offered to Jenna so she could wipe her eyes and face.

“What excitement?” asked Corporal Star. “We've only been shot up, shipwrecked, nearly lost our commanding officer, and been captured by the Rebellion. That hardly qualifies as excitement.” He snapped his fingers. “All in a day's work for the soldiers of the Empire.”

Jenna laughed through her tears, mopped her face, and sat up straighter, looking much more composed.

Doc smiled at them. “Very good. All the same, I think we'll try to get you taken care of as quickly as possible so you can get some rest. Things will look better in the morning.”

“Morning already?” thought Balto, squinting at the light shining in on him. He had a sneaking suspicion that someone aboard the Executor was advancing the day cycle while no one was looking. “Guess I ought to get up.” One didn't want to be late to any meeting attended by Lord Vader, but now that he thought about it he had no memory of the day's agenda and that was very odd. Normally, he had an idea of what was expected of him and his men several days in advance. They often had surprise assignments, but he only had to respond to surprises as they occurred. Yet it was unwise to miss a staff meeting and that nagging thought prodded him awake more than anything.

“What was I doing? Seems like I was in the middle of doing something.” Balto raised a paw to rub the sleep from his eyes and noticed a strange heaviness along his paw as if somehow the air had acquired substance. Another oddity. He yawned and felt fluid move in and out of his mouth. That wasn't odd, it was downright outlandish! Balto opened his eyes wide and tried in vain to focus on the hazy view. “I'm not in my bed; I'm in a bacta tank! Without a breath mask, comm gear, my clothes or anything!? When did that happen? What's going on?” He scowled fiercely and raised his paws to strike at the walls of the tank. “Never mind that, I'm getting out of here!”

“Don't.”

That familiar voice again. Balto hesitated with his knuckles millimeters short of the transparisteel tube in which he was trapped. “What?” When he received no immediate reply he shook his head, feeling his fur about in the blood-warm liquid. The old claustrophobic feeling coursed along his nerves, along with snatches of memory: a wrecked ship, wounded comrades, and being trapped in the cold dark with the ghost of a Jedi. His heart began to race as a host of new worries assailed him. “Jenna and my men…what happened to them? Did they get rescued?” He gritted his teeth. “I want out, now!” Balling up his paws he prepared again to start pounding on the tank.

“Balto, let go of your fear and think clearly.” The quiet voice sounded almost as if it were quoting a professor’s teachings. “They will take you out presently, but if you are in that much of a hurry, simply remove the top and let yourself out. It is not tightly sealed.”

The voice had a calming influence. Balto took a deep breath of the fluid and let his initial panicked reaction drain away as he exhaled slowly. Taking stock of his situation he found he was not actually restrained. A light harness studded with small weights on his upper body served to keep him suspended in the middle of the liquid-filled tube but he soon discovered it did not prevent him from swimming upward to the top of the tank. Bracing himself against the walls he placed both paws against the cover and pushed upward. It yielded after a few firm shoves. Once loosened, he nudged it to one side, creating an opening large enough to allow him to surface into the air of the room beyond. Different voices called to him from below.

“Hold on a minute, Commander! We'll help you down.”

Balto wiped his eyes and peered over the side of the tank. The dog speaking to him was a young medic. Standing beside him was another medic who seemed to be somewhat older.

“Yes, wait there for just a moment and I'll bring up the lift; it would look bad if you fell, broke your bones, and had to be put back in the tank for another day,” said the second medic.

That unpleasant possibility made Balto pause. Resting his paws against the lip of the tank he waited, exhaling warm fluid and inhaling cool air. The odd mingling of the two dissimilar substances brought on a fit of coughing. He was still snorting and sneezing as the medics hoisted him from the tank and lowered him gently to a mat nearby. One of them quickly flung a towel over his wet, furry body and withdrew to linger at a safe distance, waiting for him to cease coughing up fluid and mucus. When Balto had finished the medic drew close enough to remove the harness, and began to help towel the remnants of bacta from his fur. 

“How do you feel, Sir?”

With an expression of distaste, Balto shook bits of bacta from his arms and began to dry his hair vigorously with a second towel. “Wet, sticky, and starving.”

