Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mustafar, 19 BBY

Obi-Wan was dueling his brother. Anakin grappled with him for a moment before forcing himself out of the saber lock and attacking Obi-Wan again. At this point, he felt as if he were a bystander, watching as his body fought Anakin, who was trying his best to destroy him with extreme prejudice. 

He came back to his body with a snap, because now they were dueling on the lava, heat radiating off of, well, everything, and the air was permeated with the hatred that radiated off of Anakin, even though he was distantly aware that the Anakin that he had trained was not the one who was trying to separate his head from his body. And it hurt because he knew that he had to stop Anakin, even though he would have no sooner harmed Anakin than himself.

The probability that a few ribs were broken at this point was high; breathing felt like he was sucking in shards of glass. Cody would have been pushing him toward Ivee now to get a check-up, but then, Cody wasn’t quite Cody anymore, Obi-Wan remembered dispassionately, because he had felt his troopers’ force signatures scream out in agony and horror before they buckled before a stagnant gray force and fired on him.

Crossing blades with Anakin hurt like his men shooting at him hurt, he decided. He had been hurting since, well, since Bandomeer. Or maybe earlier. But he supposed that since the start of the war it had started to hurt more, especially when Anakin told him a particularly blatant lie and he was never really knew what to do because Anakin had always made an effort to at least try to make a decent lie before, but after a point in the war (he didn’t know when) Anakin simply didn’t care what havoc his words caused and left Obi-Wan to clean up the broken pieces after him. Most often the shattered pieces of his heart, although he didn’t think his mask ever slipped off; Obi-Wan had gotten quite good at the mask during the war.

Obi-Wan had now jumped up onto the hot sand (how Anakin hated any kind of sand) and watched as Anakin drifted past him on the lava currents until Obi-Wan was certain Anakin was planning to jump, and that couldn’t end well.

“It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground.” This could not end well. And he supposed it would result in one or both of their deaths. 

Anakin still radiated stifling hatred in the Force, and gods, it hurt to know that the bright light in the Force that Anakin was, had been corrupted with darkness and hatred. Although perhaps he hadn’t been pure for a long time. He had never asked Anakin what happened on Tatooine when his mother died, but he had heard the rumors and decided not to believe them because he did not believe Anakin could have fallen so far. Because he was still the beacon of Light in the Force, but perhaps he let his love for his brother blind him to the truth. “You underestimate my power!” Even though Obi-Wan knew Anakin better than he did himself, and knew that if he wanted to, Anakin would die by his hand today.

And hence the broken, “don’t try it,” please Anakin, that ripped its way out of his chest and left him feeling worse than he had ever felt. 

And yet Obi-Wan can feel Anakin gathering the force about him and preparing to attack, and knows that he must choose whether or not he would harm his little brother, his vod’ika like Cody and Satine (don’t think about her) taught him and remembers that Cody had asked him if Anakin was his ad, his aliit. And Obi-Wan had smiled at Cody and told him, yes, Anakin was his aliit.

And Anakin brought his ‘saber up in a furious stroke, and Obi-Wan, knowing a mou kei would effectively stop Anakin from hurting others in one smooth, graceful move, hesitated long enough for Anakin’s hate-filled eyes, sulfurous and red-rimmed, to meet his own blue-grey eyes and for his ignited lightsaber to slide its way into his chest. 

Obi-Wan distantly felt his ‘saber falling from numb fingers into Anakin’s organic hand as he fell heavily to his knees, a burning pain filling his chest and stopping him from drawing breath even as he opened his mouth and raised his eyes, once again, to meet Anakin’s. And found, once again, that the pure blue was no longer present, and had given way to the bright gold of hatred. And realized that the man he had been facing was no longer Anakin and that he was Darth Vader, twisted by the dark into something unrecognizable, his once handsome face twisted in fury, and perhaps something else. 

Obi-Wan was on his knees before Vader, who held his lightsaber in his stomach; they held that position for an indeterminate amount of time. Probably seconds, until Vader deactivated his lightsaber with a hiss and let Obi-Wan waver on his knees with his right hand now clasped over Anakin’s mech hand, which had gotten there sometime in the last few seconds. He was dimly aware of the blistering heat around him fading away along with the angry hiss-spit of the lava. He sucked in a rasping breath, feeling the air in his broken lungs. 

Obi-Wan brought his left hand to hold Anakin’s mech hand with his right, trying not to go to sleep because his vod’ika needed him right now and he couldn’t help him if he was dead, and sucked in another unsteady breath. 

Anakin was his brother. And Obi-Wan had failed him, just as he had failed everyone else. 

Anakin had pulled away from Obi-Wan, leaving him sagging and falling further into the sand. His anger in the Force was extreme now. It bombarded his mental shields, sharp spikes of anger-resentment-sadness that thrust painful splinters into his mind. No longer certain of the purpose of staying awake for Anakin, because it was now evident that Anakin did not want his help (he was standing with his back turned to the dying Obi-Wan), he sucked in another draft of air in an effort to still his choking breaths, and told Anakin, in a barely audible voice, precisely how much he loved him. And tried to project his flickering love and light into the anger around him, failing miserably, and finally collapsing on his side to watch Anakin, who had now turned back toward Obi-Wan to watch his father-brother die of a lightsaber wound that he gave to him. 

Obi-Wan could no longer feel anything, not the coarse sand beneath his tunics, nor the angry heat from the lava, or even Anakin’s angry force presence, and found himself wishing he could feel Cody’s strong, steady presence, along with the rest of the bright lights of the 212th. Obi-Wan regretted that he didn’t know what happened to Ahsoka, who had to be with Rex now, Rex who loved Ahsoka like his little sister. And hoping that he did not have to shoot Ahsoka down as Cody did. Half-formed regrets and hopes swirled around in Obi-Wan’s dim consciousness; that he hadn’t realized that Palpatine was the Sith Lord until he saw Anakin kneeling before him in a holorecording, that he hadn’t saved his men, that he had failed to save everyone; the list went on, until, eventually, his bright beacon of light flickered out, extinguished by the hatred of the Sith. 

—————————————

Utapau, 19 BBY

Cody offered the General a brief, genuine smile when he came back from rescuing the Chancellor. They were so close to the end of the war, all they needed was Grievous, and then it would be over. It seemed that the General recognized this as well because while he still sported the usual look of absolute exhaustion, it was tinted by the slight upturn of his mouth as the General informed Cody that they had located General Grievous on Utapau and that they were almost there, Cody. 

Cody couldn’t stop himself from watching the General’s face as he stood over the holoprojector as they planned their attack. The General would go to the surface to make contact with the Utapauns, and he would report back because it was only a scouting mission. Although, if Cody knew his General (and he hoped he did,) Kenobi would find Grievous and engage because that’s just the sort of luck the General had. 

“Remember, General, don’t engage until we’re there to support you.” Cody hoped his warning would be heeded, because he just wanted Obi-Wan to be alright, to see the end of the war, and to truly smile, as he did around General Skywalker and Commander Tano when she was still around. Kenobi only offered a half-smile in return, and Cody would take what he could get. 

They were standing on the bridge, watching the blur of lines wash the deck with a pale blue light as the ship thrummed beneath their feet and Cody’s vode added to the background noise as they went about their work in the ship. Kenobi was standing next to him, watching the streaks of light crease the lines in their vision.

“What do you want to do after the war, Cody?” The question was rather unexpected. 

“Sir?” The General gave him a wry smirk. 

“What do you want to do after the war?” Cody rather thought he would want to follow his General, but that wasn’t much of an answer. 

So he answered as truthfully as he could, seeing as the General hadn’t told Cody what he wanted to do after the war, himself. After the war was an interesting idea. “I don’t know, General. I haven’t thought that much about it.” And he hadn’t, hadn’t dared to hope that he would make it to the end of the war. This hung in the air unsaid, and it seemed that the General realized this as well because he glanced sharply over toward Cody and gave him that sad smile that always made Cody want to walk toward him and give him a tight hug (and maybe more, but that was impossible because the General was a jetii and they couldn’t have attachments.)

“Well, I suppose we’ll take it one step at a time then, Commander.”

“Just so, sir.” Cody flicked his eyes over the General once again, cataloging the auburn hair, steely blue eyes, and jetii tunics, sans armor. Which always gave him more stress than necessary, because really, the General needed armor with the number of times he got into trouble, and Cody didn’t give a kriff about all the osik about ‘the Force will provide’ and whatnot. And his eyes flicked forward again because staring at one's General too long gets one in trouble.

Waxer, Boil, Crys, Rex, and Gearshift sat down next to Cody in the mess hall, all giving him inscrutable looks. After a while of these cryptic looks, Cody looked up from his “soup” and glared at his vod’ika.

“What, Rex?”

“Be honest, Cody?” Rex was facing him now.

Cody was utterly perplexed. “Okay, vod’ika. Stop looking at me weird, you lot.” 

“Sure, Commander.” Cody gave Boil a death glare. 

“Stop that.” 

They now shouted “Sir, yes sir!” in unison. Cody gave a long-suffering sigh.

“What, vode?”

Rex turned toward Cody and looked him in the eye. “I have creds riding on this bet, Cody. Are you in love with General Kenobi?” 

Cody panicked for a moment, but Rex’s presence calmed him slightly. Did he love his General? And that was a sickeningly easy question to answer. It was yes, of course, because loving his General was as easy as breathing. So he looked down at his hands and whispered, “yes,” to his brothers. And he knew that some lucky vod, probably Rex, earned lots of credits today. 

Rex clapped his hand on Cody’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, ori’vod, I’m sorry.”

After acknowledging the tightness in his chest whenever the General smiled at him, or the way his heart started beating faster when the General was in the same room as love for Obi-Wan, he resolved to wait until regulations no longer demanded Cody refrain from a relationship, and for the General to hopefully reciprocate his feelings. "After the war ends" became a promise to himself that one day he would be able to be with Obi-Wan without worrying about anything besides the teasing of his brothers. 

After the report came in that the General had eyes on Grievous, Cody cursed because the di’kut was without backup. Sending troopers to the General’s position, Cody cursed again a short time later when he recognized the General’s lightsaber lying in the dirt at his feet. He scanned the upper levels for a sign of his General, because now he was engaging Grievous without a weapon, and wasn’t that wonderful. 

Cody dragged his focus back to the task at hand; destroying the Separatist forces. He also contacted the Jedi Council and informed them that the General had engaged Grievous.

Hearing a bird-like shriek, Cody turned to see his General, tired but alive, and let a relieved smile split his face because they were almost there. 

The General gave him a wide smile. 

“Commander, contact your troops. Tell them to move to the higher levels.” Cody nodded.

“Very good, sir.” Cody couldn’t help the smirk that entered his voice, and judging by the General’s continued smile, he heard it too. “Oh, by the way, I think you'll be needing this.” The General gave him a wry look as if to say it couldn’t be helped. They both gave each other a tired smile.

“Thank you, Cody.” The smile the General flashed at him was smaller but infinitely warmer. After the war seemed very possible now, and Cody couldn’t help but hope now that Grievous and Dooku were dead. He watched the General ride up the cliff, his mount shrieking the way up when Cody got a comm. Confused, Cody did not recognize the comm number, but he answered. 

His mind went blank under the assault of CC-2224 and when the hooded figure said, “Commander Cody, the time has come. Execute Order Sixty-Six,” CC-2224 agreed. 

“It will be done, my lord.” 

CC-2224 turned to a nearby trooper, Fritz, the part of him that was still Cody remembered, and recalled that he was the worst shot in a company of exceptional soldiers. 

CC-2224 shouted, “Blast him!” and watched dispassionately as the animal and traitor fell toward the water from an impossible height. 

Cody screamed in silence, trapped inside his head as he watched his General plummet toward the unforgiving water from such a height and screamed his grief again, for the after the war, but more for his General, who he loved, and whom he killed. 

—————————————

Death Star, 0 BBY

After the war, CC-2224 was singled out by Vader to be in his command. It followed his orders without question, but sometimes it halted in its steps when Cody was screaming in his mind because destroying people and their way of life was wrong. Because if General Skywalker had gone Dark, serving the Emperor, Cody would have to resist CC-2224. Unfortunately, it never amounted to anything. 

CC-2224 noted, dispassionately, that clones were being replaced by stormtroopers. They were used as cannon fodder. But Vader kept CC-2224 by his side, for years, until on the Death Star, CC-2224 saw a young man with dirty blond hair running toward a shuttle with another young woman and man, both with hair a shade of brown, and a Wookie. Vader pulled out two lightsabers, one a silver cylinder with black ridges, the other with a black handle, silver casing, and gold activation button that was eerily familiar. 

Cody recognized the 'saber as Kenobi's lightsaber with a jolt and beat at the confines of his mind with a new fervor (he had given up some time ago) because if Vader had the General's lightsaber, he had to have found his General's body, and desecrated it, at the bottom of some Force-forsaken Utapaun sinkhole. 

Cody pounded at the confines of his mind, screaming because he needed to be free, and he realized he had fallen to his knees, and tearing his helmet off, he sucked in huge drafts of breath and distantly recognized the pounding in his head and that the blood that dripped down his temple was from him, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. 

When he raised his head again, the young blonde was looking at him, and Cody, who could now feel the cool floor beneath his gloves, and feel his body again, looked into the shockingly blue eyes and recognized the curve of the man's face, his nose, his eyes, and realized that the man was Vader's son (Vader had certainly screamed at CC-2224 enough about how his General took Padme from him, how Obi-Wan killed his unborn children.) Vader was now almost to the group, who were running, ever closer to the shuttle and taking the occasional shot at the other stormtroopers and on occasion, Vader himself, who deflected the bolts with his two red, bleeding blades, which was wrong because the General's 'saber wasn't supposed to be red. And now in control of his own body, which Vader had controlled too long (he had even stopped the accelerated aging because he wanted to maintain his twisted possession of his old master's commander), he unholstered his blasters and steadily shot at Vader, who had to twist and dodge around his shots, his black armorweave cape twisting in contorted shapes around his body. The delay in Vader's progress was enough to let the group run up the boarding ramp, where Cody caught sight of a familiar blue and chrome dome that he distantly recognized as R2-D2.

Vader raised his arms as the shuttle's engines strained against him; Cody was now too dizzy to raise his blaster again; he watched distantly as Vader drew the shuttle back with the Force, brow furrowed in concentration and yellow eyes burning, and he realized that there wasn't much point in shooting at Vader if the group didn't escape, so he summoned the last of his strength and shot, again and again, at Vader's turned back. The lapse in concentration was enough to force him to let go of the shuttle which gunned its engines and jumped to hyperspace as soon as it cleared the Death Star, and Cody continued shooting until he drew in another breath and found that he couldn't.

He could feel the invisible hand around his neck, crushing delicate cartilage and tissue, lifting him off his feet, his body dangling limply below him, suspended by his neck. Another presence was also there, wrapping its warm force presence around Cody, soothing and forgiving, reminding Cody of his General, of when he used the Force to throw him skywards, out of danger, or when he simply wrapped his Force presence around Cody to comfort him, and Cody found that he no longer truly cared if Vader killed him now, staring into his sulfurous eyes. 

Vader was now standing in front of Cody's hanging body as he choked and desperately clawed at his throat to try to get some air, the warm presence still wrapped around him and dulling the pain, drawing it out of him and soothing him. 

Vader's face was contorted with silent fury, watching Cody choke to death, surrounded by the masked faces of stormtroopers and one Grand Admiral Tarkin. Vader's lips twisted and he stepped forward, curling Cody's helpless fingers around Obi-Wan's lightsaber, his thumb over the activation button and the 'saber pointed toward Cody's heart. 

And Cody, who had killed his General, and would surely die sooner or later, still struggled for life because he was free now, and he needed to make amends, until a dark and oily presence took hold of his thumb and pressed the button, igniting the lightsaber in Cody's hands with a snap-hiss and Cody's world fell away, the already faded paneled walls of the Death Star disappearing at an alarming rate, and he let go and fell into the warm comfort of the unknown presence until both it and Cody were yanked, twisted out of something, and tugged down threads and strings of energy, and he was shoved into blissful darkness. 

—————————————

When Cody sucked in a deep breath, feeling warm dirt beneath his body, he was distantly aware that his limbs felt wrong, that his armor was far too large and loose around him where it used to fit snugly (or at least as snugly as it could fit), and the place where Vader had stabbed him did not hurt at all.

Cody grimaced when he realized that, no, he was not dead (even though, generally speaking, getting stabbed in the heart killed people), and no, he couldn’t just slip back into unconsciousness because he had to find out what the kriff had happened to him.

He forced his limbs to move, again noting the odd feeling that his limbs were smaller than he was used to. 

Cody was in a forest, the orange-brown atmosphere clearly breathable, and the dirt beneath was mixed with various organic materials, namely leaves. When he finally pushed himself to his feet, his first observation was that he had the body of a child. A very, very small child, complete with small, pudgy hands and short limbs and a complete inability to fit into any of his armor. Not that he cared about the stormtrooper armor. The second observation that he was able to make while running his hands over his face, was that while he had none of the scars that he had gained after a few decades of service, the scar curling around his temple was still there. And seeing as this situation was by far the oddest thing that had happened to him, (Obi-Wan would say that this was as the Force willed; perhaps this was what the Force willed because he should be dead right now) he needed to get up and figure out what was going on. Acquire intel. That was something he could do, especially now that he knew the chip was disabled, or at least not currently on and preventing him from doing anything. 

He stepped out of the now useless pile of armor, keeping his blacks, and pulling those on. He rolled the sleeves and pant legs up a few times, kept the too-large boots, and stuffed the stormtrooper armor in the hollow of a weird tree under a pile of leaves.

Knowing there was nothing better he could do- stormtrooper gear was trash, and he couldn’t lug around his armor anyway, Cody chose a direction and began walking.

—————————————

Korda VI, 52 BBY

Buir had sent Jango and a few other verde to go scouting. It was supposed to be an easy job; rescue a group of rookie security guards, but his buir liked knowing the lay of the land first. He had to agree with this assessment. So far, they had not found the security rookies, but Jango had his HUD scanning for heat signatures, as well as tracks, and if he didn’t find something, the rest of the team would. 

As if on cue to that, Mjiir commed the team. “I found some pretty small tracks. If I had to guess, they belong to a child or a smaller species.”

“Alright, follow them and I’ll come with you.” Jango checked his location and started heading toward Mjiir. Jaster would want any tracks to be followed, especially if they could belong to an ad. 

Meeting up with Mjiir and Myles, Jango kept a watch on the comm chatter as they followed the tracks. They hesitated when the previously straight tracks turned sharply to the right and just stopped. A flash of black, and he felt a small body hit him and twist away. Mjiir and Myles both had their blasters readied, but not before he registered that a tiny adiik had somehow grabbed his second blaster from his holster and had it pointing toward him. 

Jango grimaced. To see such a young adiik already using weapons so easily and being wary enough to point them toward a stranger spoke of abuse, if not something worse. Behind him, he heard Myles slowly and carefully holster his blaster as he held his hands up. Both Jango and Mjiir did the same, keeping their hands in viewing range.

The adiik, however, did not lower their blaster. They had dark hair, cut short with military precision, olive skin, and a scar that curled around their temple and left eye. They were wearing a too-big bodysuit that looked like it had been rolled up several times, and their intelligent amber eyes never stopped sizing up Jango and his companions. They also resembled Jango, but that was not at the forefront of Jango’s mind. If it hadn’t been for the fact that this tiny ad had just attacked him and grabbed his blaster, Jango would have laughed at the expression of intense concentration on the ad’s face. Or maybe not, because that was an expression he didn’t think he’d see on such a young face.

Mjiir seemed to be the first to come out of the stupor that they had been in before. No one expected to be attacked by a kid who looked six or seven, no more than that. “Hey. I’m Mjiir, and these two di’kute are Myles and Jango. We’re not going to hurt you.” Mjiir liked kids. He had an ik’aad back home. 

The adiik in question just looked surprised when they listed their names, dark eyes widening a bit and then narrowing again. He focused on Mjiir again, although his eyes flicked to Myles and Jango frequently, keeping track of their positions (which hadn’t moved from the frozen hands up position). “How do I know?” Their voice was rather hoarse. 

“How do you know what?” Mjiir was evidently confused, and Jango was completely and utterly baffled. And a bit concerned to think about what made the kid like this. 

The kid cleared their throat. “How do I know you don’t mean to hurt me?” 

Myles pulled off his buy’ce, gesturing for them to do the same. He smiled at the adiik, his hands returning to the kid’s line of sight. “Because we are the Haat Mando’ade. The True Mandalorians. And we would never harm children, for to do so would make us dar’manda, and worse. We would never harm you, Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it.” 

The ad had not lowered Jango’s blaster while Myles was talking, but their amber eyes had become less suspicious. A point to them, then. The kid seemed to ponder his words until they lowered the blaster and relaxed from the battle-ready position he had been in.

Mjiir relaxed, his buy’ce still held under his arm. “We have a camp not far from here. We can help you if you’re lost and need to get back to someplace. Your family, maybe?” 

The kid searched Mjiir’s face. “Can I come with you? And, ah, I don’t have a family. Right now. Although, where are we?” 

“You’re on Korda VI.” And for the kid’s benefit, who was quite obviously very disoriented, he added the date. At this, the adiik paled and they once again scrutinized Jango’s face for signs of deception. Finding none, they looked away, following them back to their camp in silence. Jango commed his buir to let him know they were returning with an adiik, just in case. 

Myles broke the silence. “What’s your name, ad?” 

“Cody. He/him.” The ad, Cody, said. He hesitated for a moment and said in Mando’a, “I also know Mando’a.” 

“Where’d you learn it?” Myles looked at the kid with some curiosity, seeing as he had said he didn’t have a family. 

Cody hesitated again when answering. “One of our trainers taught us,” and Jango did not like the sound of that. Judging by the sour looks of his companions, they did not like the tone in which trainer was said either. Cody just kept watching them.

“Cody, how did you get here anyway?” Myles was asking the question Jango had been pondering.

But Cody said, sounding rather confused himself, “I don’t exactly know.” Which hinted at being abandoned, which just further solidified the theory of the poor adiik of being abused. The scar certainly backed him up. 

When they had gotten close to camp, Jango noticed that Cody seemed to be trying to decide whether he should say anything. He kept inhaling as if to say something, opening his mouth, hesitating, and then shutting it again. It seemed the others noticed this as well because Myles was shooting sidelong looks at Cody. He looked like he noticed them and didn’t care. 

Mjiir broke the peaceful silence to stop the suspense. “What are you going to say?” 

Cody looked at him, hesitating. He opened and closed his mouth once or twice before speaking. “You’re taking a job from the Korda Defense Force, right? To rescue a training squad pinned down by natives?” Jango stumbled to a stop, looking at Cody in astonishment. How the hell did the kid know about that?

In answer to the identical looks of surprise that they were probably sporting, Cody hesitantly said, “My friend. He has visions. Sometimes.” Well, that complicated things. But Seers we’re not unheard of, even if they hadn’t had a verde in years that had the gift of foresight. 

“Is that why you’re here?” Myles questioned.

“Ah, I’m not sure, sir.” 

Myles started at the title. “Just call me Myles, please. And why would your friend have a mission about this particular job?”

Cody’s eyes flickered over everyone. “Well, because a man with black and red armor, and a red cape is killed because a man named Montross leaves him to die to a man with long black hair, some of which is burned off, with a red shriek-hawk on his pauldron and you,” Cody says, pointing at Jango, “are, well, upset. And it’s a trap and you are ambushed by other Mandalorians with shriek-hawks on their armor as well. And a lot of you die.” Jango knows Myles and Mjiir have stopped to stare at Cody because if Jango’s not interpreting him wrong, he’s saying that Tor Vizsla kills Jaster, his buir on this planet. And that Montross is the traitor they’re looking for, and that. Well. It’s insane, but if Cody’s friend is really a Seer, then they should check what he says. 

Myles just says, “Oh,” in response to this adiik’s grave statement. Jango would like to do the same, but he supposes his face speaks for him. 

Jaster meets them at the entrance to the camp, his helmet off in welcome to the new ad they have found. 

"Jan'ika, is this the ad you commed me about?"

