Site-Ω-7, Holding Cell 4-B – 10:35 Local Site Time
Echo remained kneeling beside the low portable holo-projector the Foundation had set up inside the cell. The device projected a small, stable feed from the medical bay: one of the sedated clone troopers—CT-4129, nicknamed "Stitch" by his squad—lay under bright surgical lights. Chest plate removed, synth-flesh patches already darkening with absorbed blood, monitors beeping in slow, steady rhythm.
Ahsoka crouched next to Echo, one hand resting lightly on his pauldron. Her other hand hovered near the projection—not touching it, just close enough that her palm caught the faint blue glow.
"He's strong," she said quietly. "Always was. Remember Hissrich? Took a full vibroblade to the side and still covered our retreat."
Echo gave a small, tired huff that might have been a laugh.
"Yeah. Stubborn di'kut. Refused the bacta tank after because he said it made his scars itch."
Yoda watched from the bench—silent, attentive, small hands folded over his cane.
Vader had not moved from his position against the far wall. His cape hung motionless; the mechanical breathing continued its relentless cycle. But his helmet was angled slightly toward the holo-feed. Watching.
Ahsoka glanced back at him once—brief, searching—then returned her attention to Echo.
"Can I try something?" she asked the ARC trooper. "It's not bacta. It's… the Force. Focused healing. It won't fix everything, but it might ease the pain, stabilize the internals until your medics can do more."
Echo studied her face for a long moment—then looked toward Vader.
"My lord?"
Vader's voice came low, without turning.
"Do what you must, Tano."
No approval in the tone. No objection either. Just permission given like a door left ajar.
Ahsoka exhaled slowly through her nose.
She extended both hands toward the projection—palms down, fingers slightly spread. Her eyes closed. Breathing deepened into deliberate rhythm.
Nothing dramatic happened at first.
Then, on the medical bay feed, Stitch's vitals shifted.
Heart rate dropped three beats per minute—not crashing, easing. Oxygen saturation ticked upward by two points. The jagged lines of pain on the monitor smoothed fractionally, as though someone had turned down the volume on suffering.
In the cell, a soft golden-green shimmer appeared between Ahsoka's palms—faint, almost translucent. It drifted forward like smoke, passed through the holo-projector without resistance, and vanished into the feed.
Dr. Lin's voice crackled over the medical comm—surprised but controlled.
"Patient's cortisol levels just plummeted. Tissue inflammation markers down 14%. No external stimulus detected. What the hell just happened?"
Echo's eyes widened slightly.
"She did," he said simply.
**Medical Bay Observation – 10:42**
Dr. Voss stood behind the one-way glass of the medical bay, watching the same feed. The thaumatologist beside her was already scribbling notes.
"Localized Hume fluctuation inside the bay," he reported. "Centered on the patient. No corresponding spike at the cell. It's… directional. Like the energy was channeled."
Voss nodded once.
"Keep recording. Full spectrum. If this is replicable…"
She didn't finish the sentence. The implications were too large, too fast.
In the bay itself, Stitch stirred—only slightly. A low groan escaped the sedation haze. His eyelids fluttered.
"Commander…?" he mumbled.
Echo leaned closer to the projection.
"Right here, brother. Rest. We've got you."
**Holding Cell 4-B – 10:49**
Ahsoka lowered her hands. The golden-green shimmer faded. She exhaled shakily—small beads of sweat on her brow.
"It's not much," she said. "He'll still need real treatment. But it should buy time."
Echo rose slowly.
"Thank you, Commander."
He turned toward Yoda—saluted with fist to chest.
"General."
Yoda inclined his head.
"Strong, your brothers are. Stronger together."
Echo's gaze shifted last to Vader.
The Dark Lord had finally turned—fully—toward the holo-projector. For several seconds he regarded the injured clone without speaking.
Then, quietly—almost too low for the microphones:
"Survive."
One word.
Not an order. Not a plea.
A statement of fact.
Echo straightened.
"Yes, my lord."
He saluted once more—crisp, precise—then allowed the escort to lead him back toward the door.
As the cell sealed behind him, Ahsoka looked at Vader.
"You didn't have to say anything," she said softly.
Vader's helmet remained fixed on the now-empty holo-projector space.
"I did not say it for you," he replied.
But he did not look away.
On the rift monitor behind them, the aperture had shrunk another 0.04 meters during the healing attempt.
No one commented on it.
Some things did not need naming to be real.
**End of Chapter 16