The younger of the two medics laughed. “You sound much improved, Sir. You're in luck, too; the day cycle is just starting, I'll see about getting you some breakfast right away.”

“I'd appreciate that, thank you,” said Balto, as he wiped his face with the towel. “How are my people?”

“Don't worry, they’re all fine, we didn't lose a single one. You can check on them yourself once we've got you properly kitted out and fed.” The medic pointed at himself. “I'm Sav, and he's Ardin. With the help of Doctor Doc we've been taking turns looking after you and your group.”

Balto nodded as he finished drying himself off and accepted a hospital robe from Sav. “I’m grateful for the rescue.” He shrugged into the robe.

“How goes the war?”

“Err… it goes very well for us,” said Ardin in a quiet voice. “But not so well for your side, I'm afraid. The Death Star has been destroyed and the Emperor is dead.”

Balto stared at the medic as if seeing him for the first time. “You… you're not one of ours!” he said in an accusatory tone.

“I could say the same about you,” said Ardin equably.

“You're Rebels?” asked Balto.

“I'm told they're calling us the New Republic now.”

“Huh, as if the old one was any good,” Balto laughed. “Couldn't you people have at least picked a different name?” As he spoke he looked around the room. It seemed to be devoid of patients; two other bacta tanks stood empty nearby, and a row of hospital beds were likewise unoccupied. While he did not see any guards, neither did he see his uniform, armor, or anything that looked like a weapon. Balto sighed and temporarily shelved his initial plans for a breakout.

“Well, that's what we get when we let the politicians decide these things,” Ardin shrugged and smiled at Balto. “Perhaps they thought it would be nice to remember the old Republic by recycling the name.”

Sav laughed at Ardin's summary. “I'm rather fond of the name ‘Rebel' myself. It seems a lot more exciting. New Republic sounds entirely too respectable.” Turning away, he made a follow-me gesture. “This way, Sir. We can't bring food into the wards, but we've got a break room next door where you can sit and eat. Dr. Doc will want to check on you now that you're out of the tank.”

Balto walked after the medic, who led him out of the sick bay and into a room directly across the hall. It seemed to be a small stateroom with a table, chairs, and a compact galley. An older German Shepard with brown fur in the uniform of a physician was pouring a cup of water as the group of dogs entered. He smiled when he saw Balto and quickly poured another cup, offering it to the commander. “Here you are, up and about at last. Take a chair and I'll get you something to eat. I’m Doc, your attending physician. How do you feel?”

Balto sat down at the table, carefully tucking his robe around him. “I'm alive, and that rather surprises me.”

“Yes, it was a near thing. You're the last of your group to recover.” Dr. Doc moved to the table and placed a plate of food in front of Balto. “Once I'm done examining you, you can go and check on your people. They'll be very relieved to see that you're out. Captain Jenna has been pestering my medics and me about your condition.” The doctor's voice held a reluctant admiration. “For Imperials, they seem to care quite a bit about you and each other.”

Balto paused to swallow a mouthful of food before replying in a dry tone. “You mean Imperials can't care about each other?”

The doctor shook his head. “I haven't seen too many that cared about anyone or anything other than themselves, or power. Not that I've met all that many personally during the years of the rebellion, but the ones I saw on the Holonet were hardly paragons of virtue. Mostly I've had to deal only with our own wounded.” Doc studied Balto's face thoughtfully. “Your Captain and Corporal are the first two live Imperials I've been able to have a conversation with. They seem to be good dogs and their concern for your welfare is genuine.”

“They are good dogs,” Balto said simply. There was a lot more to it than that, but Balto did not know how to express the complicated web of loyalty and honor that bound him to his own troops and by extension to anyone who had served aboard the Executor. He contented himself with finishing his meal and tried to ignore the fact that Doc was watching him closely. The two medics who had helped him out of the tank excused themselves and left the room. No guards arrived, but Balto did not fool himself into thinking that he could simply leave. “I don't even know where I am”, he thought to himself as he took a sip of water. “Guess I'll have to wait and gather a little intelligence before trying to get us back to the Empire.”

At last Balto pushed his bowl back with a sigh, feeling much more dog now that he had had a proper meal. Looking at the doctor over the rim of