Jango nodded his affirmation. "'Lek, Buir."

Jaster gave the ad a once over, his eyes lingering on the too-large blacks and scar. His face grew stormier. 

Cody stared back, impervious. 

"He's Cody. He also speaks Mando'a," offered Mjiir. 

Jaster's eyes softened. "Su’cuy!"

"He has a weird accent though." Cody looked at Jango, amused. 

"I'll have you know, my accent is perfectly understandable," said Cody as he stuck an absurd Inner Core accent on his words. 

Jango could not help himself. He burst out laughing, along with what had become a few more verde along with Jaster and Mjiir. Myles seemed to be trying to keep in his laughter, because, Jango strongly suspected, he was trying to get a holo-recording of the adorable adiik. 

Jaster straightened eventually and ordered Cody to the medics. He gave an absolutely adorable pout at that, digging in his heels until Jaster glared at him, and when that failed, he picked him bodily up and dragged him to the tent. It would make a hilarious holo, one which Jango would have to get out of Myles later, probably for blackmail. He always wanted a little vod'ika. Maybe he could get Jaster to adopt the kid. He was so badass. 

When Jaster returned from wrangling Cody, he was looking extremely unhappy. He turned to Jango and grumbled, "Cody is malnourished, and underweight, and the scar is old, Jan'ika, old. He’s got some other scars, but nothing awful. Well. The kid had some dar'buire, that's for sure. But it can be fixed with help. And lots of good food. How did you find him?"

Jango grimaced, and retold the story of how the kid attacked them, taking his blaster (he definitely wanted the kid as a little vod'ika), and the subsequent conversation. And he also told his buir what Cody told Jango about the job. 

His buir frowned. "That's definitely troubling. We'll investigate Montross. I'll comm the scouting verde and tell them to be a bit more subtle. And keep a sharper lookout. And I wouldn't suppose you know where Cot'ika's Seer friend would be?"

Jango had thought about that. He grimaced when he came to the most likely conclusion. "Well. He's probably with the dar’buire that Cody had for his buir'e." Or maybe he never knew his buir'e. Cody did say he didn't have a family, and he mentioned trainers. Maybe that was it. He said as much to Jaster, and he nodded. 

"It's certainly possible for an ad who was so well trained." Jaster grimaced at that. "I need to get around to taking care of what Cody mentioned. You'll take care of him?"

"Of course, buir. Oh, and buir?"

Jaster turned to Jango in curiosity. "What?"

Jango grinned. "Can we adopt him?"

"If he hasn't been already!”

—————————————

Korda VI, 52 BBY 

So he traveled about 52 years back in time. That was fine. Actually, it wasn’t. It was a good thing he was good at schooling his expression so he could silently panic while fielding the group’s questions. But thinking about it allowed a little golden flower of hope to bloom within his chest. He remembered what happened before. Or maybe he remembers what is to come. Either way, maybe, just maybe, he’d see his General again. He’d be a tiny adiik now, just like Cody. Oh, this was going to be great.

Talking with Jango, the Prime, was weird. Especially because he was not the angry, bitter, aloof person that treated them as his legacy, teaching them because he wanted them to be more effective (and later teaching them Mando'a and Mandalorian culture because he felt guilty when he realized that the clones had brains and individuality.) Although, maybe he couldn't resent Jango's bitterness. Everyone had a right to be bitter. 

And when he told them about Korda VI (why would the Force send Cody here if not to fix the death that was about to occur?), Cody said his friend had visions. That was true, technically. Because if the General was his friend (the General was his friend, he called Cody his friend, even though Cody ordered his- don't think about it.) And the General had visions sometimes, that left him pale and shaking and sometimes he just collapsed. And Jango did tell the batches what happened on Korda VI. Very angrily and with lots of swear words. So it was pretty easy to get them to believe his statement. Maybe Jango wouldn't be such a hissy di'kut this time around if his buir didn’t die and if his clan wasn’t massacred. That was a good reason to be so bitter, just not an excuse. 

Meeting Jaster was interesting as well. Jango had simply shortened his description of Jaster Mereel the Reformer down to; "He was my buir, he adopted me after my birth buir'e died. He was the Mand'alor." Or something along those lines. Turns out Jaster was actually a really nice person. 

He had short black hair, warm brown eyes with small laugh lines, and he looked relatively young. Maybe in his thirties? Cody always struggled with determining natborn ages. He also hated the medics, which was where Cody was being dragged now. He hated being small and pick-up-able. It was awful. Although maybe it wasn't that bad. 

"Cody, this is Baar'ur Iza Siver," said Jaster when they reached a kind-looking human, with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. And then she hustled him off and told him to take off his shirt, and Cody remembered why he hated going to the medics. So much poking and prodding and questions and maybe the bacta reminded him of his vode dying. He shook his head to rid the image of Umbara out of his head as Baar'ur Iza poked at his tongue and told him to say ah. He restrained his grumble with some excellent self-control. Medics. He could still remember Ivee and his awful, awful tendency to threaten Cody with sedation if he didn’t sleep - although the General was the only one who ever got stuck with a hypo. Cody laughed at him for ages every time that happened, and Obi-Wan knew it. Jaster had left some time ago, presumably to take care of his little problem with Kyr’tsad. Okay, maybe it wasn’t little. He answered a few more of her questions, mostly about his eating habits. 

He gave Baar’ur Iza his best death glare when he noticed her typing down data on a ’pad. Sure, he was underweight, but what imperial would care about a clone? It was fine. Some indeterminate amount of time later, she finished whatever Force-forsaken diet plan she had and gave it to him. 

“Cody, here’s your meal plan. You may not be hungry for the first few days, but I want you to eat at least a bit of food each meal. Although, I think whoever adopts you,” and she winked here, “will take excellent care of you.” And then, just like Cody dreaded, she went off on another, long, medic lecture on health and self-care and stuff that Cody knew. Luckily, Cody had lots of practice with zoning out while pretending to pay attention. 

When she was finished, Cody gave her another death glare, although she simply seemed amused. Cody cursed inwardly. That glare used to reduce shinies to tears and get his General to sleep. But it never got the medics to back down. They were more stubborn than he was. No wonder his General was scared of Ivee, although he never admitted it. 

Baar’ur Iza was finally finishing. “And, one more thing. How old are you?”

Cody froze. How old was he? Technically, he hasn’t existed yet. Might as well tell the truth, or at least a bit of it. “I dunno.” 

She nodded. “I thought so, but I wanted to check. Your body seems about six years old, so we’ll go with that. Oh, and are you related to Jango? You resemble him quite strongly.” 

Cody started. What was he supposed to say? ‘I’m his clone?’ Nope. He settled for the small confused adiik vibe. “I’m not sure, Baar’ur Iza. I never really knew my birth aliit.” He even widened his eyes a tiny bit. Cody could have sworn she melted on the spot. So maybe being a tiny adiik had its advantages after all. Cody stored this information for later. He suspected he would have to use it many times. 

Jango entered the tent, grinning. Cody pulled his shirt back on and hopped down from the table, leaving the ‘pad Baar’ur Iza gave to him up there in the hopes that he could pretend he forgot it. His hopes were crushed when she handed the datapad to Jango. 

Jango reached a hand down and fluffed his hair, which he protested mightily. He just chuckled. Cody groaned, he needed to get out of the tent. Preferably into a nice bed. He was getting tired. 

His tiredness manifested itself into a huge yawn while Baar’ur Iza was giving a Jango a talk about food and whatnot. Their attention snapped to Cody, who froze. 

Jango walked over immediately. “We’ll take our leave of you now, Iza. Looks like someone needs a nap. And some different clothes.” Jango frowned at that. “I don’t know where we’ll find those; there are only verde on this mission.” 

Baar’ur Iza gave him a sympathetic look. “If all else fails, he can walk around in the smallest clothes we have. It’s fine. And it’s better than an oversized bodysuit.” 

Jango nodded his agreement. “Well then, Cody, shall we go? You can steal the guest bunk on Jaster’s Legacy.” He smiled fondly when they reached the ship. 

“Ah, this is so great. Vor entye!” Cody was so looking forward to an actual bed. 

Jango chucked at his enthusiasm. “N’entye, little Cot’ika.” At this, Cody unleashed the full fury of his death glare upon Jango who also just laughed. Apparently, his glare lost its potency after he got turned into a tiny cadet. That was fine. It was fine. Who was he kidding? It was so, so, irritating. 

When he reached the bunk, Cody jumped up and quickly accepted the large sleep shirt and pants that Jango gave him; this Jango was pretty nice, and wasn’t that an odd thought? He pulled them on, seeing as they were infinitely more comfortable than the huge blacks. He grinned. 

“Vor’e, Jango!” 

“Kih’parjai, Cot’ika.” Jango fluffed his hair again, and Cody found he didn’t mind the nickname so much. After he was out on the CC track, he found most brothers didn’t use nicknames for him. Wolffe, the bastard, did. His mind immediately went to the casualty report for- don’t think about that. Nope. Not going there. 

He forced a smile this time. “Sleep well, Cody.” And he hoped he would. 

Cody was watching Obi-Wan fill Grievous with blaster bolts. 

“Well done, General! The war is almost over! ” He frowned at himself. Why would he say that, like that? 

Obi-Wan laughed. “Blasters are so uncivilized, Commander.”

“Here’s your lightsaber, sir. Try not to lose it in the future.” 

Obi-Wan smiled at Cody. “But why should I worry?”

Cody groaned. “This weapon is your life, Obi-Wan. Try not to lose it.” 

The General’s eyes lit up. “So it’s Obi-Wan now, huh?”

Cody stuttered. “Uhhh, well, you always say ’Anakin, this weapon is your life. So I uh, well.”

“Relax, Commander. It’s fine. I like it when you call me that. Besides, the war is almost over. ‘Obi-Wan’ is better for peace. And besides. You always have my back. Or in this case, my ‘saber.” Obi-Wan looked at Cody with those piercing blue-grey eyes and smiled.

Cody found that he wanted to smile back, but could not. In fact, he could not move at all. Or stop moving as the hand holding his General’s lightsaber from pressing the activation button as it pointed toward Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan gasped in agony as the blue blade surged forth into his chest, and Cody could not even scream as he watched him crumble to his knees. 

Cody woke up screaming.

He gasped, trying to draw in air, to breathe, but he found that the image of Obi-Wan dying by his hand was etched into the back of his eyelids. 

He curled up on his side and cried beneath the warm blankets, wishing he had seen his General one last time, to muster up the courage to tell him how he loved him. And how foolish he was, to think they’d last until the war was over and that Cody would have time to tell him. 

He rolled over on his back, his little body not accustomed to such strain, and, unable to resist, he fell into another, much deeper sleep. When he fell asleep, he wished that he would not dream, sending a plea to the Force that Obi-Wan had said was in all living things, that he would not dream. Cody did not have another dream until he woke up, feeling better than he had felt in, well, years. Probably because he actually slept without a karking mind chip activated in his head. He still felt like he was being held by the golden warmth that he associated with his General. 

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat. Cody cursed when he recognized the sound of blaster fire. An explosion shook the ship, and he clutched the wall to keep upright. Why was it that whenever he slept, something went to hell?

Chapter Text

Coruscant, 52 BBY

The first sensation that Obi-Wan felt when the sensation of being torn out of his body, tugged across an enormous tapestry of colors and woven rather haphazardly into it, was the feel of a soft pillow beneath his head. 

The second thing that he registered, or perhaps remembered, was Order 66, and what he could feel of that. Of the thousands of golden lights in the Force winking out, extinguished. 

The third thing he recalled was Anakin sliding his lightsaber into Obi-Wan's chest, the blue blade extending through his chest and buried up to the hilt. 

The fourth thing that he recognized was that he could hear screams, awful, heart-wrenching screams that he heard, more often than not, during the war when someone realized their loved ones would not be coming back to them. 

The fifth thing, he found, was directly related to the fourth thing. Apparently, the screams were coming from him. 

The sixth thing he felt was a pair of hands shaking his body, which felt all wrong. Too small, even though he always felt rather small when he was surrounded by Anakin, who was rather tall, and the clones, who were all the same height and a few centimeters taller than him. 

The seventh thing he felt was the feeling that he did not want to wake up and greet the world, because if Anakin had kept him alive only to torture him or give him to Sidious, then he may as well allow himself to slip into the Cosmic Force. It would be easier, to say the least. 

The eighth thing, which was rather shocking, was that when he opened his senses to the pleasant buzz of the Force, it greeted him with the familiarity of an old friend. And when he allowed the Force to flood his senses, he could feel thousands of Jedi in the Force, spread across his mind like a constellation of stars in the sky. 

The ninth thing he felt was through the Force. And it was with no small amount of shock that he realized that the Force felt so much brighter, so much more peaceful than it felt during the war; it was no longer tainted by the pain and suffering and death that seemed so pervasive. At this, he distantly realized he had stopped screaming. Although the hands were still shaking him. Why was that?

The tenth thing he realized was that he wanted to open his mouth to tell the person shaking them to shove off and leave him alone so he could sleep and preserve this feeling of peace in the Force so that, when he inevitably slipped into the Force, he could rest. Alas, the hands seemed to be joined by a larger hand that rested on his forehead. 

His entire body jolted, and Obi-Wan's eyes flew open, the blue-grey orbs opened to gaze into the lit interior of the crèche. The first thing he saw was a kind-looking female Twi'lek with blue-green skin. Crèche Master Lunai, his mind supplied. He frowned. Didn't she die? 

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" After all, he remembered seeing her body heaped to the side of one of the doors to the crèche, clearly dead. The hands gave him another shake, and he was able to register the Kiffar boy, the yellow stripe over his nose, who was looking extremely concerned. And the Mon Calamari with pink skin beside him who sported a similar expression of concern. And maybe a bit of fear. Well, that wasn't good. He'd have to find what was scaring her, and fix that. Never mind, he was supposed to be dying. He hoped someone else would help her. 

"Obi-Wan, wake up! I’m not dead." Master Lunai gave him another shake. 

And Obi-Wan, who was previously in a state of hazy confusion, snapped to attention. Master Lunai gave him another shake, probably to make sure he didn't go back into his previous state of utter confusion. 

"Obi-Wan, what do you remember?" Burning, his mind supplied. But he supposed, if he wanted to stop the worrying, he had to say something less alarming. He felt an inappropriate urge to giggle now. Quinlan and Bant were both dead. Or in exile. The tapestry. Maybe this was a test. But, that didn't make sense. The tapestry was like a woven history. The ends tapered off into nothingness. Unfinished. Because time didn't stop. There was, however, an odd warp in the fabric. Like the threads where he was torn from were unraveling, the tear growing larger and larger- He had clearly been silent for too long because Master Lunai shook him once more.

"Obi-Wan!" And he frowned, because he had to have heard them, hadn't he? They were just so loud. So he had to reply to get them to be quiet. He grumbled. 

Bant's frown became more pronounced. "Obi!"

Obi-Wan mumbled, "Bant. St'p y'ling. Loud."

Quinlan winced. "Sorry, Obi." His voice lowered to a nice, acceptable, peaceful, whisper. He could not help but grin faintly at that. To think that he, Obi-Wan, had gotten Quinlan Vos to be quiet! Obi-Wan shook himself mentally. This was a good dream, after all, but when he examined the odd unraveling in the enormous woven tapestry, made from brilliant threads of energy and life, the tear in the fabric seemed to be finished; It was not fully broken, but it seemed, well, strange, like the dark pattern was unraveling itself. Or at least trying to. Or maybe the golden threads were trying to unravel the darkened threads. But it seemed like his place in the tapestry had been ripped out and sown into another area of the weaving. 

He shook himself again. He needed to stop examining the odd tear, and stop his now tiny friends from worrying. And wasn't that odd? Because, last he checked, Bant died in the second year of the war, trying to evacuate refugees. Which made no sense, because a tiny Bant was now looking even more concerned. 

Time to assuage their worries. Or at least try to. "Ah, I'm fine. Really." Although he supposed he wasn't. And no, contrary to what the temple healers said, he didn't have hypervigilance. It was just common sense to pay attention to one's surroundings. And he didn't have PTSD. Not at all. He didn't have to tell people about anything he didn't acknowledge. Not even a very obvious relationship that the Council (sans Obi-Wan, who was wilfully ignorant of their relationship until he had to acknowledge that which he had known for ages; that Anakin had fathered Senator Amidala's children), had figured out by the end of the war. 

"Obi, every time you say "you're fine," you've broken a finger or accidentally burned yourself with your 'saber, or you're sick with some random thing!" Quinlan jabbed an accusatory finger at Obi-Wan, who was staring at him, stupefied. 

Master Lunai added her 'reasonable' voice to this very one-sided discussion. "Obi-Wan, Quinlan is correct in his assessment of your statements." Obi-Wan could panic later. He had to fix this infernal worrying. He allowed himself to grimace.

“‘M fine, Bant. R’lly.”

Tiny-Quinlan raised his eyebrow, unimpressed. “Then why did you wake up screaming like the world was ending?” Oh right. That. 

“Vision.” And at this, they all looked more reassured, albeit not by much. 

“Have you ever had such an intense reaction to a vision before, Obi-Wan?” And the answer was, of course, no. Even during the war, when his visions became more violent, he never felt so empty. 

“No, Master Lunai.” She nodded as if expecting that answer. Probably because she was. 

“Well, I can meditate with you to-” Obi-Wan cursed inwardly. That wasn’t happening, dream or not. And Obi-Wan was leaning, against his better judgment, toward the not-dream option. Mostly because the Force seemed to indicate that.

Obi-Wan put on his most winning smile and pleaded with his eyes the tiniest bit. “I’m fine Master Lunai. Really. I’m just really, r’lly tired now. There was just lots of fire.” Which was partially true. There was lots of fire. 

Quinlan and Bant gave him identical looks of disbelief, but Master Lunai seemed to accept his statement. After all, children were children. And Obi-Wan’s limbs certainly felt short enough for him to be a child. He made sure his shields were extra tight, then projected a layer of initiate-level shielding over it; basic, but sturdy and organized and uncomplicated. Master Lunai gave him one last searching look. 

“Alright, but I want you to sleep. Rest, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan put on his best I’m-Innocent-I-Swear face. Bant didn’t seem to buy it, but the other hovering initiates, including Quinlan, looked less unnerved and moved away to sleep in their bunks, settling down with the customary disgruntled muttering when they were woken by exceptionally unruly crèchelings.

He cursed inwardly. He didn’t want to sleep; that was one surefire way to make everyone certain he wasn’t alright, and he didn’t need to sleep anyway. So he settled into meditation, allowing the bright presences of the other force-sensitives to wash over him, unmuted and shining brightly through the unclouded Force. Anakin did always say he was an oversized-tooka. By the end of the Clone Wars, he supposed he had become a bit of a heretic, reading and learning about the different Force-sensitive sects in the galaxy. He doubted the Council would agree with his conclusions, especially on the Jedi Code. Although he certainly agreed with the no attachments thing. But still, loving was not wrong. It was when someone (and Obi-Wan was careful to avoid any recollections of a certain someone as an example) placed another above the good of the many (in a rather inadvisable situation) when they were afraid of loss. Although love always tended to set people up for grief, and an indescribable amount of pain. And no, Obi-Wan didn’t have any examples for that. Besides, he loved so many by the time the war ended. And the losses just kept coming. But at the same time, the people he loved just kept him tethered and sane and kept him from spiraling out of control. Anakin wanted to possess, and wasn’t that a dangerous path to go down? Even more so than just loving for the sake of it? In more ways than one? For Obi-Wan to continue meditating on the nature of attachment, then for him to think about Anakin, when he had-. Well. New topic. He had gotten good at redirection during the war. So did Ahsoka, who was. Ah. Never mind. Bad idea.

He twitched his limbs to regain feeling, then felt himself come out of meditation, drawing himself out of the Force. 0400 hours, said the clock on the wall. Obi-Wan groaned in his head. Another two hours to occupy before he had to go off with other tiny people to classes he already finished. He checked out his newly shrunk limbs. That was so, so odd. His fingers were small. His hands were tiny. His limbs were miniature. It was disconcerting. And judging by the calendar on the wall, it was 948 ARR. Excellent. He was five years old. So weird. And by this point, he accepted this as his new reality, because one cannot fake force signatures. They could certainly project something over it; Obi-Wan was familiar with it from his stints undercover. But to fake so many, and to change the very feel of the Force around someone, even one person, was something that Obi-Wan could not fathom to be possible. And even if his surroundings were faked, and his perception skewed, then he should not be able to feel the Force so clearly now. And he remembered the feel of the dark murkiness by the end of the war. No, it could not be faked. The only explanation for his state of small stature, relatively good health, and the Force was that he was indeed five years old during 948 ARR. Besides, the tears in the woven threads backed him up. If that was time, stretching out behind, illustrating billions and trillions of lives and events and decisions, then the unwoven thread ahead would be the unwritten future. He remembered hearing a story during his padawanship that was similar. It was extremely interesting, and he supposed that every story had a grain of truth in them. 

Even Hondo’s stories. That was a safe memory. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and focused on recreating the memory, a technique that he had found fascinating during the war, both as a teaching tool and as a way to use a relatively peaceful moment to meditate upon when he needed to avoid the harsh reality of a galaxy at war. Most often, he buried himself in his work or used the memory technique, drawing memories most often from his childhood (not his padawan years, there were too many disastrous missions). Sometimes he drew from Anakin’s early padawan years when he still radiated kindness at everyone he met. And sometimes when he interacted with Ahsoka. Or Cody. Or Satine. But by the end of the war, that had become less… peaceful.

So. Happy memories to meditate upon. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan watched the pirate ship land in the docking bay with Cody. He smiled fondly when he saw the younglings disembark, and in relief when he saw Ahsoka step off as well, looking mostly unharmed, although he would see that she got to the medical bay soon. He brushed his Force signature against hers in a gentle welcome. He knew Hondo was not always the most accommodating host. 

Hondo stepped off, looking every inch the pirate he was. Although Obi-Wan would never admit it to him, he was developing a soft spot for him and his utter ridiculousness. It was, after all, amusing. Usually. But not when he went and captured his Grandpadawan. Or attacked a starship full of younglings. That was beyond irritating. 

Hondo made a beeline for Obi-Wan. The younglings were congregating around Ahsoka, who seemed to be waiting for Hondo to be kicked out. 

“Ohh, my friend!” Hondo slung his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders in an attempt to be friendlier than he was to Ahsoka. “I never expected such issues when helping you Jedi!”

“Indeed?” 

“Yes! The cost of the rescue operation was so high!” Obi-Wan could have sworn Cody twitched beside him at those words. He could only bring himself to be amused. He should have expected this from Hondo. 

“I need compensation for the cost. Let’s see. Oh, the cost of the fuel!” Obi-Wan sighed in resignation and pulled the pirate’s arms off of him. This was going to be interesting.

“I had to use a lot of fuel.The general wear and tear on my men and equipment. A couple of them died, I think! Believe me, Kenobi, staging a rescue is not an inexpensive proposition.” Obi-Wan could have screamed in frustration. Or laughed. He wasn’t sure which he wanted to do. 

“So you mean to tell me you were staging a rescue, not attempting to hijack a Jedi starship?” Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to be surprised at this statement. Poor Cody, who hadn’t had the honor of meeting Hondo yet, had his helmet tilted in the universal sign of ‘kriff off, you’re insane.’

“You're welcome! Oh, the thanklessness! What an accusation! I am gone, I will send you my bill!” And without further ado, he stepped onto his ship, which promptly took off. Obi-Wan couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed his face. 

"He is a character, Cody."

“That's an understatement, sir,” Cody said with a snort.

Obi-Wan turned toward his Grandpadawan. “Ahsoka. It's good to see you're all safe.” She smiled back.

“Yes, Master. We had quite an eventful mission.” That was another understatement, thought Obi-Wan. Pirates usually did not attack Jedi Starships.

“The most eventful since the time Master Yoda went to find his lightsaber crystal,” Huyang informed them. Obi-Wan made a mental note to get that story out of Master Yoda as soon as possible. It would make excellent leverage. 

“What?” 

“Oh!”

“Tell us!”

“What happened then?”

Huyang cocked his head. “I'm afraid that story will have to wait.” Obi-Wan had to step in before poor Huyang was swamped by curious younglings. 

