "Full MRI, surgical theater. But it would mean bringing them deeper into the site."
Echo turned toward her.
"And deeper means more security. More eyes. More risk they won't come back out."
Voss didn't flinch.
"Yes. But also more chance they live."
Echo studied her for several seconds—searching for the lie that wasn't there.
"I'll talk to the others. See what they want."
**Holding Cell 4-B – 10:11**
Ahsoka had been pacing again—slow, measured steps that carried her from one end of the cell to the other. The monitors still glowed with rift data, now showing the aperture holding steady after the second micro-adjustment. But her attention had drifted.
The speakers clicked.
"Commander Tano," Voss's voice came through—gentler than before. "We have five of your clone troopers in medical. Three walking wounded, two critical but stable. They're asking for a Jedi. Specifically… you or Master Yoda."
Ahsoka stopped mid-step.
"How bad?"
"Survivable with current treatment. But bacta would accelerate recovery dramatically. We don't have it. They do."
Yoda's ears lifted slightly.
"Bring them here," he said simply. "Or us to them. Healing… needs presence. Not just medicine."
Vader turned from the wall he had been facing.
"No," he said. Flat. Final.
Ahsoka spun toward him.
"They're dying, Anakin."
"They are soldiers. They know the cost."
"That doesn't mean we abandon them."
Vader's helmet remained fixed forward.
"You would risk the containment—for sentiment?"
"I would risk it for people who've bled for us. For you."
The mechanical breathing cycled once—longer, deeper.
Yoda spoke before the silence could harden.
"Fear of loss," he said quietly, "clouds judgment. But so does refusal to feel it."
Vader did not respond.
Ahsoka stepped closer—close enough that if the helmet had eyes instead of lenses, she would have been staring straight into them.
"You gave the order to hold position," she said. "They obeyed. They're still obeying. If we can help them… we should."
Another long pause.
Then Vader spoke—voice so low the microphones almost missed it.
"Bring one. The ARC. Conscious. No restraints. No weapons. He speaks for them."
Ahsoka exhaled—relief and tension mixed.
"Thank you."
Vader turned away again. Toward the wall. Toward nothing.
**Sublevel 3 Medical Bay – 10:28**
Echo entered the cell corridor under heavy but non-aggressive escort—two Nu-7 operators walking at parade-rest distance, weapons slung low. His armor had been stripped to the undersuit; only the pauldron with ARC markings remained. Hands empty. Posture straight.
The cell door cycled open.
Ahsoka was waiting just inside—small, relieved smile breaking through the fatigue.
"Echo."
"Commander." He saluted—crisp, instinctive—then let his arm drop. His eyes flicked to Yoda, then to Vader's unmoving back.
"General. Lord Vader."
Yoda inclined his head.
"Wounded, your brothers are. Come. Speak with them through the feed if you wish. Or… stay."
Echo hesitated—only a heartbeat—then stepped fully inside.
The door closed behind him with a soft pneumatic sigh.
In the observation post, Voss watched the feed without blinking.
"Medical team standing by," she murmured into her comm. "If this works… we might actually start saving people instead of just delaying the inevitable."
On the cell monitor, Echo knelt beside one of the unconscious clones whose feed had been patched through. Ahsoka placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
The rift outside hummed—steady now. Almost calm.
But in the cell, something heavier than physics was shifting.
One small, human moment at a time.
**End of Chapter 15**