“For now, be proud. You have survived an ordeal few your age could. Welcome home, young Jedi.” 

And he smiled as they lit their ‘sabers, each a beautiful jewel-like color, giving the deck around them the odd look of being bathed in faint blue and green light. As the initiates hurried away, talking, Obi-Wan put a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder.

“We’ll have to get you to a medbay. And maybe some new clothes too. These look a little burnt, young one.” He winked at Cody, not trying to be subtle. “Grievous’s claws hurt.”

Ahsoka sighed tiredly, but she still smiled. “Yes, Master Obi-Wan.” Cody pulled off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. 

“It’s good to see you’re okay, Commander Tano. But we should go contact General Skywalker. He’s been pestering us for information nonstop.”

Ahsoka just laughed at them. “Okay, Commander. I’ll save you from Skyguy.” 

When they reached the holo-table, Anakin answered on the first chime, and, when he caught sight of Ahsoka, began interrogating her. 

“Ahsoka! Are you alright? Has Obi-Wan given you awful habits about seeing the medics?” Cody gave him a triumphant look over the holo as if he didn’t have equally strong aversions to seeing medics. “Have you seen the medics yet? Did Hondo break anything? Does Obi-Wan have more gray hairs now?”

At this, Ahsoka cut him off. “I’m fine, Master. In fact, we’ll be seeing the medics right after this. And it’s good to see you again too, Master.”

Anakin grinned back. “I’m happy you’re okay. I’ll see you soon, Snips.”

When the holo disconnected, Obi-Wan and Cody herded Ahsoka to the medics, where she got some bacta. No serious injuries besides a little exhaustion and dehydration. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be relieved that it wasn’t worse. 

When Ahsoka left to find a bunk, Obi-Wan and Cody went to Obi-Wan’s quarters to start filling out the pile of paperwork he needed to get done, plus a mission report. It turned out that losing a flagship required a not-insignificant amount of paperwork and various supply requests to be filled out. 

He and Cody stayed up late that night, filling out and signing absurd amounts of paperwork and drinking barbaric amounts of caff. When they made a substantial dent in the paperwork, it was very late, or very early, depending on one’s point of view. When he waved goodbye to Cody as he left to get some sleep, Obi-Wan could only collapse into his bunk and fall asleep. 

“Obi-Wan! Wake up!”

Obi-Wan snapped out of the memory. He was feeling better after that. Less… unsettled. 

“I’m awake! Stop yelling.” Obi-Wan sat up and pulled on his initiate robes with his oddly small limbs. So weird. He walked speedily into the fresher to clean up and was shocked by the copper-haired child that stared back at him with grey-blue eyes. He was tiny. Just knowing he was five had nothing on the reality that he was so small! It was hilarious. And unsettling. Disturbing. Maybe disconcerting. Oh well. This was something that he would have to accept; he was tiny, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Grimacing when he realized he spent more time staring at his tiny stature than he should have been, he hurriedly straightened himself out and cleaned up, speeding out of the fresher and meeting Bant, Quinlan, and Garen, all of whom seemed to be waiting on him to get to the refectory. He grinned when he saw them. 

“Well, shall we get going?” 

—————————————

Obi-Wan was acting all weird. Like, weird weird. Like very sus-pi-cious. First, he had the nightmare vision that woke everybody up because he was screaming and wouldn’t stop, which was scary. And then he bounced out of bed as soon as Quin yelled at him to get up; which was odd because Obi hated mornings. He was a literal tooka. 

Bant could only hope he got back to normal. As they walked through the halls of the temple, Obi-Wan kept stopping and staring at various places. Bant couldn't tell what he was looking at, though. It just seemed like he wasn't looking at anything. But he was seeing something because he kept stopping and staring at it. Although his face was still unreadable. Garen and Quin also noticed that something was wrong. Maybe Bant could get Obi-Wan to tell them what was wrong. Although he was notorious for saying 'I'm fine,' so maybe that wouldn't work. She just had to get someone more stubborn than Obi to help.

Obi's face was still calm, but there was something different about him. He was currently engaged in a very important discussion with Quinlan about the importance of reading. Obi-Wan was currently winning by a very large margin. Even more than usual. He was currently cheerfully expounding on the virtues of understanding growth patterns of nonsentient amphibious species on Glee Anselm. Apparently, certain species were venomous when they were in the first and fourth stages of growth. They were nearing the refectory, and Quinlan's face had an odd, glazed-over expression. 

Obi-Wan finally finished his explanation of how to identify those species. Something about fin and gill shapes. "See? This information is very valuable. You can always use it."

Garen snorted. "For trivia games, maybe."

They all burst out laughing, Obi-Wan included. "And maybe avoiding those tiny amphibians that are venomous, Garen!"

Bant shook her head. "No, Obi. No one is getting bitten by tiny amphibians unless they're really, really unlucky. Or stupid." 

Obi snickered. Bant felt more reassured. It was always like Obi-Wan to spout random trivia to support his arguments. This was normal. And if he talked more like the teachers, what of it? Maybe Obi just spent too much time in the Temple Archives and he was just channeling his inner Master Nu. She certainly liked him enough. Maybe he was too ador-able. Bant had overheard someone saying that most younglings were too wea-pon-iz-able. Something about being too cute. Bant and Garen had bet on Quinlan being the exception to that. He wasn't very cute. Obi-Wan counted as cute though, with his very fluffy copper hair. Knight Luan even said he was cute.

Bant filled up her tray with plenty of food, as did Garen and Quin. But Obi only got a little bit of food. Bant frowned at that. Whenever Obi had a vision, he needed to eat a lot. Bant nudged Quin and Garen, nodding toward Obi's tray. At this, he looked up, suspicious. 

"What, Bant?"

"You should eat more, Obi." He frowned down at his tray as if trying to figure out how much was more, or if he could say that what he had on his tray was enough. 

"I'm not hungry," Obi-Wan said with a frown. "Although, I could be tempted to eat some delicious, delicious, uh. I dunno?" Quin snorted at this and grabbed Obi's tray without further ado, returned to the line, and got another load of food so that Obi's tray was filled, all amidst Obi's fervent protestations. 

"Really, Quinlan. That wasn't necessary," muttered Obi-Wan when Quinlan thrust the tray back into Obi-Wan's hands. 

Quinlan reached out and gave Obi-Wan's hair another fluff. Obi-Wan looked mildly annoyed, although he still retained that calm serenity that he had put on this morning. "Really, Quin?" Obi grumbled, trying to sort out his short, fluffy hair and giving up eventually. 

Bant frowned again when Obi-Wan started picking at his food. But then, Obi-Wan was always hungry, he'd finish it eventually. Visions did take a lot out of Obi-Wan. But when they had all finished, Obi-Wan was only about halfway through his tray, and he looked rather surprised that he had even eaten that much. But then, classes were about to start. Their clan had Galactic languages soon, and Bant knew Obi would be even more upset if he missed class. Bant resolved to make Obi-Wan eat more for mid-meal. It was happening, no matter what. 

But first, they had to get to class. Quinlan yelled, "race you!" and Garen followed him at a breakneck pace. Obi just grinned and sprinted off, leaving Bant to follow. How impractical. Obi-Wan seemed to be running even faster than Quin, and as they neared the classroom, he put on a burst of inhuman speed, stopping in front of the door first, looking completely innocent. Quin and Garen stopped in front of him, looking quite stupefied. 

Obi-Wan just grinned at them and said, "I didn't want to be late." And chose a spot near the back of the classroom, in a corner. He settled down in the chair, still sporting the look of serenity. Probably because he had just beat Quin. And managed to make him so confused. It was, Bant thought, absolutely hilarious. It was so awesome. Quin was never speechless. And he plopped down next to Obi-Wan without further ado. 

The day simply got odder. Obi-Wan looked like he was paying attention, but there was an odd tilt to his shoulders (he was very relaxed looking, with his legs crossed and taking notes in some very neat handwriting). Although even the notes looked like they were being taken so he looked like he was paying attention. And then, when Knight Pel'i turned to him, asking him to translate a few sentences into Bocce, Obi-Wan did so perfectly! Even Knight Pel'i looked impressed. And gave him an approving look. And Obi-Wan still looked bored. There was no other word for his state of relaxed tooka. It was so odd. 

And this odd behavior continued for the rest of their classes, including math, which only made them more worried even though he answered all the questions correctly. When midmeal came about, Obi filled his tray only halfway. Quin shook his head but didn't seem like he was going to fill up Obi-Wan's tray for him. After all, he could only do it so many times before it stopped working. They would have to work something out later. A Help-Obi-Wan-Campaign would do some good, Bant thought. 

"Hey, Oafy-Wan!" Bant groaned. Not now, Bruck. They needed to help Obi-Wan, and Bruck certainly wouldn't help. 

"Oafy-Wan! I heard you had another one of your visions. What did you see? Did you trip over your own feet again?" Obi-Wan froze when Bruck came closer. Curses! This wasn't going to help at all! But Obi-Wan relaxed again after his initial stiffening.

"I didn't see anything of that nature, Bruck." And now that she thought about it, Bant couldn't feel Obi-Wan behind his shields. That was odd. Although his shields looked the same as they always had. And he felt the same in the Force as well. It probably didn't matter. Obi-Wan did say that they taught him to shield better because of his visions. That made sense. Bruck wasn't dropping the subject, though. 

"Well then, what did you see?" At this, Obi-Wan stiffened. He ignored Bruck though, picking up the salt container. 

"Come on, Oafy-Wan. Did you fail all of your classes?" Obi-Wan grimaced. 

"No, Bruck. Why are you so curious?" 

"Curious? I'm not curious, you-" Obi threw some salt at Bruck, who started spluttering indignantly. 

"You've been as-salt-ed, Bruck. Leave us alone. I gotta eat." Obi-Wan then sprinkled liberal amounts of salt onto his food. 

Quinlan was staring at Obi-Wan. "That was so awful, Obes." 

And now Obi-Wan smirked. "I know. I'm really savoring these puns." Bant couldn't take it anymore. She put her face in her hands. Bruck seemed lost for words. 

"What is wrong with you, Oafy-Wan? You're not funny." Although Bruck did take a while to figure out what to say. 

"Ah well, Bruck. There's no need to be so salty about it." Garen lost it. He eventually slipped off his chair, shaking with silent laughter. Bruck seemed to be struck speechless. 

Quin finally weighed in. "Obes. That was so, so awful." 

Obi-Wan sighed. "I know. It's just not the right season for these puns." And Bruck, unable to take it anymore, just left. Bant hid her face in her hands. Quinlan was sitting in his chair, and Garen was howling with laughter. They were drawing a few stares. Obi-Wan looked excessively smug for someone who just traumatized his friends. Obi-Wan made puns sometimes, but never ones as bad as the ones he just made. And he never made so many! Bant couldn’t believe it. Oh, the horror!

After midmeal, they went off to lightsaber practice, going through the Shii-Cho katas under the experienced eye of Master Choi. 

And when she looked over at Obi-Wan, he seemed to be flowing through the Shii-Cho katas with a strange grace. He was getting odder and odder today. Although he did stumble a few times, his training ‘saber flowed through the moves smoothly. How strange. 

When the class ended, Master Choi placed a small blue hand on Obi’s shoulder and told him he did well; Obi-Wan just ducked his head, blushing furiously, and hurriedly said his thanks. 

Bant exchanged a look with Quin and Garen. They’d have to get to the bottom of this. 

Of course, Quinlan forewent sensitivity in favor of interrogating Obi. As soon as they got some semblance of privacy, he slung an arm around Obi’s shoulders and winked at them. It was all Bant could do to avoid burying her face in her hands.

“Obi-Wan! Have you been holding out on us this entire time?” 

Obi-Wan’s feet stuttered before resuming their smooth gait. “Ahh, no."

"Then why, Obi-Wan, have you suddenly gotten better at everything ?" added Garen.

Obi-Wan's feet stuttered again, although when he spoke, his voice was steady. "I'll help you with your homework if you get me a slice of that Corellian Cheesecake."

They all grinned. If they got their homework done early, maybe they could go swimming in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It would be great! Obi-Wan grinned at them. 

"I'll race you guys then!"

And they ran all the way to the refectory, laughing and falling over themselves. Obi still won. 

They all had a slice of the refectory's delicious cheesecake, and, Bant, stuffed to the point of exhaustion, stumbled off to bed along with the rest of Dragon Clan. Maybe they would meet up with Siri sometime. She could help Bant with Obi-Wan. And they could wrangle Quin and Garen together. They'd play in the Room of a Thousand Fountains later. Bant was stuffed.

—————————————

Obi-Wan was proud of himself. He had successfully distracted his friends from his person by making those puns. Puns were excellent for redirection. Although seeing Bruck again was another shock. Perhaps he could help Bruck this time. After all, Sidious and Anakin weren’t the only people he was supposed to help. If they were, he wouldn’t be so far back. 

And being in the temple again, walking in the halls again was quite… Well. He could see the bodies littering the halls, young and old, and then he blinked and they were gone. It was disconcerting, to say the least. But he reassured himself, checking up on the bright Force presences of his friends. Feeling the warm glow of safety that the temple exuded. It was nice to be able to feel so many Jedi again, unclouded by fear and hatred. 

Speaking of which, maybe he should compile a list of important events. See if he could help or something. It was a pity he didn’t know Dex yet; he could be immensely helpful. Although he didn't know where Dex was right now. He just knew he was a black market weapon and information dealer. Beyond that, he wasn't sure what he was doing. Besides selling donuts. And various guns.

And Bruck’s questions also reminded him that he'd have to find an acceptable explanation for his 'visions.' Although, for now, he'd just meditate. Sleeping seemed like a surefire way to get more people suspicious. He doubted he could stop himself from having more nightmares. Between the war, Sith, and other things, he didn't think his brain would run out of nightmare material soon.

But it was very soothing to see his old friends again. Crèchemaster Lunai tucked him into bed, and when the breathing of his fellow crèchemates evened out, he slipped into another meditation, as a way to figure out any events he could influence at this time. He'd worry about his future later. 

—————————————

He imagined the temple around him. The grand entrances, the pillars, the halls, the gardens. The ziggurat, the spires. All that which he considered as a part of his home. He frowned and imagined himself walking down the vast halls, past the pillars and the statues of Jedi Masters long dead. There were no bodies, although sometimes he saw blaster marks on the walls. Parts of the peaceful temple that he had for so long considered safe had been razed, burnt by blaster fire and ‘saber fights.

He stopped at the first intact statue, a warrior master holding their lightsaber in the starting position for Shii-Cho, and marked it, in his mind, as 948 ARR, and began listing what he knew. Xanatos had fallen the previous year, he knew. That was a lost cause, and there wasn’t much he could do about Xanatos without leaving the Jedi Temple.

Palpatine was elected to the Galactic Senate as a representative of Naboo. And he frowned. Sometime this year, the Mand'alor Jaster Mereel was killed. Although he didn't know the details. Something about… oh right. The Haat Mando'ade had been pinned down by the native Kordans, and then Death Watch ambushed them. But the Force felt calm about this. Like it was already taken care of. Obi-Wan's mental image of himself shrugged. If it was being taken care of, then it was being taken care of. After all, he must have faith in the Force. Or at least trust it when it said something was fine. 

He walked to the next statue which was holding an ignited lightsaber upright and wearing a style of helmet that hadn't been seen for centuries since the Army of Light was disbanded. He didn’t remember much that happened in 949 ARR, besides Jorus C’baoth becoming the personal advisor to Palpatine. He never knew what happened to the man beyond wild speculation and rumors. And the year after that, he was relatively certain nothing relevant to his current goal happened. He did know that Master Aveross took a Padawan around this time, although Obi-Wan never met her. 

Walking to the next statue, Obi-Wan frowned. He knew Senator Amidala and Mon Mothma were born in 954 ARR. He kept walking down the vast halls scored by blaster fire, his soft soles cushioning the sound of his footsteps. Obi-Wan was, as of yet, unaware of anything major happening after that until 956 ARR. When he had just been accepted as Qui-Gon’s padawan the first time around, he wasn’t paying much attention to current events; he was more concerned with being accepted in the temple as Qui-Gon's apprentice. Only later did he pay attention to the events during that time and understand some of the influence those events had. He stopped at a pillar with a stain that the cleaners had never quite managed to get out. Some sort of syrup. He marked it in his mind as 956 ARR and continued walking the halls of his mind. As he passed familiar items, he listed events and attached them to items in his mental landscape. 

The Stark Hyperspace War, which led to the deaths of both Master Tyvokka and Senator Ranulph Tarkin. Nute Gunray then became Viceroy of the Trade Federation, and Finis Valorum was elected Chancellor. Obi-Wan wanted to scream when he thought about how well planned out Sidious’s plan was; how the Jedi were only pawns in his game. 

Standing in front of a mural, he modified the mural in his mind to depict the massacre of the Haat Mando’ade on Galidraan. An event that, in retrospect, was more than a terrible mistake. A setup, certainly, but an event that was, in the end, simply another move on the board by the Sith. And one, thought Obi-Wan, that most likely led, however indirectly, to the use of Jango Fett as the progenitor for the clone army.

Passing by a tree, Obi-Wan recalled the placement of Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Saesee Tiin on the Jedi Council that year. It was, after all, a good year for Sith machinations, Obi-Wan reflected bitterly. And that wasn’t even counting Xanatos’s exploits. Although Xanatos didn’t actually count as a Sith. More like a cute, fluffy tooka, where the Sith were hissy nexu cats. Or maybe Krayt dragons. Or something along those lines. Close enough.

He took a right turn. The Mandalorian Civil War broke out around 958 ARR. Give or take a few months. Although, if the Haat Mando’ade hadn’t been wiped out, he supposed it would’ve helped them come to a peaceful resolution. Or at least a ceasefire. Or maybe just the eradication of either Death Watch or the Haat Mando’ade. Knowing what he did know, Death Watch was certainly the more radical of the two. More unreasonable. And uncaring for the consequences of their mindless violence. He had never met a Mandalorian who considered themselves to be part of the Haat Mando’ade; he had only met New Mandalorians and Death Watch members, and the two groups were as close as complete ideological opposites to each other as possible. The Haat Mando’ade would have had the best chance of compromising with the other groups. Although it was more likely to be the New Mandalorians. Death Watch was too extreme by the end of the war, and he suspected them to be similarly oriented during that time. Or maybe they were just always like that. Perhaps the Haat Mando’ade would have been able to compromise. Obi-Wan didn’t know how time travel worked. Does one use past tense to describe that which happens in their past but the galaxy’s future? 

He allowed his feet to carry him to a small sapling with charred leaves but a healthy trunk and branches; Obi-Wan had entered the gardens in his mind. Anakin had been born in 959 ARR. Although, being a slave, his exact birth date was unknown. Obi-Wan just gave him a life-day gift at the start of each year. Master Tahl Uvain died on New Apsolon this year as well, Obi-Wan remembered sorrowfully, recalling his Master’s subsequent near-fall and depression. And his anger. Perhaps he could help her. And him. But that was more than a decade away. Obi-Wan had to get a bit larger first.

Obi-Wan jumped across the river on the smooth stepping stones. He had reached the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Some parts were burned, gouged out by lightsabers and blaster bolts, but most of it was growing despite the destruction amidst the plant life. In 961 ARR, the Trade Federation began further expanding its influence, encroaching on Kashyyyk and its various colonies. This, he knew, was one of the many ways the Trade Federation amassed power, both in the Senate and through its droid production.

He crossed into the more grassy area of the room, if it could even be called that. Ahsoka was born in 964 ARR, he knew. Valorum had been reelected as Supreme Chancellor that year. 

The Great ReSynchronization had also occurred then. Standardized dating systems were quite useful, but he still saw many planets continue to use their own dating system alongside that of the Great ReSynchronization. And at least Palpatine didn’t make a standard Galactic dating system named after himself. With the amount of power he had amassed at the end of the war, he probably could. In the ‘name of democracy.’ And standardized dating systems.

He stopped by a small flowering shrub. If he recalled correctly, in 965 ARR, the Techno Union claimed Saleucami. He wasn’t even surprised at the power the corporations were able to amass. After a while, Obi-Wan supposed, the only beings that held more power than the kriffing Sith Lord who was Supreme Chancellor were the heads of large corporations. Which, of course, made sense. However, it didn’t mean anyone had to like it.

Obi-Wan entered another small niche, this time walled in by trees with smooth gray trunks and dark green leaves. In 967 ARR, the Yinchorri Uprising occurred. And Obi-Wan, rather than focus on the causes (which he knew very little of, seeing as there was no real need for the Yinchorri to jeopardize their standing in both the Senate and with intergalactic relations. After all, having expansionist policies for no conceivable reason beyond that of wanting to invade other worlds wasn’t conducive to lowering interplanetary tensions. Seven Jedi were killed in the conflict before it was resolved. This did not require any speculation. Obi-Wan supposed the death of Jedi would be rather gratifying to the Sith after seeing the result of the Clone Wars. The second conclusion Obi-Wan was able to draw from the Yinchorri Uprising without relying too much on speculation was that it caused Chancellor Valorum’s standing in the Senate to be weakened.

And there was another result, but one that Obi-Wan had no way of confirming without talking to the Sith and confirming their purposes. After all, part of Sidious’s goal was to accumulate power, which he did at a spectacular rate, especially once the war started. At the end of the war, he even had power over enormous galactic-scale banks. So, following the understanding that the Sith wanted to be able to exercise complete control over the Republic, or whatever remained of it, it would be one small step to annex Separatist planets and expand from there once the Separatists, also controlled and pulled into place by Sidious were forced to 'surrender.’ The ease with which that could be done only further illustrated the extent to which the Sith led the galaxy on by its nose, and how they dragged the oblivious Jedi behind them. And so, continuing with the assumption that Sidious’s plan was galactic domination, it would not be a large jump to assume he wanted to get rid of any threats to this goal. And the Yinchorri, who sported aggressively expansionist policies, had an exceptional military and even more exceptional technological advancements in that field, and who were immune to mind tricks, would count as a threat if they proved to be uncontrollable. 

Not only that, but after Obi-Wan’s promotion to the Council, he was able to access previously inaccessible files, many of which were sealed for security. The file on the Yinchorri Uprising included an incident where Yinchorri commandos tried to attack the Jedi temple. Which was unsuccessful, in contrast with the one at the end of the war. However, they had been forewarned and were able to evacuate the younglings. But at the end of the attack, the Jedi were able to conclude that the Yinchorri were not so aggressively bloodthirsty as their destructive attacks seemed to indicate; rather, they were misled, and the Jedi council suspected the involvement of a third party. Which, Obi-Wan strongly suspected, was the Sith. Although there was no way of proving that the Sith were involved, it only helped Sidious. It was rather dismaying to truly look back and see how many plots the Sith had their hands in, even if Obi-Wan was incorrect about the Yinchorri Uprising. Besides, the very fact that it, however indirectly, assisted Palpatine in his grab for power was a sufficient indication of the necessity to prevent something of the same scale from occurring.

The same year, if Obi-Wan remembered correctly, the Eriadu Trade Summit occurred. It was an unmitigated disaster, if Obi-Wan remembered correctly. He remembered that some number of the Trade Federation representatives were murdered. After this, only the Neimoidians controlled the Trade Federation. At that time, the assumption was that the Nebula Front had assassinated them. No agreement was reached at the trade summit, and the Senate proceeded to tax trade in the Outer-Rim. Nute Gunray became leader of the Trade Federation at that time, and Lott Dod became the leading representative of the Trade Federation. He could not help but wonder if they chose Trade Federation positions based on how irritating their representatives could be to anyone with a singular brain cell. Obi-Wan stopped in front of a clear blue pond, surrounded by little star-shaped golden blossoms. It seemed that the farther in he was in the gardens, the less damage there was. The Trade Federation also armed its ships that year. Which, he supposed, would enable them to invade Naboo later. 

Obi-Wan was feeling smug. Evidently, being a weird nerd paid off. Despite what other people said about his propensity to know "trivia." Take that, Anakin. Although he was almost certainly missing something. 

Obi-Wan jumped across a little wooden bridge which spanned a small stream. When he was younger, or maybe older, he liked running across the wooden planks. They made a very satisfying clicking sound. He swung below the bridge to sit next to the little brook, which ran with a cheerful gurgle. 

The year after that, in 968 ARR, the Trade Federation invaded Naboo. And he couldn't exactly forget the details of that particular event; Qui-Gon had died, leaving him to apprentice Anakin. Qui-Gon had teased Obi-Wan of trying to poach his padawan when Anakin spent time with Obi-Wan on the ship; those comments had hurt at the time, after all, Obi-Wan was still a padawan. But later, they just felt like some very accurate foreshadowing, although not in the way they were originally intended.

Obi-Wan knew Palpatine was elected Supreme Chancellor because of the Naboo Crisis. Some of the Council Members had expressed suspicions about Palpatine when he had been elected. But then those suspicions had been dismissed by the majority of the Council. After all, what was the probability that a Senator would arrange an invasion of their home planet to secure the chancellery? It would have been helpful if the Council was more suspicious. Or just more paranoid. Or at least accepted the assertion that the Sith had returned, and were actually a threat before the outbreak of the Clone Wars. 

He couldn't recall anything else that had happened that year; he was so focused on training Anakin that he didn't spend that much time with current events. And maybe it simply didn't matter that much to him after Qui-Gon's death. Qui-Gon spent many of their shared meals discussing Galactic politics with Obi-Wan. Anakin never held a similar interest, so Obi-Wan just ensured he did well in the history classes at the temple. Or tried to. 

Obi-Wan was still reclining, staring up at the ceiling of the room. Or what he imagined to be the ceiling of the room. Kuat Drive Yards, he recalled, became suddenly and suspiciously rich, almost overnight. Although they certainly didn't flaunt their wealth, it was still there. Many Jedi didn't question the origin of the army that had suddenly popped out of nowhere, complete with ships and supplies. They should have investigated. Obi-Wan had no way of knowing whether or not Kuat Drive Yards manufactured any of the supplies for the army now. He could only speculate. 

Obi-Wan, after that, couldn't remember much of the specifics of various events. He and Anakin had been sent on missions nearly all the time. He simply recalled major events, without any specific developments. Like when Count Dooku founded the CIA and started the Separatist Crisis. After that, lineage dinners, which were already extremely rare for Obi-Wan, became obsolete. After all, Qui-Gon was dead, Dooku left, Obi-Wan and Anakin were gone most of the time on missions, and Yoda's stew was unbearably awful. 

The Military Creation Act was also created, although the clone army rendered the need for the Military Creation Act obsolete. Palpatine just used his emergency powers to finalize the draft of the clones. Obi-Wan wished he could set people on fire with his thoughts. Or clothes. That would be, to say the least, immensely satisfying. Although it certainly wasn't the Jedi way.

The advent of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan supposed, was the end of the possibility for the Jedi Council to investigate either the clones, Palpatine, or any of the various events that helped lead to the Clone Wars. After all, the wartime Council was primarily occupied with the war. Obi-Wan didn't know how the Council operated outside of wartime, so he couldn't say whether they would have investigated any of those things in the first place. So, in short, Obi-Wan needed some help. Maybe he could start with Dex. After all, Dex was extraordinarily helpful; being a criminal opened up multiple avenues for information gathering. 

Obi-Wan stood up in the grass. The nice thing about being in a landscape he created in his mind was that he wasn't sore at all. He would enjoy the lack of any creaky joints for the next few decades. 

He thought about simply trying to assassinate Palpatine; however, Obi-Wan had no way of knowing when his master died. Or who his master was. He was only aware of most of his apprentices. Or acolytes. It would be better to deal with what he knew. Obi-Wan cursed. He wished he had somebody to talk to about this. As it was, being a tiny five-year-old would not be helpful for his credibility. 

His imaginary self stretched. He then proceeded to trace the path of memories he had left. The ability to recollect these in chronological order would be rather helpful, after all. His soft boots proceeded down the halls of his mind. Some of the lightsaber marks he had seen on the way in were growing shallower, Obi-Wan noticed. Although most of the statues that were missing their heads were still decapitated. A stone head that was resting in a small garden outside the temple was covered in white blossoms that crept between the cracks in the stone. When Obi-Wan reached the main entrance to the temple, he stretched his actual body, and the view of the steps to the Jedi temple faded out of Obi-Wan's view until he blinked at the chrono on the beige wall, surrounded by the soft snuffling snores of his fellow crèchemates. Or former crèchemates. Obi-Wan didn't know how time travel worked, but it was safe to say he and his friends went back years. It was a good thing Obi-Wan was able to avoid laughing at his own jokes in public, or else his men would never let him live it down. Or Ahsoka. She'd spend years teasing his awful jokes. Although Obi-Wan kind of wished she had. 

Obi-Wan buried his tiny face in his pillow. Apparently, his small body didn't do so well with only meditation. Obi-Wan grimaced. He'd have to sort that out later. But for now, he would wait about an hour for everyone else to wake up.

Obi-Wan stretched out in his bunk with a small yawn and resigned himself to staring at the tan ceiling for the next hour. Apparently, this was his existence now. He hated being so tiny. It was irritating. He huffed and turned over onto his side to wait out the hour, pulling his blankets up to his nose. Someday he'd figure out how to sleep quietly. Being tired was awful, and he wanted to be able to sleep in now that he had an excuse to. 

Chapter Text

When Jango returned to the holotable, Jaster waved him over. 

“How’s Cody?” Jango put his buy’ce onto the side table and turned toward Jaster.

“He’s out like a light. The kid’s exhausted.” Jaster nodded. That made sense. Jango hesitated, then asked, “Are you checking what he said? About Montross?” 

“Yes. Carina and Hochi are checking recent comms in this area for unsanctioned or unknown comm frequencies. After all, many of the verde call family or friends, and most of those contacts are known frequencies. We only have to check those that are not.” 

“Ok, Buir. What about Kyr’tsad?”

Jaster grimaced. “That’s a bit more difficult. We can’t exactly continue the mission without taking unnecessary risks, but there’s not really any easy way to flush Death Watch out of wherever they’re hiding. And our scouts have not found any Kyr’tsad camps, so we’ll have to see if we can find them before they attack us.”

Jango frowned at the holo of Korda VI Jaster had pulled up. “We can’t find them anywhere?”

Jaster shook his head. “They’re laying low, wherever they are.” 

Hochi chose that moment to enter the room. He was holding a datapad, and his lekku were twitching in poorly concealed anger. 

“Mand’alor. We found several comms that have been sent a while ago. And although there’s no way of proving that the frequencies they were sent to are actually Kyr’tsad, the locations they were sent to are… highly incriminating, if it is to be believed that Tor Vizsla was never killed.”

Jaster nodded. “Continue?”

Hochi pulled up a few files on the datapad with quick flicks of his fingers. “There were several raids on various planets, all done quickly and leaving no witnesses. The assumption by many of the local law enforcement groups was that it was a gang of some sort. However, while all of the adults that were on site were killed, all of the ade were taken. Most of the ade were recorded as missing, probably kidnapped. But, see,” and here Hochi shoved the datapad into Jaster’s hands, “you can see that there’s a pattern to the attacks. The law enforcement groups on different planets didn’t work with each other, probably believing them to be individual incidents, but you can see that the planets that were attacked are all either within a relatively short distance to each other; in fact, there are small hyperspace routes connecting the vast majority of them. And if you bring up the dates of each of the attacks, each subsequent attack is on a planet that is either directly connected to the last by a hyperspace lane or indirectly connected. There are even,” and now Jaster was growing worried about the implications that Kyr'tsad was not only still active, but recruiting ade by killing their buire and taking them hostage, “attacks farther away that no one would think to associate the attacks with, but the planets are connected by larger hyperspace routes. And now, if you match up the dates of the attacks with the location the comms had been sent to, most of them match up. Of course, some of the dates and locations aren’t near attacks, but it’s probably because they were in transit, or simply at their base of operations. And if you look at the locations the comms were sent to, there are quite a few that correspond with either the locations that were attacked or locations that would make sense for transit. But there are some comms that went to one location multiple times; see, several of them went to Concordia at times between attacks. It matches up.”

“It does match up. However troubling this news is, it is critical information for us to have. And while it does not yet allow us to prove that Montross is the traitor, it is enough to allow people to know there is a high probability that we have a traitor in our midst.”

“‘Lek, Buir. But there’s nothing on Concordia besides the abandoned mines. How do we know that’s where Kyr'tsad is?”

Jaster turned toward Jango. “Probably because without Hochi’s excellent comm tracing, no one would bother excavating the mines on Concordia. No one has found beskar there in years. And how do we know that the mines are abandoned? If the comm signals are good indicators of where Kyr’tsad is, then it would make sense if the abandoned mines had been put to use. After all, Kyr’tsad would have needed a place to lay low after Concord Dawn. And the mines would be an excellent place to do that. Besides, where else would they put the ade that they kidnapped? There is not enough space on a starship for that. The comms were traced to Concordia multiple times. And if they have been sent to Kyr’tsad, then they will be on Concordia, and failing that, we will be able to hunt them down here, if Cody’s seer friend is to be believed.”

Hochi turned to Jaster. “And is he?” 

Jango answered for him. “ Elek, Hochi. Cody is a good kid, and I believe that whatever warning ihs friend gave him is trustworthy. After all, he was right about Montross, or at least the presence of a traitor. Who is to say he will not be right about Kyr’tsad’s presence here?”

Jaster smiled at him. “Well said, ad.” Jango grinned back at him. “But we need to find a way to figure out who the traitor is, even if it is Montross. We will need evidence.”

Hochi grinned at Jaster. “We’ve already got you covered, Mand’alor. Carina is monitoring the comm channels. While there was no way for us to see who sent the previous comms, we hope we’ll be able to intercept any comms sent now, and see who sent it as well.”

Jaster sighed in relief. “Thank you, Hochi. I’m glad I’m surrounded by competent people. What would I do without you?” 

Jango nudged his shoulder. “You’d have even more gray hairs, Buir. You’d be wasting away,” Jango told him cheerfully. 

Hochi winked. “Jan’ika is right.” Although Jango scowled at the nickname, he didn’t quite suppress his grin.

Jaster sighed, muttering about the injustice of being ganged up on. “I don’t have gray hair. I’m barely thirty, for crying out loud.”

Jango just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Buir.” 

“Really, Jan’ika? You’re gonna hurt your buir like that?”

“Well, you see, Buir, I must endeavor to tell the truth in order to avoid spreading falsehoods. And if that falsehood is that you do not have gray hair, then I must correct that assumption.”

Jaster sighed. “I don’t have gray hair. That's a subjective truth. If there is no way for you to prove to the galaxy at large that I have gray hair, then I can say I don't have gray hair as much as I want.” Hochi was watching their debate with poorly concealed amusement. 

Jango noticed that as well and turned to him. “Well, Hochi? Does Jaster have gray hair?”

Hochi started at that and tried to save himself. “Well, I don’t see any, but it’s, ah, certainly possible that he has some?” Jango nodded. 

“Precisely. Maybe he uses hair dye!” Jaster felt like this was getting off-topic. He didn’t use hair dye. Jaster was sure to say as much. But he was saved, once again, by the chime of his comm. 

“One moment.” Jango nodded, and Jaster accepted Carina’s comm. 

“ Mand’alor, Montross left the camp.” 

“He what?” Jaster was no longer smiling.

“Montross left the camp.” 

“I know, but why? He doesn’t know we think he’s a traitor, and just leaving like that will raise suspicions!”

Jango was looking around the room. For what, Jaster didn’t know. Carina paused on the other side of the line. “I found a comm. He’s meeting someone somewhere for pick-up. Probably Kyr’tsad, if he left like that.” Jaster ran a hand down his face. This was a disaster. 

“But why?” 

“We don’t know yet, but-“ 

“ Buir!” Jango’s sharp exclamation startled Jaster. 

Jaster turned toward Jango in confusion. “What? Oh.” Jango was holding a small listening device in his glove, looking quite furious.

“‘Oh’ is right, Mand’alor. If this isn’t incriminating, I don’t know what is. He probably heard us talking about him, then left rather than face us. Hut'uun. ” Jaster took the listening device from Jango and pulled out some of its wires. They still needed the evidence, after all.

Jaster commed Myles. "Myles, can you double the number of guards around camp? I'm going to call the scouting verde back in." 

" Elek, Mand'alor." Jaster said his thanks. He grimaced. 

"Should we wake Cody?" After all, he might have some ideas, what with his Seer friend and his odd, almost adult-like behavior.

" Nayc, Buir. I think the kid needs his sleep. And while there is a high probability that Kyr'tsad is here, we can't do much besides prepare for an attack and, like you said, increase guards along the perimeter of the camp." 

Jaster nodded his agreement. "I want to be able to get out of here if we need to. We should pack up the supplies in camp."

Hochi informed them he would tell people to pack up their extra supplies and left, leaving Jaster to stand there while trying to think of the next thing he needed to do. 

Jango, it seemed, was well aware of this fact. " Buir. Stop worrying. There isn't much you can do besides wave a giant sign above our camp that says, ' Kyr'tsad, K'olar!' You don't know if or when they will attack, or how they will attack, or if there's anything we can do besides get ready. So stop worrying and just make sure your blaster is well oiled. And get some beauty sleep."

Jaster fluffed Jango's curls, which he protested with an indignant cry. "Well said, Jan'ika. You sure we shouldn't wake Cody up? He might not want to wake up during a Kyr'tsad jurkad."

"That's a good point, Buir. I'll go wake him up." And without further ado, Jango exited the planning room. 

As Jaster exited the ship, he heard blaster fire split the air. He cursed, jamming his buy'ce onto his head and drawing his blaster. Jaster took a moment to process the scene in front of him. The air was filled with smoke, the blue and red streaks of blasterfire luminous in the thick smoke. A Kyr'tsad verde went streaking toward the ground, his jetpack malfunctioning, probably from a blaster bolt fired by one of Jaster's ori'ramikade. The resulting explosion shook the air, and another plume of smoke billowed from the crash site. 

Kriff evacuating. They would finish Kyr'tsad off here. Jaster fired a few bolts at some Kyr'tsad members locked in battle with his verde. 

Haar'chak, where was Jango? Locating his silver and blue armor, he kicked the legs of his opponent out from under him, allowing Jango to finish the battle. Several of his verde flew up to meet the already airborne Kyr'tsad soldiers. The smoke was only growing thicker, and Jaster had to thank his buy'ce's environmental seal once again. 

He cursed when he saw tanks in the distance. One fired, and some of the verde in the blast zone weren't able to get out quickly enough. Their fellows dragged them out of the way, however, and Jaster called Jango to his side. They needed to take care of the tanks. He grabbed a few more verde as he jumped, rising into the smoke as his sen'tra propelled him closer to the tanks. He was aware of the presence of his companions around him. A tank fired a shot toward them, and they scattered quickly, regrouping around Jaster. 

As he fell into a dive, avoiding blaster bolts fired by the Kyr'tsad verde near them, he remarked that they didn't have a chance to wake Cody up, after all. 

—————————————

Cody cursed again as another explosion shook the ship. He hurriedly pulled on the pair of boots Jango had found for him, remarking on the fact that they fit him rather well. It must have been one of Jango's old boots. He grabbed a blaster on his way out the door, cursing his small stature. 

He tuned out the sound of blasterfire like he had done so many times in battles past. He didn't even blink at the amount of smoke that permeated the air. He located a red stylized jai'galaar on a pauldron and began running toward them. As he jumped, he remarked that as small as he was, that move still worked fairly well. After all, mindless sycophants weren't much better than B1-type battle droids. The Kyr'tsad verd stumbled, and, taking advantage of his temporary confusion, Cody pulled the trigger, ensuring that they wouldn't get up to shoot him in the back again. He continued fighting for a while before another, different, explosion split the air. Cody's brain placed the sound immediately. Tank shots. Kriffing tanks. At least they would have hatches too. Cody grabbed a pouch of thermal detonators off the nearest downed Kyr'tsad verd, but then, thinking better of it, he ran into the nearest gunship and, disregarding the pre-flight checks, he lifted off, testing the ship out with a few good spins.

—————————————

 "Spinning is not flying, Commander." The General looked a little green. "Next time, I'm flying."

"That may be true, sir, but spinning is very effective for avoiding the vast majority of cannon fire that is directed towards a ship. And we're all alive, aren't we?"

"Commander, I am a good pilot. I just don't like flying. And while that may be true, it doesn't mean that spinning is the only way you should avoid cannon fire."

"As you say, General. I shall endeavor to spin less in the future."

"Really, Cody? I know this means you'll take every available opportunity to spin now."

Cody grinned, ignoring his brothers in the ship with them. "That's not wrong, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Be that as it may, that was some excellent flying. Except for the spinning, of course."

—————————————

Cody cursed as he righted the ship. No spinning, right. He turned the ship toward the direction of cannon fire, pushing the throttle forward. The engine hummed beneath him, and he cursed his short stature as he was forced to kneel on the chair to see over the top of the controls. He hated being tiny. It was so inconvenient. 

When he was closer to the tanks, he could see Jaster, Jango, and several other verde trying to blow up the tanks. Cody would have to show them how. Thermal detonators are useless if one were to detonate them outside of the tank. But, seeing as he had a gunship, he might as well just take care of their problem for them. He had been hovering there for a bit, blaster shots ricocheting off the bottom and sides of the ship before they noticed him there. He aimed a couple of concussion missiles at the tanks, which promptly exploded. Cody took great pleasure in the amount of fire that erupted from the explosions. Cody supposed he wasn't cool enough not to look at the explosions. So what? Any explosion he could look at and enjoy was a good explosion. After all, it usually meant that a mission went well. 

The ship's comm chimed. A holo of Jaster appeared on the dashboard, and Cody supposed a holo of him kneeling on the chair would be on Jaster's side. Cody distantly regretted not looking cooler, but that was fine. At least he got the explosions in.

"Cody?" Jaster sounded rather flabbergasted, although Cody couldn't figure out why. He had just blown up a couple of tanks. Although there was that one time he was able to get a couple dozen J-1-semi-autonomous proton cannons to blow up. That was pretty good. Rex lost the bet on the biggest explosion that month. 

"Elek, Mand'alor?" Cody made sure he looked as innocent as possible. 

"Jaster is fine, Cody, but, I mean, did you blow up those tanks? By yourself?"

"'Lek, Jaster." Cody gave up on trying to contain his mischievous smirk. It was too hard, and there wasn't much point in doing it. They could probably tell already anyway. 

Cody had gotten very good at reading body language through armor. He did not hesitate to say that Jaster, who had clearly landed, looked rather exasperated. 

"We'll talk about this. Later." Jaster disconnected the comm. Cody wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Because why would he be unhappy about Cody blowing up tanks? A few more blaster bolts ricocheted off the belly of the ship, and Cody pulled up, flipped the ship over with excessive glee, and headed back to the camp, where he could still see utter chaos. He cursed again. He could see Kyr'tsad was stretched rather thin on their left flank though. If he could just get a group of verde to attack them there, they'd be set. Kyr'tsad, he could see, operated similarly to the Haat Mando'ade. All the verde were in individual battles. Maybe he could get Jaster to bring a group of verde around and attack the left flank. 

He pulled up recent contacts, hitting the first one, and Jaster came up on holo.

"Cody?"

"Hello, Jaster. Can you see the camp right now?"

"'Lek, Cody. But why?"

"Well, if you get a group of ori'ramikade to come around to Kyr'tsad's left flank, preferably with some more explosives, you'll be able to pin Kyr'tsad between the camp and the verde." There was some more silence on the other end.

"That's a good idea. I'll be sure to do that." Cody sat back on his heels, satisfied. After all, most of his recommendations were good ideas. It was all too easy to slip back into the mindset he had during battles in the Clone Wars. Probably because his mind was now his own, although he'd have to fix the chip very soon. As in very soon.

Cody couldn’t do much in the gunship besides watching the fight, mostly because there was a pitched battle being fought on the ground and he dared not use the ship’s cannons to aid them lest he hit someone he did not mean to. 

He set the ship down, running off the ramp and wishing he had his armor as he let off a shot at an oblivious Kyr’tsad member. Another knocked his blaster out of his hands with a lucky shot. It was a good thing, Cody remarked, that he was exceptional at hand-to-hand combat, even among his brothers. The poor verd whom he had just flipped over his shoulder was not nearly as adept. Cody finally knocked them out with the butt of their own blaster, which he borrowed gleefully. 

He ran toward Jaster and the verde surrounding him. It seemed that his tactic worked. Kyr’stad’s ranks were buckling, and some were being cuffed, presumably for questioning. 

Cody had just finished knocking out another incompetent Kyr’tsad verd when a voice rang out over the field. It was loud and rather unpleasant. Jaster turned toward the source of the sound. He’s worried, but angry as well, Cody noted from his posture. 

A humanoid approached them, and Cody was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the fighting had all but ceased in favor of watching this confrontation.

As the being drew closer, Cody noted their shoulder-length black hair, which was greasy and uneven. There was a large scar stretching from his left eyebrow up his skull, presenting a swath of scar tissue that split his hair. Cody looked at the scar tissue. It was clearly treated, probably with bacta. Probably caused by exposure to extreme heat, maybe an explosion. 

Jaster drew closer to Cody, and when the man came within speaking distance to them, Jaster’s hands were hovering near his weapons. “Tor Vizsla. I cannot say it is nice to see you again. We thought you died on Concord Dawn, although you do not seem to have gotten any more handsome since last we met. And Montross,” Jaster said, nodding to a Mandalorian in a blue suit of armor cut off above the elbows, “You always were a hut’uunla shabuir. ” He spat the last bit out at Montross.

Tor laughed at his words. “I must reciprocate the feeling. And we seem to disagree about Montross’s value as a Mandalorian. He made an excellent spy, after all.” Tor finished his words with a flourish of his hands, although his face spoke of barely controlled madness. He pulled his buy’ce over his head, drawing the oddly rectangular ‘saber hanging at his belt and igniting it to reveal a black blade, glittering with silver veins at the edges. 

Vizsla pointed the blade toward Jaster, the voice coming through his vocoder strained and tinged with insanity. “I claim the right to challenge you, as the rightful Mand’alor to a mere pretender, ” he spat, “and only the strongest shall rule Mandalore.” He flicked his blade in a mock salute to Jaster, taunting.

“My position was chosen by the clans, not through brute force. I accept your challenge.” Jango exchanged a few words with Jaster that Cody could not hear; he then gave Jaster a fierce hug, and a Mandalorian in grey and blue armor passed a beskad to Jaster, who spun it around a few times, presumably testing the balance of the blade out before he nodded to Tor, holding his blade with both hands, feet set in a position similar to some Mandalorian fighting forms Jango had taught the first few batches, who had taught the later batches in turn. 

Jaster shifted his feet once more before Tor flew toward him, his sen’tra spewing angry blue flame. Jaster stepped neatly to the side, blocking Tor’s angry swipe. 

They were hemmed in on all sides by verde from both Kyr’tsad and the Haat Mando’ade. Jango was standing rigidly, watching the fight progress. Cody was apprehensive as well. Jaster would be a good Mand’alor, and he already had the support of the clans that were not allied with Kyr’tsad. And he had some good policies as well.

Cody winced as Vizsla scored a hit across Jaster’s breastplate, gouging a deep cut in it. He seemed to be relying more on brute force than actual technique, using grappling cords, knives, and a flamethrower against Jaster with extreme prejudice. He didn't use his blasters as much, gripping the darksaber with both hands. 

Jaster utilized his equipment just as much, if not more, but it was simply supplementing his blade work, not being used interchangeably. Cody, watching at the sidelines, was rather nervous, although he’d never say as much. He could not stop comparing the forms Jaster used with the ones his General used to execute so gracefully. If blade work was a dance, Jaster’s was rigid and forceful while Obi-Wan’s was all graceful steps and flips. 

The hiss of the darksaber against the beskad punctuated the drawn-out silence. The fight was becoming more brutal. Tor jumped into the air, aided by his sen’tra, and Jaster propelled himself into the air as well. They met in the air, and Jaster threw a punch into Vizsla’s gut, spinning him around with his momentum and dragging his beskad across the circuitry of the sen’tra. Vizsla, however, was able to knock the beskad out of Jaster's hands, each of them landing a fair distance away from the blades. Vizsla tumbled to the ground, only getting up fast enough to meet Jaster's armored fist. They exchanged a couple more blows before Jaster grabbed Vizsla's arm and flipped him over his shoulder, tearing off his buy'ce in one smooth motion. Vizsla's buy'ce rolled a short distance away, but Vizsla disregarded the loss, launching himself toward Jaster and catching him in the middle. 

Both of their capes were rather burnt around the edges, and they tangled together as they rolled until Jaster kicked Vizsla off of him. The darksaber was only a short distance away from both fighters now, and as Vizsla scrambled toward it, Jaster caught his foot with a grappling line and pulled, throwing him back, and activating his sen'tra. Vizsla, who was now caught behind him, caught the flames and no small amount of heat on his beskar'gam, and he was incapable of doing anything besides avoiding the blistering heat. Jaster, with the extra boost from his sen'tra, picked the darksaber up and thumbed the activation button. The black blade sprang out of the hilt with an eerie hiss, so different from the hiss-snap Cody was used to. 

Jaster leveled the blade at Vizsla, who was shaking his head to clear it. His breastplate had gray burned matter splayed across it. Cody noted that Jaster would probably win this fight. The other beskad was too far away for Vizsla to reach, especially because he looked rather out of it. At this point, Wolffe probably would have shot him in the head. Rex would have knocked him out with a well-placed punch. Fox and Thorn would have felt obliged to cuff him, grumbling the entire time about the amount of paperwork they would have to do. 

Jaster exchanged a few blows with Vizsla, eventually sweeping his legs out from under him until Vizsla snarled in fury, his mouth twisted and his teeth bared.

"Like I said, only the strongest shall rule Mandalore." And he pushed himself back onto his feet, eyes brimming with his fury. He drew his pistol in the same movement, and Jaster, who had raised the darksaber to kill Vizsla, had to twist to dodge the blaster bolts. Jango, who seemed more reassured as Jaster was winning the fight, had gone rigid again. The circle of verde parted a bit to allow the blaster shots to fly past them. 

Jaster ducked under the shots, and one that he was unable to dodge scored a line across his left pauldron. Vizsla had put a fair amount of distance between them to utilize his blaster more easily. Unable to deflect the shots, Jaster was forced to take cover, unable to close the gap between them. Jaster was evidently aware of this because his hand was hovering near one of the pistols on his thigh holster. As Vizsla snapped off another few shots, Jaster pulled his pistol out of his holster, firing at Vizsla's blaster. When a bolt hit Vizsla's blaster, he thumbed the activation button on the darksaber, and crossed the remaining distance between them, cutting off the muzzle of Vizsla's pistol and then plunging the darksaber into the space below his breastplate. Vizsla choked, his eyes widening in brief shock before he grabbed Jaster's hands, pushing himself further onto the blade, sneering and mocking him with his eyes. 

Jaster made a sound of disgust and pulled the blade out of Vizsla's torso, the man still grinning maniacally. Jango breathed a sigh of relief beside Cody, and the rest of the Haat Mando'ade were watching the reactions of some of the Kyr'tsad verde. Vizsla's body hit the ground with a certain inevitability, a quiet thud in the silence which was equal parts triumphant and shocked. Vizsla's eyes were vacant and unseeing, and the deranged sneer was missing from his face. 

Jaster raised the darksaber above his head in triumph, the black blade glittering oddly in the light. "I claim this darksaber as the Mand'alor, and for my people." 

A few of the Kyr'tsad verde stepped forward, kneeling to their Mand'alor. A teen clad in beskar'gam stepped forward, their buy'ce hiding his face, but their rage and fear were evident in the lines of their body. They pulled off their buy'ce to reveal pale blue eyes and blond hair, and a short scar that curved beneath their left eye. 

Cody was able to recognize him as Pre Vizsla from the holos that Obi-Wan had shown to the Council. His eyes were tinted with Tor's madness, as he screamed, throwing angry words toward the Mand'alor. He shook his head in denial. " I will never bow to you, Mereel. You're all traitors! " He snarled his last words at the verde that had knelt to Jaster. His mouth was twisted, disappearing behind his buy'ce as he backed up and his intent became obvious. The watching Haat Mando'ade shot at their retreating backs, and those with jetpacks flew after them in pursuit, able to take down some of the traitors. 

However, there was no way to track all of them down. The same thought must have occurred to Jaster, because he held his hand up, halting the remaining verde from taking off in pursuit as well. "We'll wait. We can defeat them at their base. We can't capture them all here." He must have also called in the pursuing verde, because they quickly landed next to him. 

The Kyr'tsad members that still had some honor left placed their right fists over their hearts. We swear to follow you, Mand'alor. Jaster accepted their oaths, the darksaber hanging on his hip. Cody grimaced when he realized his little hands were clenched tightly around the blaster he was holding, and he relaxed them. 

Jaster had come over to him and Jango, who did not hesitate to give Jaster a bone-crushing hug. Cody remembered feeling the same way when Obi-Wan challenged random dar'jetiise on the field. While he was glad Jaster hadn't died so Jango wouldn't be left without a buir, he was also happy he survived; he had shown only kindness to Cody and his people, and historical accounts recorded him as an honorable man. 

He and Jango exchanged a few more words that Cody didn't try to catch. After all, Jango could have lost his buir today. Cody noted that Myles was taking care of the administrative tasks; setting watches on the surrendered Kyr'tsad members while Jaster recovered from his rather brutal fight with Tor. 

Jaster turned toward Cody, who was just standing in place since Jaster had won the duel. He hated being so small. He wouldn't be able to use any fun equipment for years. Jaster knelt in front of him.

"Cody? Are you alright?" He had taken his buy'ce off so he could look Cody in the eyes. 

"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" And Cody kind of was right about that. He hadn't gotten seriously injured, so he was obviously alright.

Jaster shook his head, and Jango, who was standing behind him, radiated disbelief. "Just call me Jaster. Cody, you're six years old. I wouldn't think any less of you if you were afraid. As a matter of fact, I would expect you to be afraid, but you have proven, on both the field and through piloting the gunship, that you are… terrifyingly competent in battle. But why?" 

Ah. So that was what that was about. Cody could have laughed. He completely forgot that most children were not trained for war. Cody was, though. If he counted as a child. Cody actually laughed. “I’m fine.” 

Jaster shook his head. “Alright, Cot’ika. But, before you get snagged by one of my ori’ramikade, I will ask you. Would you allow me the honor of being your buir? I will always understand if you decline.” Cody’s brain stuttered to a halt. He could understand a battle. Those made sense. But Jaster wanted… him? To be his ad. His surprise must have shown on his face because Jaster had pulled him into a warm hug. It promised safety and warmth to Cody. And Cody found himself wanting more, for the first time in so long, that he began to cry, as he had never had the chance to do after the end of the war. And Jaster just held him tighter.

Cody pulled away, wiping at his eyes with his rolled-up shirt sleeves. “Elek, ni vorer.” Jaster pulled him into another warm hug, and Cody hadn’t been hugged like that since the Clone Wars, and he clutched at the dirty plates of Jaster’s armor as he cried, feeling warmth all around him.

“Well then. Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Cody,” Jaster said with a gentle smile.

Jango gave Cody another hug. Cody registered that he had put down his blaster. When did that happen? 

Jango grinned at Cody. “I get to call you my little vod’ika now! I’ll have the best vod’ika ever! ” Jango was doing a little dance in place, and it hit Cody that his life was going in several rather unexpected directions. Jango Fett wanted him as his little brother. 

Someone coughed behind them, and Jaster groaned. Cody turned to see Baar’ur Iza standing behind them, glaring balefully at them. Cody gulped fearfully. “Now that you’re done with your on-the-spot adoption, you’re coming to the medics. And you too, kid. You didn’t have any armor on. And you’re a kid. And Jango, if you’re hiding an injury from me, I’ll sedate you.” Medics, it seemed, were universally terrifying.

“'Lek, Iza,” Jaster muttered. Cody had no choice but to follow, with Jango bringing up the rear. 

When they reached a cot in the medbay, Br. Siver pushed Jaster onto a bed. She gave him a vicious glare. "Stay there, Mand'alor. Or face my wrath." She held his eyes for another second to drive her point home, at which point Jaster quickly nodded his acquiescence. She scanned him, bullied him into taking off his armor so she could put bacta on the worse injuries, and then seemed to consider making him stay in the medbay until Cody pointed out that Jaster didn't have any major injuries that would warrant keeping him in the medbay. Cody was always happy to help someone escape the medics. Except for Obi-Wan. She handed back his comm, which had about a dozen messages from various ori'ramikade asking Jaster's decision on stuff. Jango waved Jaster out of the medbay. 

"Go, Buir. I'll be with Cot'ika." Jaster nodded once more before he fled the medbay. 

Br. Siver turned toward Cody, who tried not to shrink before her critical glare. Medics were kriffing terrifying. "Cody, why do I have multiple accounts from the ori'ramikade that you were fighting Kyr'tsad verde "

"Probably because he was," Jango offered unhelpfully. 

"You're six, Cody. It's a wonder you're not dead." At this, Cody had to scoff. He was not six, he was around thirty-two. And he'd be disappointed in himself if he died fighting incompetent hutuun'la Kyr'tsad verde. Please. Although he couldn't exactly say that. 

"I wouldn't die fighting such incompetent di'kute." Jango looked at him in equal parts of exasperation and amusement. 

"Be as that may, Cody," and here Br. Siver scanned Cody with what he believed to be excessively aggressive applications of her scanner, which he protested grumpily, "you're still small and need to work on your self-preservation." Self-preservation? Cody had excellent self-preservation instincts, thank you very much. 

But before he was able to protest that statement, she told him to take off his clothes, and she proceeded to slather bacta all over his wounds, even the small ones. Here, he could no longer hold his tongue. 

"I don't need all this bacta. You can use it for someone else. Really." Everyone here was mother-henning him. All the time. Baar'ur Iza didn't answer, just continued slathering bacta on him. When she was finished, she grabbed his hand, taking a blood sample, and she walked over to a port, stuck the blood sample in, and told Jango to come over, and she proceeded to check him over. Cody pulled on the new pair of pants and shirt that she had put out for him. When he had finished getting poked at, Jango hopped up, putting his armor back on rather speedily. 

Br. Siver turned her piercing gaze back to Cody, who gulped. "Well, there are no problems with Jango. But you, young man. First thing is first. You have a slave chip in your head." Well, he knew about the inhibitor chip. He knew about it but doubted its purpose when Rex had told him what Fives told him before his death. After Order 66, he no longer doubted Rex. But, now that it wasn't activated anymore, and he had a chance…

"Can you get it out?" Cody tried to modulate his voice, but some of his desperation leaked through. Although he didn't particularly care. If Br. Siver knew about it, maybe she could get it out. 

She shook her head. "I don't have the equipment right now. But when we get back to Keldabe, the citadel should have the necessary equipment." Which meant that Cody could get the chip out. Some of his desperate hope must have come through because she smiled sympathetically at him. "But to be honest, I've never seen a slave chip implanted in someone's head before. Limbs, spines, even at the base of someone's neck, if their owners are particularly cruel. But I've never seen one in a skull."

Cody couldn't stop himself from spitting, "That's because it's not meant to blow up. It's meant to control." 

She and Jango stared at Cody in horror, who thought that maybe he shouldn't have lost control and said that. But, in the end, that was not something he could take back. 

Br. Siver recovered first. "Well, in that case, we'll get it removed as quickly as possible." She cleared her throat, to snap Jango out of his probably murderous thought process. "The second issue is that your DNA is 91% similar to Jango's DNA. And siblings, on average, share about 50% of their DNA. The only explanation I would have for this, then, is if you are Jango's clone. Which I can't see being possible." Cody was staring at her. He knew he was Jango's clone, but how was he supposed to explain? "I can tell this is a shock for you. Maybe you can talk about the chip and your DNA similarities with your new aliit." She gave him a kind smile, and Jango seemed even more stunned. She gave him a nudge, and Jango shook himself.

"Come on, Cot'ika. If Jaster is free, we should probably talk about that." Cody followed Jango out of the medbay in a similar state of confusion, if only for different reasons. But at the same time, Jaster and Jango were his aliit. And he would need help. And maybe, he wanted, just a little, to talk about things. 

—————————————

"Rex!" Cody ran after the swiftly retreating form of his vod'ika.

"What, Cody?" 

"I know you're upset. Talk to me, Rex. It'll help. It helped me." 

"Let me guess. General Kenobi?" Rex's voice was scathing, but Cody only allowed himself a small flash of hurt before it was tamped down by the knowledge that Rex was hurting. 

"Yes, but it helped. He was right. We can talk about it in my quarters. I have some of Flame's moonshine."

Rex nodded. "Alright." 

Cody gave himself and Rex a generous helping of the engine fuel rebranded as moonshine, partially for Rex, and partially for Cody too. They were both so angry, but Cody knew when he had to be rational. "Talk, Rex."

"I know. I'm just so angry, alright? And I feel like I could have done more. Helped them. Stopped him before he cut so many of us up like we were meat droids!" Rex drank some more moonshine, tilting the cup back with an almost reckless swiftness. 

"Why do you feel like you could have done more?" Cody tried to keep his voice calm, despite the burning anger that made it hard to think. He wasn't mad at Rex, after all, who needed his help. 

"'Cause he treated us all like meat droids from the start. Brainless numbers. I knew he didn't care about us, would send us into a massacre if it suited him. I should have known he would do something like that!" 

"But Rex, how would you know he betrayed you?"

"Because, because... "  

"Rex. It's not your fault." Obi-Wan would say it wasn't anyone's fault, while thinking it was all his fault. Cody wasn't arrogant enough to believe that it was only one person's fault. It was the fault of many, including his, for not noticing. 

"But it is! Cody, it is! You weren't there when he was laughing at us. It was a game to him. The deaths of my brothers were a mere footnote in his mind! You weren't there when he carved through the bodies of my brothers and left them screaming in agony because they didn't bleed out! You weren't there, Cody," Rex finished, his voice quieter than when it began, even as the cup he was holding was slammed into the table, a shockingly loud crash in the tense silence that pervaded the room. 

Cody got up to give Rex a tight hug. "I know I wasn't there. And I'm sorry for that. But do you blame me for not being there?"

Rex shook his head. "Of course not. You had no way of knowing, and you had to do your duty."

Cody turned Rex so he was looking at him. "So then you should not blame yourself. You had no way of knowing. He was a Jedi, and we both trust our Jedi. Do you trust General Skywalker and Commander Tano?"

Rex nodded, taking another draft of moonshine. "Yeah. They have my back, and I have theirs. But Krell was just so, so, different. I should have known." Cody should have known too, but it was too late now. He had to help Rex now, not the dead in the past. 

"I trust General Kenobi like that too. But you couldn't have known. The Jedi are always going on and on about the value of all life. How were you supposed to know Krell was a dar'jetii?"

Rex just shook his head. 

"It wasn't your fault, Rex. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Besides, the shabuir is dead for what he did, isn't he?" Perhaps he deserved a few more bolts in his back as well, but it was too late for that, too. 

"'Lek, Cody." Rex finished off his glass of moonshine and reached for Cody's. Cody allowed it. He, too, was angry, but Rex needed it more. More than him. Cody would see about keeping the 501st on joint missions with the 212th.  

"Rex, do you want to tell me about them? Our brothers?"

And it was as if he had opened a floodgate. Cody learned about how Hardcase ran the tattoo machine and made a fortune off of it. How Ori made fake mustaches out of torn blacks and liberal amounts of hair and adhesive. How Fall once wagered his caff supply and lost it all. How Caeli accidentally hit General Kenobi in the face with a paintball once and received ten in return, and ended up keeping the paint on his armor. How Lio was so good at cheating at sabacc he even beat General Kenobi. And how Run made a makeshift hammock and hung it in the training room so he could run a black market. The list went on until Rex tired himself out through his tears. 

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.” And Cody said his Remembrances with Rex, who was three-quarters of the way through the bottle of moonshine. When they had ended, Rex looked exhausted.

“I’m tired Cody, but. Thank you. It helped.” Cody smiled gently, grateful it helped, and too sad to admit that it had helped him, too.

“You won’t thank me in the morning. You’ll have the mother of all hangovers,” Cody said, trying to lighten the oppressive mood that had come over him. A step at a time, and he couldn't let Rex wallow in his misery forever. That was what he lost brothers to. 

Rex groaned. “Perhaps it is for the best. Tell the Generals I’m sleeping. And tell the men, as well. And inform them that if they wake me up, they will be on KP duty for two standard months. Or more, depending on what it's for.” 

Cody shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll bother you, but I’ll be sure to tell my men. And the generals.”

Rex wasn't quite sleeping when Cody stepped out the door, who knew that he would not sleep as well, either. But it came with time, and a war was no time to slow down.   

—————————————

Jango had stuffed Cody into the fresher to get cleaned up with the condition that he only use a sonic to get clean, or else. Cody came out and pulled on another one of Jango's old clothes, and met Jango, who sat him down and told him to eat. 

Cody froze when he saw the pot of stew that Jango had made, staring at it in astonishment. Jango looked rather smug. "You're a new addition to the family. Jaster taught me how to make the House Mereel tiingilar. It's very good, and here's a cup of blue milk when you need it."

Cody grinned happily. "Vor'e, ori'vod!" He hopped into the chair, and Jango looked excessively happy. 

"I've always wanted someone to call me that." Cody grinned at him and swung his legs beneath his chair. It was so weird to be tiny. He reached eagerly for the bowl of tiingilar that Jango extended toward him, taking an indulgent whiff of the spices. Obi-Wan had taken him to eat tiingilar after Cody said he hadn't had much besides ration bars, which had all the nutrients he needed and none of the flavor. It was an extremely enjoyable experience, even if he burned off his mouth eating everything he could. 

Cody tucked into the meal, which was even better than the time Obi-Wan took him, Jango eating just as enthusiastically beside him. Cody ended up downing the entire cup of blue milk, although he enjoyed the stew in full. It was amazing. So tasty. 

They had finished licking the last bits of tasty Uj'alayi cake off of their fingers when Jaster tramped onto the ship, looking extraordinarily grumpy and the evidence of the recent fight still scored into his armor. He pulled off his buy'ce and looked hopefully toward the pot of tiingilar.

Jango ladled a generous helping for Jaster, who accepted it with a grateful sigh. "You have no idea how many administrative problems accepting a surrendered enemy into your camp is. And how irritating it is to have to tell the Council that I killed Tor Vizsla. And how we knew he was there. And how we knew Montross was a traitor. And about how they were stealing ade. And that we'd have to discuss it when we returned to Keldabe because if we didn't do it in person Adonai would just outright refuse any military action. And. Just. Leaf me alone. I'm bushed." And without further ado, he downed the entire bowl of spicy tiingilar as fast as humanly possible. 

When he finished, looking more relaxed, he turned to Jango and Cody. "How'd the visit to Baar'ur Iza go?" 

Jango frowned. "No serious injuries. Just a few scrapes, which she slathered in bacta. Nothing to worry about."

Jaster examined Jango's face. "But there's more." 

Jango grimaced, then spilled to Jaster about the inhibitor chip in Cody's head, and the hypothesis that Cody was a clone. 

Jaster ran his hand down his face. "Well, I knew you looked like Jango, but I never thought that much about it. And the chip is just another level of insanity." 

He looked Cody in the eye, who was internally panicking at the fact that Jaster seemed… less than happy that he was a clone. "Are you alright, Cody?"

The answer came automatically. "Of course." But then Cody hesitated, and Jaster gestured at Cody to continue. "But, you're not going to get rid of me? Because I'm a clone?"

They looked horrified at the idea, and Jaster gave Cody a tight hug. "I'd never punish you for something that wasn't your fault, ad." Their clear disgust of the idea reassured Cody. So maybe he did have an aliit now. He hadn't had one for a while. Stormtroopers were trash. 

"Cody, do you know anything about the chips? Or your own origins?" Well, maybe if this was his aliit, he'd have to come clean. Best to build-up to the truth, then. 

"'Lek, Buir." Jaster beamed at the address, much as Jango had. "The chip is called, for lack of a better term, an inhibitor chip." 

"Inhibitor chip?" Jango looked rather green. 

"An inhibitor chip. They're biochips that were surgically implanted into all clone embryos past stage three of development."

"Every single clone?" Jaster yelped. 

Cody shook his head. "You should probably let me finish explaining, well, everything." 

They both nodded. "The inhibitor chips are capable of controlling their hosts. There is a list of orders built into the chips. When activated, the host is forced to comply with the orders."

Jaster stared at Cody. "And have these chips been activated before?" 

Cody hesitated, then said, "Technically, yes." 

"That's kriffed up."

Cody smirked at Jango, although he wasn't amused. They must have been able to tell, because they fell silent. Well, time for the bomb. 

"I, ah. Might be a time traveler? I mean, it's 948 ARR, right?"

" Elek? " 

"Right, so I was born in 968 ARR, and died thirty two years after that, stabbed in the heart by a dar'jetii. And I woke up here, very small, and then Jango found me."

Jaster and Jango looked rather shell-shocked. Jaster asked the most pertinent question. "Why were there clones of Jango in the future?" 

Cody frowned. "I don't know the whole story, but I'll tell you what I know."

They nodded. "As you probably know by now, Jango Fett was the template for the clones. As for the reasons for our creation, my Jedi General-" 

" Jedi General?" 

Cody grinned. "I'll get to it. My Jedi General told me quite a bit. But I should probably start at the beginning. Jango Fett trained some of the batches personally, including mine. He told us stories, those from Mandalore, and those of his own life. What I know of Jango's life is extremely incomplete. What I do know, though, is that you," and Cody pointed at Jaster, "died here. Killed by Tor Vizsla. And left Jango to lead the rest of the Haat Mando'ade." 

Jango paled. "That would've been a disaster. I'm not ready for that."

Cody shrugged. "No one's ever really ready. You can only try to be as competent as possible. But that's not relevant. About eight years later, another trap was set by Kyr'tsad. And my knowledge here is supplemented by what my General told me of the event. Kyr'tsad had the governor of Galidraan tell the Senate that a group of Mandalorians were killing the innocent. A Jedi task force was sent, and the Haat Mando'ade were massacred. Jango Fett told us that only he and another Mandalorian survived. Afterwards, we believe he was sold into slavery on a spice transport until he escaped, retrieved his armor, and killed Tor Vizsla, although the Jango Fett of that time was extremely vague when asked about it. It was probably traumatic, after all."

They were sitting in the chairs, looking more shell-shocked. Jaster shook his head, and told Cody, "Tell your story. We believe you. After all, there's a lot of circumstantial evidence to support it." Jango nodded, and with this encouragement, Cody continued. 

"My General told me a lot of classified information. Near the end of the war, they investigated the death of the Jedi who was said to have commissioned us. They found that a Sith named Tyranus was involved in our commissioning. The Sith was Dooku, the leader of the Separatists, our opponents in the Galaxy-wide war."

" War?! " 

Cody nodded. "It was called the Clone Wars. But the Jedi didn't know why the Sith were involved in commissioning an army for their opponents, long before the Clone Wars started. Obi-Wan told me that the Jedi Council knew that the Sith had orchestrated the war after that investigation, but they had no choice but to try to win the war as quickly as possible."

"And what happened?" Cody shook his head. 

"The Republic won the war," Cody said, his voice impossibly bitter. 

"But that's not all that happened," Jaster murmured. 

"No. The chips were activated. And we were ordered to kill our Jedi Generals. You see, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic was the Sith Lord the Jedi were looking for. And at that time, he had amassed so much power that he was able to declare the Jedi traitors, to claim that they had tried to assassinate them, and then to reform the republic into the First Galactic Empire." Cody distantly realized that Jaster had pulled him into another warm hug. 

"You were forced to execute your own commanding officers?"

Cody laughed mirthlessly. "We all were. And we all remembered after. I wasn't able to break my chip until just before I died. But I was near the top of the command chain, and I heard things. There was a Jedi. General Aayla Secura. And her commander, Bly, loved her. I think that they had finally gotten together near the end of the war." Cody smiled at the memory. "We teased him endlessly about it, but he never really cared. He was just so… happy." 

Jaster and Jango looked extremely worried now. "What happened after the order was given?"

"Well, reports said that Bly shot her multiple times. But his chip was activated, and the war was over. And a few years later, the ship he was on blew up. He was presumed dead."

They didn't seem to be able to say anything. "I think that if I hadn't died and woken up here after my chip was broken, I would've done the same." 

Jaster shook his head, stricken. "Don't say that."

Cody shrugged. "It wouldn't have mattered. Clones are expendable, after all."

"No, Cody, no. You're not expendable. No living being is. You're worth just as much as us." Jaster clutched his small hands in his. "And it's obvious that you're not Jango. You're an individual. Don't say that you're expendable, Cody, because you're not."

Cody smiled. "My General used to say the same thing. And I used to believe him."

Jango knelt in front of him. "And why did you stop believing him?" 

Cody pulled his hands out of Jaster's. "Because I killed him. Because the Empire happened, and my brothers were used as meat droids. There were hardly any of them left when I died. I was probably only alive because Vader liked to watch me struggle against the chip."

Jaster's face was twisted with worry. "But Cody, if what you said about the inhibitor chips is true,"

"It is."

"Then it is not your fault. You did not kill your General. The chip forced you to." 

"But my vod, Rex, he knew about the chips before. He didn't know what they were for, but he told me about them. Months before. I could have done something. " Anything, to avoid watching Obi-Wan fall from the cliff. 

"Could you have?" Jango's question was so jarring. 

" Yes. I could've taken it out, I could've investigated more, but I didn't." And Cody choked on his tears because the fact remained that he hadn't. 

"But how would you have known what they were going to do? If you didn't have the chip, would you have killed him?" 

Cody flinched at his words. " Never. Draar." 

Jaster nodded with a certain finality. "Then it was not your fault, Cody. You couldn't help it."

Cody shook his head. "I remember, though. I remember."

"But that doesn't make it your fault, Cody. Your knowledge alone does not make it so." 

" I gave the order. " 

“Correction: you were forced to give the order.” Jaster just hugged him tighter. 

Cody shook his head stubbornly. “But I still gave it. And I watched him fall hundreds of meters off of a cliff.”

Jaster nodded, thinking. “What was your General’s name?”

Cody started at the question. “Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“You were close to him?”

Cody laughed. “I was.”

Jaster nodded. “And what would he tell you about this?”

Cody froze, remembering a conversation long past.

—————————————

The door slid open just before Cody knocked on it. Kriffing Jetiise magic.

“Cody, what is it?”

General Kenobi immediately pressed a cup of tea into his hands, poured out of his teapot. 

“I was thinking, sir.”

“Just call me Obi-Wan, Cody. You’re drinking my tea, and you owe me at least that much. And thinking is always a dangerous pastime. What were you thinking about?”

“What you told me. About Dooku.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “I’m sorry for giving you that load to carry.”

“Don’t be sorry, sir.”

“It’s Obi-Wan, Commander.” Obi-Wan winked at him.

“Okay, Obi-Wan. But I was thinking. Maybe there’s something wrong with us. The clones I mean. If we were commissioned because of the Sith, maybe we’re defective or something.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, locking eyes with Cody, who couldn’t seem to look away. “I trust you, Cody, and I trust all of your brothers. On the battlefield and off of it. But if there was something ‘wrong’ with you, then it is not your fault. Blame it on Dooku. After all, he seems to be the source of most of our trouble now.”

Trust Obi-Wan to try to make Cody laugh. Gods, he loved this man. “But still, Obi-Wan. Remember Tup and Fives? Maybe there is something wrong with us.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “You have my trust, Cody. But know that if there was something wrong with you and your brothers, I must reiterate that it is not your fault. And that, no matter what happens, I would trust you to continue doing what you have always been doing.”

Cody blinked at the trust. “What have I been doing then, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “The right thing, Cody. I would trust you to make a decision and do the right thing. You have always tried to do that, to value the lives under your command, to carry out our orders, to help people. I would trust you with my life, because I trust you would do the right thing.”

Cody froze and had to clear his voice. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

“Certainly, Cody. Would you like to join me for this remarkably exciting paperwork? I must admit, it’s cuttingly boring. I may have to fold soon and go to the mess for some delicious ration bars.”

“That was awful, Obi-Wan. And I’ll be dragging you to the mess now.”

And Cody grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm and tugged, dragging him to the mess hall. Obi-Wan just laughed.

—————————————

“Cody?” Jaster’s voice snapped him out of his memory.

Cody shook his head. “We talked about this, after he told me what they found out about Master Sifo-Dyas. I was worried about Dooku being involved in our creation. He said it would not be my fault if anything happened. And that he would trust me to do the right thing.”

“And right now, what is the right thing to do?” Jaster’s hand was on Cody’s shoulder. 

“I think that I’m here for a reason. And that I’m supposed to help you. Obi-Wan always said to ‘trust in the Force.’ But he also said ‘the Force works in mysterious ways’ as an excuse to do absolutely insane things.”

Jaster nodded, wiping Cody’s tears off with a soft cloth. “We will get your chip out. Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it."

Cody couldn't seem to stop crying. " Vor entye, Buir."

Jaster just hugged him tighter. " N'entye, Cody."

"Tell us about him.” Cody looked at Jango in surprise. Jaster shrugged, gesturing for Jango to pull his chair next to his, and he pulled Cody into his lap. Kriff being regular-sized, Cody liked this. “It’ll help. So tell us about him.”

Cody hesitated. Where to begin? “He was a di’kut.”

Jango laughed. “That’s the first thing you say about him?”

Cody frowned. “Well, it’s true. He was a self-sacrificing dinii. The medics hated him. He would always say he was fine, and have broken ribs, or internal bleeding, or more broken bones, or have a blaster bolt through his shoulder or something. He strongly disliked going to the medics. Although I think it was PTSD. Although he never admitted it.”

Jaster chuckled. “I see where you get it.” Cody scoffed.

“Get what? And anyway, he never wore armor, by the end of the war, he just had his jetii robes. Absolute insanity.”

They both laughed, and Cody curled further into their warmth. “He brought me to the crèche once.”

Jango tilted his head in confusion. “The crèche?” 

“Where the jetiise raise their younglings.”

Jango nodded his understanding, gesturing for him to continue. “They loved him. It was hilarious. They were weaving flower crowns in the gardens, and he was helping them. He got so many leaves stuck everywhere. And then he saw me, or probably sensed me, and dragged me over there to help the younglings.”

Jaster smiled. “Was it fun?”

Cody grinned at the memory. “It was hilarious, Buir. Stupid jetii got all the younglings to pile onto him. I even got a holo.” Obi-Wan had laughed when Cody showed it to him, citing the need to encourage younglings. “And Master Yoda kept trying to rope him into taking a padawan. But I think he didn’t want to bring a padawan into the war. He was planning to take another padawan after the war was over.”

After the war. Well, Obi-Wan didn’t survive to see the end of the war.

“He had a padawan? How old was he?” Jango asked, keeping Cody from spiraling. 

“Mid-thirties. And he had a Grandpadawan. Ahsoka.” 

“He had a bu’ad in his mid thirties?” Jaster said. “That’s impressive.”

Cody shook his head. "Well, he and his padawan both started rather early. Obi-Wan took General Skywalker on as his Padawan when he was twenty-five, and General Skywalker took Ahsoka on when he was nineteen."

"Is that normal for the jetiise to take padawans that early, then?" Jaster looked intrigued at this tidbit of Jedi culture. 

Cody shook his head, remembering what Obi-Wan had told him after Maul and Raydonia. "No. Obi-Wan and his master were fighting a Sith. The Sith killed his master, and Obi-Wan sliced him in half." Not killed, unfortunately. "It was his master's dying wish that he train General Skywalker." And it left him with even worse self-worth issues. "General Skywalker took a padawan shortly after he had been knighted, a few months after the start of the war. Obi-Wan told me that most knights wait a few years after they are knighted to take on a padawan."

Jaster nodded his understanding. "For experience?"

Cody shrugged. "For experience." 

Jango noticed his shrug. "But?"

"Obi-Wan didn't take his Trials to become a knight. The Council decided killing the Sith was enough for him to be Knighted. And his padawan didn't take the trials either. They needed more Knights for the war effort, and they couldn't send padawans to direct campaigns by themselves. I think Obi-Wan told me his lineage was a complete disaster." Cody smiled at the memory of Obi-Wan complaining about how insane his lineage was, although some were better than others. "He told me, 'My great-grandmaster is a senile old troll, my grandmaster is a traitor and cut off my padawan's arm and is now leading the other side of the war, my master kept going off on random missions at the 'urging of the force,' my padawan likes explosions and crazy flying too much, and Ahsoka has Rex and Anakin to encourage her to be just as crazy as them.'" Jaster wiped off a few more tears. 

Jango chuckled at the description. "You were on first name terms with your General?" They all ignored the part about cutting arms off. 

Cody glared at him. "He told me to call him Obi-Wan. He hated the titles he was given."

Jaster grinned. "I know the feeling. Tell us more." 

Cody thought for a moment. "He said he hated being called the Sith-Killer after he was knighted. Said it hurt to be reminded of something his master died for." 

Jaster was no longer smiling. "I understand why he hated that title." 

Cody shrugged. "He also said it was embarrassing. I think it was because he thought he could've done better. Di'kut. Although, when Maul came back, the feeling just increased."

"Came back? Didn't you say Obi-Wan cut him in half?" Cody nodded in response to Jango's question. Most people didn't come back after getting cut in half, after all. 

"Apparently, Maul hated him so much, he stayed alive until he was able to get some new metal legs, and kill… ah. Well, in short, he wanted revenge, and liked to use those that Obi-Wan cared about to get it."

Jaster looked like the conversation was going in a different direction than he was planning for. "Ah. Did he have any other titles he hated?"

Cody appreciated the redirection. Maul was always a depressing subject. "He was called The Negotiator during the war."

Jango nudged his shoulder. "Did he hate that one too?"

Cody smiled when he remembered how much Obi-Wan had complained about it. "He hated that one even more. The flagship was even named the Negotiator. Obi-Wan even talked about trying to get the name changed, although I think that was in jest. But he still hated it. Hang on, he would say he 'strongly disliked' it. After all, Jedi don't hate. They only strongly dislike."

 Jango raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "That's just another way to say hate."

Cody shrugged. "I told him that too. He just laughed at me, and told me it was more 'Jedi philosophy osik. ' He wasn't wrong. Later in the war, he explained it to me. Most of it made no sense, but the parts that did make sense were stupid. I told him as much, and he just said he was becoming a bit of a heretic, himself."

Jaster looked intrigued. "How so?"

Cody shrugged. "He just said he was starting to doubt some parts of the Jedi Code. Especially the parts on love and attachment, although he didn't fully explain it. He was always rather cryptic, and when I told him that, he just said being cryptic was a requirement for being on the Council." Cody shook his head, smiling through his tears. 

"He was on the Jetii High Council?" Jango seemed intent on getting Cody to talk more about his General, although Cody didn't mind much. It had been a while since he had talked to anyone like this. 

"Yeah. He was one of the younger members of the Council, though. Still absurdly cryptic. Although he did tell me he was on the more liberal side of the Council." 

Jango gave him a cup of blue milk, which he happily drank. "What else?" 

Cody thought for a moment. "He made the worst puns." 

Jaster raised an eyebrow. "Puns?"

Cody nodded solemnly. "It was awful. He made them all the time. And they were just so awful. I tried making some puns, but I can't do it that well." 

Jango nodded seriously. "We will have to work on that." Cody started giggling. 

"That's what I told myself. It didn't go so well," Cody said, remembering his failed attempts at making puns. 

"What was he like?" 

Cody frowned, trying to summarize Obi-Wan. "He liked tea. He always said caff was barbaric."

They stared at him in mock horror. "That's heresy!"

He grinned, nodding. "Precisely. And he kept forgetting to eat, until I just gave him some food. He kind of absentmindedly ate whatever was put in front of him. It was hilarious. One of the shinies-"

"Shinies?" 

Cody grinned. "Shinies. Brothers who haven't earned their paint yet from their first battle." Jaster nodded for him to continue. "They once gave him a ration bar, slathered with absurd amounts of hot sauce. I think they wanted to see his reaction to it. And he didn't even blink, just ate the thing. It was hilarious, and Obi-Wan even got a holo of their faces." Cody giggled madly, remembering the incident. "I put them on KP for weeks after that." 

"That was a good idea." Jaster seemed contemplative as if trying to figure out how to prank his ori'ramikade. Cody was grinning at the reminder, but he was getting tired. Who knew fighting as a tiny child would make him so tired? 

The chime of a comm interrupted them. Jaster groaned. "I have to go yell at the Kordan Defense Force."

Cody blinked up at him. "You should go, Buir."

Jaster grimaced, nodding. "You should sleep, Cody. No matter how old you really are, young bodies aren't designed for such stress." 

Cody shook his head. "I know, Buir. And, ah. Thank you. It helped." Jaster grinned at him before putting on his buy'ce. 

"I'm glad." And he walked over and fluffed Cody's hair, which he protested with a small squawk of indignation. This seemed like something he would have to endure for a while. After Jaster exited the ship, Jango picked him up, and Cody used his sleeves to wipe off the remaining wetness. 

"You are going to sleep, vod'ika." 

Cody normally would have protested this order, but he couldn't exactly maintain his dignity while he was hanging from Jango's hands. 

"Nuhoy, Cot'ika." Cody nodded, yawning, as Jango pulled the blankets up to Cody's nose. 

"Elek, Jango." Cody was quickly asleep, comforted by his ori'vod's warm presence. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was eating firstmeal when Siri Tachi came over to their table, plopped down without so much as an invitation, and stuffed a bit of pancake into her mouth.

Bant seemed like she was expecting this, especially when Siri spoke. “Hey, Obi-Wan, your friends here told me that you had one of your bad visions. And that you’re not eating.” She stabbed her fork at Obi-Wan, who was staring at her, nonplussed and in no small amount of shock. He needed to stop being so surprised when he met people he knew were dead. “You need to eat, Obi.”

Ah. This again. He’d need to do something to head this off. He’d think of something. But the first order of business, to prevent such worrying, was to acquiesce to their orders. So he went back to the counter and grabbed some fruit. 

Bant looked at his pile of horned melon and meiloorun cubes suspiciously but didn’t say anything. After all, he was eating. Siri nodded her approval, and Quinlan and Garen seemed appeased. Obi-Wan dug into his fruit cubes; they only gave cubes to younger initiates. Something about a very small initiate trying to fit an entire jogan fruit into their mouths once. At least, that was what Mace told him when he had mentioned the fruit cubes. 

When they had all finished firstmeal, Siri bid them a farewell as they dragged Obi-Wan to ‘saber class. Or Lightsaber Use 101. Obi-Wan was still trying to figure out the schedule. He had found out yesterday that not knowing what classes he had incited some suspicion, although it could probably be passed off as forgetfulness. After all, he was supposed to be five years old. This was a point that still confused Obi-Wan. 

As Dragon Clan hurried to the training salles, Obi-Wan made sure he kept his gaze straight down the halls. Master Choi was teaching the ‘saber class again. Obi-Wan didn’t feel his death with… the others, before. He was snapped out of his stupor when Master Choi greeted them, with his brethren hurrying off to get their training ‘sabers. Obi-Wan was quick to follow, and as they went on to review the Shii-Cho kata that they had done yesterday, Obi-Wan slipped once more into a semi-meditative state, much like the one he used with politicians who wouldn’t stop talking. Although this wasn’t quite the same, it was equally boring. And while he was still getting used to his size, the katas went smoothly and Obi-Wan was able to doze a bit, tuning out the world around him except when he had to follow instructions. He was quite practiced with this. 

Afterward, his friends snacked while Obi-Wan practiced his misdirection, teaching his fellow clanmates how to do a card trick. The key was, of course, misdirection. Quinlan was excellent at it, his dark brown eyes shining in amusement. Obi-Wan reflected, after the crispy rice crackers had been consumed, that perhaps his young body was not made to do what he was used to. After all, he didn’t want to be shorter than he was before, even though it didn’t quite matter in the end. Obi-Wan spent some time looking at his class schedule, memorizing it quickly so he wouldn’t end up lost somewhere. That would be embarrassing, to say the least.

After that, they went to another class, Basic Galactic Flora and Fauna. Obi-Wan found his presentation on native Felucian plants and animals on his 'pad. Just before class started, and probably a bit during class, Obi-Wan rather discretely fixed his presentation and added a bit more info as well; Jungle rancors could also be found on Teth, and there were, in fact, differences between Jungle rancors and other rancor subspecies. Obi-Wan was only somewhat satisfied with his rushed presentation. Although he had mastered the art. of doing assignments during missions, or after missions but just before they were due while he was a padawan, it seemed that he had gotten rusty after he was knighted. He wasn’t able to put in a list of what Nysillin was used for before he was called up. He hurried through his presentation, hoping they wouldn’t tell him he was that much of a nerd. If he knew more about symbiotic relationships between Gelagrubs and the native common ring fungus than some, so what?

When he finished, Knight Apil patted him on the shoulder. “Well done, Obi-Wan.” He grinned, thanking her. He always did like getting a good score on his assignments. It was rather satisfying. Unless he was too sleep-deprived to appreciate it. 

After class, with presentations from several more clanmates, Obi-Wan escaped to the Archives, telling his friends (and wasn’t that a good feeling) that he was going to the archives and grabbing a ration bar to munch on along the way. 

While Obi-Wan would have gone to the Archives without a reason, and he did have a reason this time, he wanted to see the library again. He didn’t pass by the Archives when he returned to the Jedi Temple, after all. He stepped back into the reassuring calm of the Archives, untainted by his memories and surrounded by the stunning arches and familiar shelves of datachips.

He sank into a squishy bean bag chair, along with a datapad and several chips he had found. Things that he wanted to look at further. Before the war, he liked learning about the beliefs of other groups of Force-sensitives. And the ones that were most pertinent to his current predicament, he believed, were those of the Aing-Tii and the H’drachi. He plugged in a datachip and began reading. 

…The H’drachi are a sentient species with a higher tendency to be Force-sensitive than most other species. While there are no records of any H'drachi being part of either the Jedi Order or the Ancient Order of the Sith, being a society of Force-sensitives, they have developed their own Force traditions. Out of these, the most notable one would be the ability to 'read' the future through an energy field called the time-stream. While this technique is viewed as a form of precognition by most other Force-wielders, the H'Drachi Seers can use the technique to manipulate the time-stream with astonishing precision. The time-stream, as the H'drachi refer to it, differs from precognition as the Jedi Order views it. The time-stream is a term used to define the belief that time is a constant forward flow. The H'drachi believe that this flow can be seen. Several beings in the galaxy, such as the Seers of the H'drachi, are able to view the time-stream using the Force and claim they were able to change their future using what they had seen. While this cannot be confirmed, most H'drachi believe the validity of this statement. 

However, there is a sect of H'drachi who disagree with others about whether changes made in the time-stream are willed by the Force, or if it is the individual that changes the time-stream. For example, a H'drachi legend states that M'haususi, an ancient H'Drachi Seer, was able to prevent the death of hundreds of H'drachi by using the time-stream to view the future and change it. This sect, called the Aih'rachi, believed that in that instance, it was the will of the Force that he had changed the possible future, while others believed that it was the action of the Seer that changed it, and that all futures are equally probable but that the actions of an individual can change it, regardless of the will of the Force. It is maintained by the Aih'rachi that what the Force wills is what occurs, and that the Force has the power to change anything. However, this belief has been long disputed, mainly because there is no evidence to support this belief. Most H'drachi believe in the time-stream, however, and the precognitive abilities that come with being able to manipulate it…

… Perception of the time-stream has also been disputed, although it is said among many of the H'drachi that perception of the time stream is dependent on the individual… A renowned Seer named Si'tahri, renowned for her prominence in the education of younger H'drachi, espoused many beliefs about the ability for the time-stream to be changed after the future had already occurred. However, this hypothesis was never able to be tested. The H'Drachi Seers who still believe in her teachings believe that the ability to change the past can only be catalyzed by the Force itself. Because of this belief in the influence of the Force in the time-stream, many who believe Si'tahri's teachings also agree with the beliefs of the Aih'rachi… 

Obi-Wan shifted as he finished the datachip, resettling himself into the soft, cushy chair. Cody and Anakin had often told him that he was like a too-large tooka, what with his tendency to curl up into soft things like a loth-cat. It was just so comfortable. He stretched his legs, checking the chrono. The initiates had the rest of the day off after classes ended, so he could probably stay here until he got dragged back to the dorms. Resolving to remain in his corner of the Archives on his very comfortable bean bag, he plugged in another datachip (it was so fascinating, even if it was necessary) and resumed reading. 

… One of the most significant Force-sensitive groups is the Aing-Tii. While they are reclusive, the few records of them detail them as holding a deep hatred for slavery. Although the location of their homeworld is not known, it is believed that it is located in the Kathol Rift, given their tendency to attack slaver ships traveling in the Kathol Outback. The few Aing-Tii who ventured off their homeworld were recorded as being 'secretive xenophobic alien monks' by one source, 'extraordinarily powerful Force-users' by another, and 'technologically advanced Force-users, whose starships I must learn more about' by a third.   

The most recent records of their starships record them as being semi-organic, weaponized, and rather large. It is also said that their ships are called 'Sanhedrim' ships, which is confirmed by other sources, albeit with different spellings. But because 'Sanhedrim' is the spelling that is most often used, we will use 'Sanhedrim'. It is also rumored that their weaponry is extremely advanced and deadly, even compared to modern weaponry. Crew members on ships that were not destroyed by the Aing-Tii reported having their sense of time distorted which allowed the Sanhedrim ships to escape. Other rumors state that the Aing-Tii had a symbiotic connection to their ships as well as the ability to move items through space instantaneously. While these rumors are often discarded, the Aing-Tii as a Force-user society have proven themselves to be extremely adept in using their Force abilities. 

What little is known about the Aing-Tii indicates a belief in a deity, although if they do believe in a higher power, we know very little about it and their beliefs. Some records of the Aing-Tii monks document their usage of a Force power which they call Flow-walking, which allowed them to surrender their emotions to the Force and immerse themselves in its flow, thus transcending time itself. This allowed them to 'flow' along its currents and read the past or future, similar to the H'drachi technique of observing the time-stream. The same sources stated that this allowed the Aing-Tii monks to change the course of events, through an extension of Flow-walking called Time-drifting. The validity of these sources is disputed and should be taken with a grain of salt. The ability to change the events that occur in the past or future by moving through time is widely believed to be impossible. The various Force abilities of the Aing-Tii that are known indicate an extraordinary ability to influence time and their physical surroundings, but whether flow-walking is an actual reflection of their force abilities is still unknown. All records of the Aing-Tii point toward xenophobia and secrecy, and the difficulty in confirming the various reports of the Aing-Tii remains high… 

… Reports from freed slaves also record their food as being indescribably delicious. It is said that their waybread, while nourishing, is utterly delectable. Freed slaves have described it as lightly browned on the outside, creamy and fluffy on the inside, and sweet with a hint of honey. While the recipe is unknown, there are similar…

“Obi!” Obi-Wan jumped, immersed in reading about different methods of baking bread, biscuits, and cakes. 

He shook his head at Tiny-Quinlan, exasperated. “ What? I was reading.” Quinlan tugged the datapad out of Obi-Wan’s hands, which he protested mightily. 

“You’re coming with me to the mess hall and eating, Obi.” Ah. That’s what this was about. Eating. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, or perhaps to distract Quinlan. "Nope, Obi, Bant said you're coming with me." And without further ado, Quinlan grabbed Obi-Wan's hand, and Obi-Wan was forced to return his datachips on his way out of the library to a very disgruntled Madame Nu while being pulled out of the library rather forcefully. Obi-Wan grinned fondly. He had missed his friends. 

When Obi-Wan was sat down in the refectory for lastmeal, he noticed the enormous platter of roasted nuna (chopped into small pieces for small initiates), a seaweed roll stuffed with sticky rice and fish (probably from Bant), a Sihan peach, and a cup of blue milk. Obi-Wan groaned. 

"Really, guys?" Garen, who seemed to be expecting this reaction, just laughed at him. Bant adopted a slightly less mocking expression.

"You spent the entire day after classes in the Archives, Obi. You gotta eat." And she turned such a hopeful expression on Obi-Wan that he crumbled, sat down, and began to try and finish the meal. He gave up about halfway through, completely stuffed and feeling like he could not walk. 

His friends, currently enjoying dessert, frowned at him in unison when he pushed his platter away.

"Obi-Wan ." Bant was glaring at him. Obi-Wan groaned. But he was so full! Why did everyone try and get him to eat so much?

"What?" Quinlan decided to give him a death glare, his hands pointed at Obi-Wan as if to say, can you believe this?

"You didn't finish! Obi-Wan, you gotta finish!" Bant intensified her glaring. 

"But, guys, I'm so full." Bant's face cleared, and knowing she was the primary instigator of the new Make-Obi-Wan-Eat campaign, Obi-Wan could feel his victory coming. 

"Oh. Well, Knight Vaught did say that some species eat different stuff. Maybe Obi-Wan eats less or something." Garen frowned at this, but at this, they seemed to accept the statement. Obi-Wan decided to drive his point home. He didn't want to be so stuffed again. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He nodded vigorously. His friends gave him another once-over, but seeing as they were all five, they probably didn't realize that Obi-Wan, being near-human, could eat as much as them. He just didn't want to. 

Bant gave a nod with a sort of finality. "If you're done, Obi, then we can go play in the fountains!" Eager to do so (he didn't visit the Room of a Thousand Fountains last time either), Obi-Wan dashed after his friends after Garen finished his meal with the bottomless black hole he had for a stomach. 

He smiled when they started splashing each other, each trying to douse the others with a wholly unnecessary volume of water. He turned his head aside to avoid getting splashed in the eyes by Quinlan, gathered the Force, and channeled to the water. An enormous wave radiated out from him, the water moving so fast that his friends, whose heads were above the water, were hit by the wall of water and sent tumbling uncontrollably. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to launch himself out of the water to avoid any further retribution, doing a couple of gleeful somersaults when he landed on the grassy field. 

Bant, first to resurface, tried to douse him, but he frowned, holding the mass of water with the Force and reversing it to crash into Bant again. An angry wave came up from where she had ducked under the water to avoid his liberal splashing, but he grinned cheerfully from the grassy slope as it stopped short of him. Quinlan grumbled at him, his hair hanging limply and looking rather put-out. Garen simply looked delighted that he had doused all of them. 

"Come on, Obi! You can't conduct a water war out of the water!" Obi-Wan froze at Garen's words, making sure his mask remained in place. He had spent so much time in war. He knew he couldn't conduct war from the sidelines while his men died. And for what? A pointless war that only resulted in the genocide of the Jedi, the loss of millions of those who had been created to fight in a pointless war, and he didn't even know what happened to their minds after. The destruction of numerous cultures, history, and art. The list went on. Obi-Wan would never fight a war from the back if he had a choice. Better him than those who never had a chance to find out what they believed in, after all. He wanted to scream that it should have been me to the universe.

"Obi?" His friends were looking at him in concern, but it was probably just because he froze. He had gotten quite good at the mask during the war, after all. And shielding. After all, he couldn't have a Sith breaking into his mind and burning it.

He forced a smile onto his face. Obi-Wan backed up a few steps, running into a force-enhanced jump as he flipped in the air a few times just to clear his head before he tucked himself into a ball, gathering the Force almost automatically as he cannonballed directly into the pool, showering his friends in water. They laughed, properly distracted from his… temporary confusion. When they had cleaned up and gone to bed, and Master Lunai tucked them all into bed, Obi-Wan tried to meditate again, but then, his body was too young to go without rest, and his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

Obi-Wan was playing with his friends in the pools again. Anakin and Ahsoka were there, laughing as they taught the younglings to swim. Cody had his arm slung around Rex's shoulders as he squirted him in the face with a water gun. More Jedi were there, too. Qui-Gon laughed along with Master Yoda, probably because he was trying to avoid a lineage dinner. All of his clanmates were splashing about, fully grown as Obi-Wan had once known them. More troopers were there, playing. Obi-Wan swam forward to greet Anakin. 

He paused, frowning when he saw red in the water. A little drop of color. The crimson drop hit the water, dissipating quickly. He looked up to see the sky stained with blood, heavy drops of crimson liquid falling into the water. The air smelled of iron, a cloying, thick smell that caught in the back of his throat. Obi-Wan stared, frozen, as the drops hit the water, the red curling in the water, no longer dissipating, but staining the water. The water was pink now, and Obi-Wan wasn’t moving. 

He wasn’t moving when those around him started screaming, thrashing in the water, because the water level had, inexplicably, risen, and Obi-Wan could only watch as those around him drowned in the crimson liquid, bubbles rising from their mouths until they stilled, limbs slack and motionless as they floated, face down, in the reddened water. Obi-Wan found, hovering at the surface of the water, robes stained scarlet, that he could only look around. 

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the edges of the pool were gone, replaced by an endless horizon of bodies, face down in the water, limbs spread out around them as the red ocean lapped at their limp forms, small waves rising and falling. The sea surged, the spray gleaming red against the blue sky. The crests shone white against the crimson liquid, and the light, already so dim and shaded red, faded. 

The wind was roaring, the scarlet waves crashing together with a cry. Obi-Wan could see the stars now, a bright white against the corrupted sky. And the stars gleamed, giving light to the corpses as the darkness beyond the stars opened its maw wide and screamed.

There were so many bodies, lit by the heavens as they floated, lifeless, in the water. Obi-Wan still couldn't move when he reached out to the pale phantom corpse of his grandpadawan, clothes soaked and colored scarlet from the blood rain. There were so many, like salt to the sea. 

And Obi-Wan jolted out of his bed as he forced himself out of his dream. He stuffed a hand into his mouth, muffling his scream because he couldn’t wake anybody up, not again, and because-

And he couldn’t help himself as he dissolved into helpless sobs, hand still over his mouth, his blankets contorted around his too-small body, soaked in sweat, and surrounded by silence. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The walls were stained red with blood, dripping down the tan walls, staining the little drawings made with crayon. The air smelled of blood again, stuck in the back of his throat. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. And opened them again. There was no blood on the walls. No blood on the little wooden frames of the bunks. No red splattered across the door frame. No little twisted bodies sprawled across the floors and run through by blaster bolts. No iron in the air.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again. Opened them. There was blood running down the walls again. He closed his eyes again.

There is no blood on the walls. He opened them again. There was scarlet liquid dripping down the walls.

He shuddered as he took in another breath, feeling the press of his sheets on his small body.

He opened his eyes again, when he was sure he could not smell blood in the air. There was no blood running down the tan walls of the crèche. No bodies. 

That was good. Cody said he needed to name five things he could see. He could do that. The Jedi in the drawing on the wall had blue eyes. That was one thing. Blue eyes, Obi-Wan told himself. Not gold. Blue. He breathed in, looked around. There were little glowing star cutouts on the ceiling. There was a sticker on the doorknob. It was a sleeping tooka. He could see a fluffy green blanket, the synthetic fuzz wrapped around a little body. There was no blood on the blanket. He could see a speeder pass by the temple, the dim light shining through the window. After all, it was never truly dark on Coruscant.

Cody said four things he could touch. He could feel the cool wood behind his back. He could feel the bed beneath his feet. The corner of the blanket in his hands. The imaginary arms wrapped around him, hugging, comforting.

He could hear… breathing. It was even, rushing through little noses, filling the room’s silence. There was a rustle of blankets as someone moved in their sleep. There was the hum of the vents, passing air through it to keep the room comfortable. 

He didn’t smell blood as he took a slow breath. That was good. He could smell… freshly laundered blankets. The temple always used the same fabric softener. It smelled good. He could smell mint. Probably a peppermint brought back into the dorms and forgotten. There was no iron.

And he could taste his own blood. He must have bitten the inside of his cheek. 

Obi-Wan laughed silently, still crying, but he no longer saw blood. There were no corpses, and he’d take their absence over his bitten cheek any day. There was no blood.

He sat up on the bed, the wall cool against his back. The initiates had tomorrow off. No classes. Maybe he would go do something useful. He had to.

That morning, when everyone had roused, and Obi-Wan had eaten firstmeal with his friends again, Obi-Wan took his opportunity.

"I'm going to the Archives. I want to read some more, since Quinlan so rudely stole my 'pad," he said, forcing a grin.

His friends gazed at him in disbelief. Quinlan just shook his head. "Alright Obi. You can be the nerd. You're still doing my homework later though."

Obi-Wan just laughed, a bit strained maybe, but good enough. "As you say, Quinlan. But I want to read."And without further ado, he dashed off, already plotting his escape. Being a High Councilor had its perks, after all. It was not all meetings and paperwork. 

When Obi-Wan entered the Archives, Madame Nu gave him a polite nod and he headed immediately to the Ancient History section, which he knew also contained numerous books on legends and myths that were told on planets throughout the galaxy. Perfect for someone who just wanted to read, maybe spend a while in the Archives learning. Or nerding out, as Quinlan used to say. Whichever worked, though. After he became a Councilor, he also learned that while there were multiple ways to get out of the temple, there were four inside the Archives, and the most easily accessible one, or in Obi-Wan's opinion, the one that was hardest to track and that suited him best, was in the Ancient History section. 

So without further ado, Obi-Wan picked up the puzzle that resided at the end of a row of shelves, one that was actually impossible to complete, unless you knew the High Council's override key. It was an icosahedron, and the goal was to take it apart and put it back together as a cube. The only issue was that to get the pieces to slot properly into each other, one needed to type in a certain Council override key using the ridges on the faces of the icosahedron. After all, there were nine ridges on each face, and one just put in the code, one number for each face, while rotating the puzzle to the right and continuing until each face lit up. Obi-Wan, when finished, stuck the puzzle back on its stand and watched as the wall behind it collapsed inward, opening up a staircase for Obi-Wan to exit through. As he descended the stairs, he could hear the puzzle undoing itself, and the wall melting back into place.

When he had finally gotten outside of the temple, Obi-Wan was in one of the more disreputable areas of Coruscant. It seemed to be his lucky day, however, when he sensed a familiar force presence near him. He grinned and started to hurry towards them. One could never start too early with information gathering, after all, and Obi-Wan needed something to do. And, maybe, he wanted to see an old friend again. 

—————————————

Dex was currently bluffing his way out of a very unfortunate situation. While the Coruscant Guard seldom noticed illegal activities, this must be the one exception to the rule. Apparently, someone's gut had taken offense to one of his donuts, called the Guard to report poor food safety, and now the Guard was tearing apart his stand for evidence of poor food safety. And he couldn't just forcibly evict them; after all, they could just say he was being suspicious and steal his donut stand, which was currently the cover for his other operations. Right when they were about to try and break into a secure safe, a tiny child walked into his leg, grabbing his hand. Startled, Dex looked down to see a tiny, auburn-haired child with pale skin looking around at the Guard. The kid was wearing a beige tunic and leggings, along with some tiny boots. They looked tired. The kid waved at the Guard quite cheerfully and tugged on his hand. 

"Baba! I got outta school early, and lookie! I gotta drawing for you! I drew it!" Dex stared at the kid in shock. He was no one's father. Until he noticed that the guards stopped tapping the lock on his safe to look at the child as well. He might as well use the distraction. Just then, though, the kid frowned, searching through his pockets. A mighty scowl crossed their features until they burst into tears, alarming Dex. What was he supposed to do with a crying kid? Dex may be doing some illegal things, but that didn't mean he was heartless. 

"I must have lost it, Baba!" One of the guards must have noticed his helplessness, because they crossed over to the kid, running a comforting hand down their back in sympathy. 

"It's okay, kid. I'm sure you'll be able to make another one for your Baba. And I'm sure he'd like to do that with you, right?" The kid sniffed, running a tunic sleeve over his nose. 

"Yeah." 

"Chin up then, kid.” They have another almighty sniff before returning to Dex’s side, tugging on one of his hands again. Dex tried to hide his confusion when the guard, along with their partner, straightened up and gave him a significantly more friendly look.

“We never pegged you for the type that would have a kid, sir. But we’ll leave you to it.” And, after exchanging pleasantries, they’d left Dex with a tiny child hanging onto his arm.

The moment they left, the youngling released him from their grip, Dex staring back in shock. The kid beamed. “Hullo!”

Dex took a few seconds to answer. They were so weird. “Hi, kid.”

The kid frowned. “I’m Ben.”

Dex nodded. “Ok, Ben. But, what are you doing here?” Ben frowned up at him, floppy auburn hair falling back.

“You needed help. They were about to find your illegal weapons.” Could his day get any weirder? How did the kid know he sold stuff? Other than donuts. Ben couldn’t be older than six standard, assuming they were near-human. Absolute insanity.

Dex shook himself out of his stupor. “Thanks, kid. I owe you one.” What was going on? And who was this child?

Ben nodded seriously, with an expression that looked rather disconcerting on such a young face. "Maybe you should get a larger area to sell your other stuff in. Like an actual building." They grinned up at Dex. "It was nice to see you, though! Can I visit again?" And Dex, who had been thinking about the value of the kid's suggestion, just nodded in stupefaction before he realized he was talking to a tiny young one. And maybe he didn't want to refuse, because Ben's voice was tinged with a little desperation when they asked. Besides, what harm could come of it?

"Hey, Ben, do you want a donut?" Ben grinned at him, their face rather cherubic.

"Yes please." They were so polite. 

Dex handed Ben a donut, which he was thanked profusely for before Ben waved at him one last time and dashed out the door in a blur of beige tunics, donut in hand, and with a wide grin on their face. Dex had just given Ben a free donut, although seeing as they saved Dex from some very troublesome excuse-making, he felt that they deserved it. 

Ben was right about the building part. Even if he used a business as a front for something else, he couldn't dismiss the temptation of having his own business. A bit of money on the side for the authorities to think he had a reputable business. Maybe he could have a restaurant. People did say that he made excellent fried food, after all. Dex would think about it. And no matter how weird Ben was, his suggestion still had merit. Dex wondered who Ben was. He was pretty sure he had never seen Ben before in his life. But he had seen weirder things, even if this one was rather baffling. 

Dex shook his head, going back to his donut stand to clean up and finish putting the custard filling into his donuts. 

—————————————

Mace was currently hanging around the Archives in search of one Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Council had been informed that Kenobi had a vision two days ago that left him screaming and the other initiates in great distress. It also resulted in Mace having an enormous headache. He needed to get this resolved, and to do so, he needed to find the Initiate. 

All of the créchelings had no classes over the weekend, and Kenobi's friends had informed him that he went to the Archives to read. Such a strange kid. 

It was about midday when Mace spotted Kenobi exiting the Ancient History section, looking rather rumpled and with a few datachips in hand. He also, Mace remarked, looked somewhat tired. The records had said Initiate Kenobi was five standard, male, had good marks in school, and his créchemaster had written that "Initiate Kenobi is an intelligent boy. He's quite sweet, if a bit shy. He is also prone to visions, and has a strong connection to the Unifying Force." It seemed that this connection was catching up with him. And Mace, with his own connection to the Unifying Force and the ability to see shatterpoints, could not help but note that Kenobi was now a walking shatterpoint. It was giving Mace a very irritating headache. 

Kenobi looked around the Archives, not seeming to see anything of note because he checked the chrono, and Mace, with his growing headache, followed him to the refectory in the hopes that talking to him would solve at least some of his headache.

When Kenobi reached a table in the refectory complete with a tray of food in hand, although there was less on it than Mace would have expected, he was greeted by his friends, who jumped up to greet him and drag him down to sit.

A Mon Calamari with salmon pink skin grinned at him. “Obi! We weren’t certain you’d come out of the Archives in time to do anything!”

Mace had gotten a bowl of baked dru’un slices in fish sauce and a lime tart because he was hungry and needed to look normal so he could talk to the walking shatterpoint.

When Kenobi’s friends had finished eating, he waved them away. “It’s fine, guys. I’ll catch up later. I want to grab some of that delicious egg custard.”

A Kiffar, Initiate Quinlan Vos, if Mace remembered correctly, grinned and fluffed Kenobi’s hair, which he weakly protested. “It’s good that you’re eating more, Obi.” And a devilish smirk appeared on Kenobi’s face.

“I guess you could say you’re egging me on to eat that custard.” Mace put his face in his hands. What possessed the initiate to make such awful puns? But he smoothed his face out quickly. After all, a proper Jedi must not die by way of awful puns.

“Hullo, Master Windu.” Mace almost jumped out of his seat. How did he not sense Kenobi right next to him? 

Mace shook his head with a smile. “Just Knight Windu, Initiate Kenobi.” Kenobi nodded, but he seemed unsettled. 

He cast his gaze over to Mace’s tray. “Are you enjoying your lime tart? I’m sure it’s quite sublime.” Mace almost choked. This initiate would be the death of him. Between the puns and the shatterpoints, he may as well be a walking time bomb.

“It’s very good, but may I ask why you came over?” Mace had to get back on topic. At his question, Kenobi tilted his head to the side as he considered Mace, oddly disconcerting, even though Mace wasn’t sure what would be so disconcerting. Ah. It was the facial expression, even though Mace couldn’t quite think of why it was so odd.

“Well, I came over because I noticed you were following me,” Kenobi stated. And Mace could not help but feel that his shatterpoints made more sense now. This youngling was so strange. Well, he had an answer to Kenobi’s question.

“You’re giving me a headache.”

Kenobi scrutinized Mace. “Because of my shatterpoints?” How the hell did he know about shatterpoints? Mace could only nod mutely.

Kenobi shook his head. “Can’t help you there. But I’m sure Master Che would be more than happy to give you some painkillers. Or you could just avoid me.”

Made was constantly being blindsided by Kenobi. What in the world? He spoke again. “Maybe you should go see Master Che. She has excellent painkillers. But then,” Obi-Wan cast a glance over Mace’s dessert, “I’ll leave you to your lime tart. I’m sure you’ll want to finish it, It does look delicious. Lime going to grab some egg custard. But,” and here Kenobi bowed to Mace, “it was an honor to speak with you. This conversation has been very fruitful.” And he bounced off, cheerful as can one could be while leaving Mace to stare off at him in bewilderment. This youngling was a walking shatterpoint for a kriffing reason. 

But more troubling was the quiet grief and desperation that Mace had finally identified in his eyes. The sort that people tried to hide, but that was so strong it still shone through. Perhaps the vision was affecting Initiate Kenobi more than expected. It was troubling to see such an expression on such a young face. Mace shook his head as he set into his tart.

He paused when he sensed Master Yoda's approach. "Spoke with young Obi-Wan, you did." Mace nodded, mouth still full of sweet pastry. "Find, what did you?"

Mace swallowed, wiping his hand off on a nearby napkin. "Well, I think we should keep a closer eye on him. He seems to be affected more by his visions than we thought. And I believe that what he saw, and what he will see, is more important than we think." Master Yoda scrutinized him further, green-gold eyes narrowing. He then nodded, gesturing for Mace to follow him. 

"Come, you will. Talk to the Council you shall, with Créchemaster Lunai." Mace stood, finishing the rest of his lime tart and following Master Yoda out of the refectory. 

"About Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi?" 

"Indeed." And they set off toward the Council chambers, Mace wondering what Kenobi had seen. 

When they reached the top of the High Council Tower, Master Yoda led Mace inside the Council, where Master Lunai was already waiting. Mace bowed to the Council as he reached the middle, nodding respectfully to Master Lunai. 

"Start you will, Créchemaster Lunai, from the beginning." She nodded, blue-green skin lit up by the light streaming in through the windows. 

"At approximately 0100 hours, I felt the Force twisting around Obi-Wan."

"Elaborate." 

She hesitated, then continued. "It was similar to how a vision feels in the Force. As if the Force is pouring into a being, swelling around them, and then relaxing." 

Master Yaddle nodded. "Standard, that is, for a vision. But different, this was?" 

"Yes. It was as if the Force had torn itself apart around Obi-Wan. It then felt as if it were… flowing into Obi-Wan, for lack of a better word. And then, when the tear healed itself, Obi-Wan began to seize on his bunk, screaming. When he woke, and stopped crying out, Initiate Obi-Wan saw me and asked, 'Aren't you supposed to be dead?' After that, his behavior was standard for him. He reassured us that he was fine, although I doubt the verity of his statement. The disturbance in the Force also upset many of his clanmates."

"And telling others he is alright, even if he is not, is standard behavior for this youngling?" Master Piell asked gruffly, casting critical blue eyes at Master Lunai. 

She nodded. "Young Obi-Wan does not like it when people fuss over him or help him if he believes that helping him will be potentially harmful for them. And he strongly dislikes causing others trouble. I have been trying to help him with this mindset, but I am afraid that it is a habit for him."

A few Council members murmured at that, and Master Dapatian gestured for her to continue. 

"His behavior, as I said, was relatively normal. But I have noticed Obi-Wan being more withdrawn, more solemn, and tired than normal. And more troubled. I assume it was the vision. What I felt from Obi-Wan before his shields went up speaks of great distress and grief, and it would be helpful for him to have someone more experienced with helping younglings through such experiences. However, I believe that no matter how distressing the vision was, young Obi-Wan would not be able to understand it, seeing as he is only five years old. Perhaps when he is older, he would be able to explain it to us, but I am currently worried for his well being. After all, while he may not necessarily understand his visions, it would make sense if he were more than upset by them. And I have seen such a shift in his behavior recently, especially toward silence, that indicates that this would be the case." 

Master Yoda nodded. "Thank you. Hear your opinion now, we will, Knight Windu." 

Mace paused while he sorted out his thoughts. "There are more shatterpoints around Initiate Kenobi that I have seen on one person in, well, ever. It would stand to reason that, whatever his path may be, he will influence a great many things. I have observed him to be a smart, if odd boy, and he is quite friendly." Master Lunai nodded her agreement with his words, and Mace continued. 

"I have, however, observed that the vision seems to have affected him more than Master Lunai has indicated in her report; he is grieving and afraid, and I do not believe that he is as of yet able to completely separate his visions from reality. While he is obviously aware of what is going on around him, I feel that his visions have greatly affected his perception of the world around him."

Master Sifo-Dyas, who had been silent before now, added, "That can happen with people who have experienced strong visions and do not have the ability to deal with them. I would suggest that someone help him through this. For such a young initiate, I would recommend helping him build stronger shields; that can help prevent projecting if this occurs in the future. And while the shields may not help him with the visions, it can prevent his peers from being too unnerved by his visions, and that, in a way, may help him. I would also suggest teaching young Obi-Wan regular coping mechanisms, to help ground him if Knight Windu's assessment is correct. And teaching him ways to ground himself in the Force would also be beneficial."

The Council murmured amongst itself before Master Yoda whacked his gimer stick on the floor. "Come to a decision, we have. Follow Master Sifo-Dyas's suggestion, we will. Speak to Initiate Kenobi, I will." He jumped out of his chair, far too sprightly for Mace's sanity as he swung his stick around, hitting both of Mace's shins, which he protested. 

"Solved, this issue has been. Tired of sitting I am, and the last item to discuss, this was. Some stew, I would like. Cookies too." Mace's eyes widened involuntarily. He needed to get away, and quickly before Master Yoda invited him to a meal. He quickly made his excuses (he had to prepare coursework for his lightsaber class, which was a flimsy excuse, but an excuse nonetheless), and fled. 

—————————————

Qui-Gon was hurrying through the halls, hoping nobody would see him going to his quarters. Nearly every time somebody saw him, they would offer him their condolences. He didn't want their pity, not for… well. His failure. But he needed to find Xanatos, to make things right between them. He wasn't beyond help, not yet. 

He frowned when he sensed two rapidly approaching presences, both with elementary shielding, neat bricks upon which they would build more complicated and powerful shields. Initiates. And young ones, by the sound of their footsteps. As the pitter-patter approached him, Qui-Gon considered finding a place to hide. But then, that would look suspicious. And he had nothing to hide, not from two unruly initiates who didn't know better than to run down the halls. But then again, maybe Yoda, that meddling troll, would stop giving him speculative looks every time he invited Qui-Gon over for stew.  

When the sound of running footsteps grew louder, Qui-Gon moved over to the right side of the hall. He could feel the anger coming off of the second initiate, their shielding too weak to prevent their feelings from leaking through. That one was too angry to be a Jedi. And the one closest to him felt like nothing, even though their shielding was the one taught to all créchelings. But that wasn't quite true. The latticed wall around their presence was… sturdier. A bit more tightly woven. Impressive. 

Qui-Gon shrugged. What did it matter if an initiate had good shielding? As Xanatos told him, he was always too friendly with the younglings. There was that time on Nal Hutta when a youngling tricked him into helping them, then promptly tried to take his credits. Emphasis on tried. 

As the younglings tore around the corner, Qui-Gon, curious why two initiates were dashing down the halls, one extremely angry, and the other feeling utterly blank. The initiate closest to him, he noted, had a shock of vibrant red hair, with pale skin and shocking blue-gray eyes. They also, Qui-Gon realized with some surprise, had tears running down their cheeks, even though they weren't making a sound. The second, a slightly taller youngling, had a mop of bushy white hair, with skin even paler than the first initiate's. Their pale blue eyes were narrowed in concentration as they ran after the first child. 

Whose eyes widened in shock as they saw Qui-Gon, and, about to hit him, leaped over Qui-Gon, tucking their arms in close as they spun high over his head, doing another somersault to stop his sideways motion, and landing in a crouch, still facing Qui-Gon with that wide-eyed look. The other initiate, however, wasn't so lucky when they ran into Qui-Gon, falling backward onto their behind with a thump. Clumsy.

The youngling with the mop of white hair stared up at him, opening and closing their mouth like a particularly undignified fish in answer to Qui-Gon's raised eyebrow. "I- He was bullying me! He said I was a coward for not fighting him!"

Qui-Gon turned to look incredulously at the other child, who was now wiping the tears off of their face with the sleeve of their tunics. "I didn't," they said with a shake of their head. "Bruck asked me who I saw die this time," This time? "and sometimes it takes strength not to fight. I would not accuse someone of being a coward if they laid down their weapons to protect others." He raised his chin in quiet defiance. Qui-Gon nearly groaned. He hadn't signed up for this. 

"It's fine. Obviously, since you were chasing little-red over here," Qui-Gon said, jabbing a finger at little-white, "little-red is probably telling the truth. Case closed." He strode away, still feeling the eyes of little-red boring into his back. He didn't want to deal with this. After a good shower, some food, and maybe some wine, he'd go to bed and forget all about this. 

Chapter Text

Jaster had finished pulling out of their contract with the Kordan Defence Force. Di'kute, all of them. They deserved the thorough chewing out that Jaster had given him in front of his ori'ramikade. He felt Jango step up behind him.

"Cody's sleeping, Buir." Jaster nodded. That was good, especially in light of what Cody had told them. That was an enormous mess. The first order of business when they got back would be to get the chip out of Cody's head. That was so kriffed up. To put chips in people's brains, and control their actions, was just so shabla. He definitely needed to get Cody a mir'baar'ur. And everything that Cody had told them about the war he had waged and been a part of was troubling, to say the least. And while Cody had said that the war would be occurring within a couple of decades, Jaster couldn't do much about it. After all, he hadn't learned what caused the war to start, and he needed to take care of Death Watch before he tried to prevent a galaxy-wide war in the future. Or at least stop a genocide. One step at a time, after all. He’d have to talk to Jango about all the bombshells Cody had dropped on them. And soon. But later.

Jaster was standing in the cockpit, Jango beside him as the rest of the Haat Mando'ade congregated above Korda VI. His comm beeped, and Myles's blue holo popped up over his pauldron when he answered. 

His buy'ce was slung below her arm as he spoke. "The Council wants to know what happened. We can postpone the jump to hyperspace until that's taken care of."

Jaster nodded. "That's a good idea, Myles," he said, walking to the holotable as figures blinked into existence around it. "Might as well get over with it. And Jango, you're staying here." Jango groaned. He hated politics, for all that he was good at it. But then, Jaster did too. He was just better at hiding his dislike. Everything came with time. Or at least, most things came with time. Some people just couldn't cook, no matter what. 

Jaster tucked his buy'ce under his arm as the blue figures turned to look at him. Adonai Kryze was the first to speak, probably because he was the most confused. "Mand'alor, we read your report of the contract on Korda VI. You captured the remaining Kyr'tsad ramikade?"

"Elek, we currently have them restrained. While they have sworn their loyalty to me, Myles believes it would be beneficial to monitor them for some time. We haven't determined how long, but it'll probably depend on the person," Jaster informed the Council. 

"It would be foolish to do otherwise, Mand'alor," Chieftain Dast of Clan Eldar agreed. "You reported that Montross is a traitor?"

Jaster grimaced. "He is. We have found he has been giving intel to Kyr'tsad for a while now. When he realized he was found out, he fled to Kyr'tsad. We saw him with Tor Vizsla." 

"There's nothing we can do about him now. We read your report on the planets that they raided. If they are taking ade-"

"They are," Jaster stated firmly. There was no room for discussion on this. 

"Then we must act. We know where they are, we can win this war," Chieftain Corvus Aves of Clan Rook said. Jaster agreed with this sentiment, although it'd be a pain to convince the New Mandalorian clans, more specifically Clan Kryze, to agree with this course of action. They'd probably want to negotiate first, no matter how impractical that would be. Kyr'tsad would never honor something written down on paper. After all, there was no consequence that they could levy upon Kyr'tsad that would stop them from violating such things. They had no ijaat.

Chieftain Kryze seemed determined to prove Jaster right. "We cannot go to war immediately. It would be foolish to do so without first trying to negotiate with them. The Mand'alor has the darksaber that he won in honorable combat. Tor Vizsla is dead. Surely they would be willing to concede? It would be the rational thing to do. They are leaderless."

"Not quite," commented Chieftain Sayrin Awaud. "Pre Vizsla, Tor's kinsman, is still alive."

"He's only a child!" Adonai protested. "They cannot rally behind him."

Jaster shook his head. "He may be young, but that does not mean they cannot rally behind him. He is still dangerous. And since when has Kyr'tsad done the rational thing? They will not surrender to us. Sometimes, force is the only way to solve an issue, especially when one is facing an irrational enemy."

Jaster watched as the Council bickered in front of him, interjecting occasionally while the New Mandalorian clans pushed to negotiate with Kyr'tsad and the other clans shooting them down while trying to convince them to attack Concordia with the reasoning that it would end the war faster and save the ade. They were giving him a headache, talking in circles like that. They would get nowhere on holos, the di'kute. "Gev! " 

Their small blue figures turned to look at Jaster. "Everyone will travel to Keldabe. Our journey should not take that long. We will continue this discussion in person. In the meantime, you should inform yourselves of the situation, and read the entire mission report. Including the part about the ade that they raided, and make sure you understand the implications of that if you are arguing for opening negotiations with Kyr'tsad. They are recruiting, and I will reiterate that we do not know their numbers."

They nodded in acquiescence, wrapping up the other points of the debate. While giving Jaster an immense headache, the Council had decided that if negotiations were to be held and failed, then they would agree to attack Concordia. They had also agreed that, in the event of an attack, regardless of how it came about, any Kyr'tsad members that could be taken alive would be. And of course, they were unable to do much else. Discussing things at Keldabe would be much easier, if only because they wouldn't dare devolve into pointless bickering in person. 

Chieftain Aves turned to him when the discussion seemed to have ended. "I heard from some of my clan that you adopted another ad, Mand'alor." Jaster was able to smile at that. 

"I did. His name is Cody."

"No last name?" Adonai asked. 

"No," Jaster said shortly. 

Chieftain Aves always did like ade, although Jaster figured that applied to most Mando'ade. "I heard that he was fighting the Kyr'tsad verde. And that he won. And that he's tiny." 

Jaster grimaced at this reminder of Cody's life. His abilities made more sense in light of what he had told Jaster and Jango, not that it made him feel much better. "He did. And he's six years old."

"Six? That's so young it's troubling. But then again, it's no wonder you adopted him, Mand'alor. I know if you hadn't gotten to it first, someone would've scooped him right up and said the gai bal manda to him."

Jaster laughed. That was quite accurate. "Yes. But from what I know, he has been raised as a soldier, and that is what he was trained to do."

Chieftain Awaud shook his head. "But to the point where a adiik can kill fully grown Kyr'tsad verde? That is abuse."

Jaster had to agree with him. Even knowing Cody was technically an adult, it was still disturbing to see such a young ad speaking of such awful things. "Either way, Mand'alor, you'll have your hands full. Good luck."

Chuckles broke out from the holo figures, and Jaster grinned. "Indeed." 

Jaster watched as the holos flickered out, turning to Jango and the tiny blue holo of Myles with an exasperated sigh. "Well, that was fun."

Jango shook his head. "At least they were spot on about the trouble Cody will be. He's great, don't get me wrong, but he'll be a handful. He's just such a magnet for trouble."

Myles spoke up from his vambrace. "We'd need to find the Seer friend he spoke of. It's obvious that wherever Cot'ika came from, they were raised by shabuirse."

Jaster startled then shook his head. He had forgotten that Myles didn't know Cody was a time-traveler, although he honestly figured it should stay hidden, in case someone decided to do something with the information that Cody was from the future. At the very least, Cody could remember no small number of patents and just make a fortune off of them from before they were invented. Cody's general may not even be born yet, or if he was at the Jetii Temple on Coruscant, he probably wouldn't know Cody. Might as well tell a half-truth to head off any potential conflict with the Jetiise. "Cody thinks he's dead." Cody thinks he murdered him, for all that it's obvious that he cares for him, and would never hurt him if his mind was his own. 

Myles's eyes widened. "Oh." He didn't seem to know what to say to that.

He then blatantly changed the subject, too uncomfortable to continue that line of thought. "What are you going to do when we get back to Keldabe? Besides convincing the New Mandalorians to stop trying to talk to Kyr'tsad?"

Jaster frowned. "Get Cody's slave chip removed at the medical center. Maybe a bit more. And if we can convince the Council to attack the rest of Kyr'tsad to end this accursed civil war, I'll be planning the campaign. But first, we have to get back to Manda'yaim."

Myles nodded, pulling his buy'ce on as he blinked out of existence. Jaster and Jango walked behind her as the rest of the ori'ramikade dispersed, probably to their bunks. Standing on the observation deck, Jaster watched as the stars warped, then streaked past them in brilliant pale blue lines. 

"Buir?" A small voice behind him asked, and both Jaster and Jango turned to see Cody, short curls mussed by sleep and carrying a red blanket around his shoulders. His amber eyes were wide, and Jaster couldn't stop himself from taking a quick holo.

"Yes, Cot'ika?" Cody looked up at him. 

"You're done with the Council?" 

Jango stepped forward, scooping Cody up and fluffing his hair more. "Yup, vod'ika. And it is time for you to relax some more." Cody's eyes were comically wide as Jango carried him away to the kitchen, complete with a sofa and lots of uj'alayi cake. Jaster had to take another holo. 

When they had gotten Cody to settle down on the cushy sofa, Jaster pulled off his gloves and gave everyone a generous slice of uj'alayi, pulling Cody onto his lap and spreading the blanket over all of them. Cody, after his initial surprise, melted into Jaster, armor or no. Jaster could've sworn Jango took another holo of them. 

Jango grinned at Cody, hands sticky with syrup. "It's story time!" 

Cody looked askance at Jango. "Story time?"

Jaster took another bite of uj cake. It was so good. "'Lek, Cot'ika. Story time."

Jango grinned. “It’s tradition. Jaster had me tell a story when he adopted me. You will too. And then, after every mission, if we want to, we’ll tell more stories.”

Jaster licked some syrup off his fingers. “So. Got any good stories for us, Cot’ika? And they have to be actual stories, mind you. Not just 'I met a tooka. The end.'”

Cody twisted around to look at Jaster. “I don’t have any stories.” 

Jaster shrugged. “I’m sure you have stories. They could just be a retelling of a mission. Or a tale someone else told you. Anything works.” 

Jango nodded his agreement. “I told Jaster how Arla and I adopted a tooka. It was not 'I met a tooka. The end.' It only stayed for a couple of days, but that's not relevant. Anything works, but maybe something that means something to you. But that doesn’t really matter.” 

Cody nodded. “Obi-Wan used to tell stories to the vode in between campaigns.”

Jaster scrutinized Cody's face, which was still rather neutral. A bit fond, though. From his stories, it seemed that he was very close to Obi-Wan. He’d learn more about this later. “Then what’s one you like?”

Cody thought for a minute. “I got one.” Jaster grinned. The jetii probably told Cody some good stories, and Jaster always did enjoy stories. “It’s long though.”

Jaster put Cody down, pulling off his armor so he was in his soft blacks, and grabbing another, thicker blanket. “That’s fine,” Jango told Cody, who was also now in his blacks. Cody was still wearing Jango’s old clothes. Jaster would fix that when he got back to Keldabe. 

When Jaster pulled Cody back into his lap, Jango leaning against his side, Cody bit into another slice of sweet uj’alayi. It was just so good, Jaster thought when he pulled out another slice for himself. Jango followed his stellar example. 

Cody curled further into the warm blanket. “Obi-Wan told me that he heard this story when he was a padawan. They helped a village fight pirates trying to steal their harvest, and in return, they told them this story.”

Well, this should be good. Jango seemed to agree with this sentiment because he motioned for Cody to continue. 

Cody visibly gathered his thoughts, chewing on uj’alayi cake before he began. 

—————————————

"The Nandila tell the story of Kandmu and Avianna. It is said that Avianna, the daughter of King Amupachil, sang so beautifully that all beings hearkened to her melody, and that her beauty surpassed that of all the ancestors that came before her.

Kandmu and his people who were descended from the great kings of old were scouting the enemy lines when they were ambushed by the Nwaylafir. Only Kandmu, who was scouting for a path through the forest survived, and when he saw all his people dead, screamed his agony to the heavens. In grief and desperation, he fled into the forest after burying his kin in the warm earth, still soaked with blood. As he ran, he heard Avianna’s song, catching sight of her as she danced in a clearing. And for the first time after the death of his family, he felt as though his mind were clear again, and he cried out to her as she twirled beneath the sun smiling above her. Startled, Avianna stopped her song in wonder, and the beasts that had drawn near her while she sang approached Kandmu, for they trusted him.

And she spoke to Kandmu, learning of his people and the misfortune that had befallen him, for her people were safe in the depths of the forests, and they sent out warriors to keep their borders safe and the Nwaylafir away. And when it grew dark, Avianna returned to her people, and Kandmu wandered through the forests, even as the light dimmed. As time passed, they met again and again, and Kandmu began to heal. But Nahuali loved Avianna as well, and while he had expressed his love for Avianna, she had turned away, for his company was not that which she enjoyed. And when he beheld Kandmu and Avianna together, he went to the king and told him of all that he had seen, driven by his jealousy. And Amupachil, who loved Avianna above all things in his world, was filled with anger at the tidings twisted by Nahuali's cruel words, and he sent out his warriors to bring Kandmu to him, believing Kandmu to be a lowly beggar. Avianna begged him not to harm Kandmu, and when he agreed, she led Kandmu into the palace as if he were an honored guest. 

Seeing Kandmu kneeling at the base of the throne, Amupachil looked upon him with scorn and anger, asking him if he came to his throne as a thief, looking to steal his daughter. 

But Kandmu, filled with fear and dread at the glory of the palace, was silent. So Avianna spoke for him, telling of his deeds in battle in great esteem, as one of the mighty warriors that fought the Nwaylafir and prevented the destruction of their way of life. 

But then Kandmu, looking into Avianna's eyes, found that the fear had left him and that he was able to speak again. And in doing so, he spoke of his journey in Amupachil's realm, asking for Avianna's hand in marriage. 

Silence then fell upon the room, for many believed Kandmu would be slain for his words.

And to the shock of all, Amupachil began to laugh at Kandmu's words, and Avianna was relieved, thinking their request would be granted. But then Amupachil spoke, and the hall was silent once more.

"I would give you my daughter's hand in marriage for one thing. The three Star Jewels on the crown of the king of the Nwaylafir, made by our ancestors and holding the light of our most beloved stars, and if you return, and my daughter still desires marriage, you may marry her." And Avianna froze in horror, for the king of the Nwaylafir was said to hold the power of their evil gods, drawing power from those killed in battle. 

But Kandmu simply bowed his head, knowing that Amupachil had given him this price with the certainty that he would die for it. "Such a little price you ask. For jewels and gems you would allow your daughter to marry me. The next time we meet, it shall be with the three Star Jewels." And that day, Kandmu left the forest. Avianna, distraught, asked her father for permission to follow Kandmu, but he forbade her to do so. But that night, she wove a song of concealment around herself and fled the forests of her father's realm in search of Kandmu. 

As Kandmu made his way to the palace of Yarumba, king of the Nwaylafir, he was beset by Yarumba's minions and beat each back, and to Yarumba's henchmen, he was one of the old kings, and it seemed to them that there was a winged crown made of starlight about his brow when he fought, and so Kandmu approached Yarumba's palace unmolested. 

When he entered Yarumba’s throne, he pointed his blade at Yarumba’s face, demanding his crown, upon threat of death. Yarumba, seeing only a young, arrogant warrior in front of him and knowing his own power, laughed, and told his guards to take Kandmu to a prison cell. Kandmu, suddenly beset by warriors, was pushed back from the throne. 

Angered by Yarumba’s laughter, Kandmu slew all of Yarumba’s warriors with his blade, and approached Yarumba, intending to kill him and avenge his kin. But Yarumba, suffused with the twisted, evil power of his people, simply threw Kandmu back so that he broke upon the opposing wall, helpless, for Kandmu and his people had not met a user of the dark energy that Yarumba so freely used.

Yarumba, in his anger and fury, ordered Kandmu to be taken to a prison cell beneath the palace, and believing himself to be safe, dismissed the matter from his mind.

Avianna followed Kandmu still, followed by the good beasts of her people as she sang, protected by her song and felling the evil Nwaylafir with her song of sleep, assisted too, by those who followed her, on hoof, wing, and claw. The mightiest of her followers was Galaydir, descended from the old eagles that aided her people in battle when they still conducted open war. Galaydir flew above Avianna upon her vast wings, seeing all that passed below, and so when she espied the old black walls drenched with old blood that marked the edge of Yarumba's palace, she flew to Avianna and recounted all that she had seen. 

Avianna, requesting that the noble beasts that followed her stay behind, wove a spell of sleep around her so that as she passed through the city of the Nwaylafir, those who came close to her fell into unconsciousness. And so Avianna made her way into the palace, footsteps falling soft like the light touch of fall leaves, slipping under the vast halls like a hidden wraith as she searched for Kandmu. 

As she descended into the shadowed halls of Yarumba's palace, she found Kandmu beaten and bloodied in a cell. He did not yet stir, and so Avianna, in her desperation, began to sing of her fear and love, causing even the stones around them to stir in sympathy and the bars to part for her. 

Woken by her song, Kandmu stirred and caught sight of Avianna as she helped him to his feet. Dazed, he murmured, "Between Heaven and Earth goes the moon's path, but you fly above them all, as radiant as the brightest star in the sky." And Avianna, struck by a sudden dread, said nothing as she pulled him to his feet. 

Yarumba, suffused still with the power of his people, had sensed Avianna's presence, and from his throne, he directed the very darkened walls of his palace to force them to his throne room so he could meet those who had been so foolhardy. And so, in time, Avianna and Kandmu stumbled into his throne room, the cheerless vaulted ceiling looming above them. But Kandmu, angered by Yarumba's cruel amusement and driven to desperation, called his blade to his hand, and Avianna, seeing his intent, began to sing another song of sleep as she danced in front of Yarumba and his guards, a star amidst the darkness of the Nwaylafir. Weak-minded, Yarumba's minions collapsed under the weight of her song, even while Kandmu fought Yarumba at the foot of his golden throne. Her song, intended only for Yarumba, and fueled by her love, forced Yarumba to struggle against the power of her song, using the energy of his people to prevent his fall even as Kandmu, crown blazing bright around his brow and sword, fought him to a standstill. 

The dark abyss beyond Yarumba's power yawned, for there was no more to be found. He no longer had the ability to hold Avianna's power aside, and Kandmu rent Yarumba's head from his shoulders with a swing of his bright blade, the twisted crown around his head seeming to contort under the light of the jewels, luminous and unyielding. And so the Star Jewels of Kasadir came to the possession of Kandmu and Avianna. Exhausted, they returned home, attended by those that had followed Avianna. Greeted at the edge of Amupachil's realm, his messengers gazed in open amazement at the Star Jewels. Stunned by the news of Yarumba's death, Avianna and Kandmu were welcomed back with open arms, and Amupachil greeted his daughter with a smile, but the Star Jewels drew his eyes, shining with the splendor of the stars above. 

He consented easily to Kandmu and Avianna's marriage, giving Kandmu every courtesy, and their people would remember the beauty of the wedding, even as they celebrated Yarumba's death and the perceived end of the war. Amupachil had his smiths work the three Star Jewels into a necklace, and when Avianna wore it, it seemed to all that she shone with a bright radiance as she danced with her people. And to others, it seemed that Kandmu was adorned with a radiant crown of silver as he laughed, for they were full of joy and contentment. 

But Yarumba's rival, a resentful man who, while lacking the power that had allowed Yarumba to seize the throne, had been skillfully manipulating his way onto the throne before Kandmu and Avianna killed Yarumba. And when he died, Nandtil used his power to make his way onto the throne, away from the prying eyes of the ancient Nandila and dreamed of accomplishing everything his predecessor had not. And while there are things that are better left undone, Nandtil wanted complete dominion over the Nandila, and it was said that, while he was planning, he was utterly mad. But it came to be that Nahuali, who still loved Avianna despite her devotion to another, left Amupachil's realm. For what reason, he did not yet think of, but he wandered too close to an abandoned Nwayalfir village, and one of Nandtil's dark servants observed him there as he spoke of his frustrations to no others. When Nahuali returned to his home in the capital city of the Nandila, no one thought much of it, for many were joyous still and continued their lives in what they believed to be a long-lasting peace. And so no one noticed when Nahuali seemed absent from his home more often than he was there for as time passed, it was declared that Avianna was with child, and Amupachil grew satisfied with their union and agreed that Kandmu was a worthy choice. For it seemed evident to everyone that saw Kandmu and Avianna together that their love was radiant, and they were glad. Nahuali's absences became more and more unremarked upon, despite his previous position in the Court. 

As time passed, the child was born and was named Eriadan, loved by all of her people. When Nahuali looked upon Eriadan, surrounded by Amupachil’s court and held safely in Avianna’s arms, the beast in his chest roared in jealousy, and no one noticed that he was gone longer than usual afterward.

While Avianna and Kandmu were content, Nahuali, in his anger, agreed to help Nandtil in exchange for Avianna. And thus aided, Nandtil began to craft weapons in the shadows of his realm, evil creations that could kill without a blade, leaving people burned and dying. Abnormal creations that flew through the air and could raze the earth. And still unsuspecting, the Nandila celebrated Eriadan's birth and the peace that had come upon them. 

And so when Nandtil deemed his weapons ready for use, he murdered Nahuali with his blade when he came next to Nandtil, for he did not intend to allow Nahuali to have Avianna. And so Nandtil led his army into Amupachil's realm, razing all that remained before him, and it seemed to those who fled before him unable to fight his creations, that he was wreathed in flames from his mechanical beast's gaping maw. And despite this, Amupachil called for his warriors to bear arms and defend their people. And they answered his call, accompanied by Kandmu and Avianna.

Afraid for Eriadan, Kandmu and Avianna requested that Galaydir take her far away and protect her. Giving Galaydir Amupachil's signet ring, she fled the forest with two soldiers, flying high above as the soldiers cradled Eriadan as they rode away. And as she looked around, she saw the blaze of fire encroaching upon the cities of the Nandila, smoke clouding all that she saw. And so burdened with the knowledge of the fate of their people, they fled further out of the forest, seeking the aid of the free peoples that dwelt still in the mountains, unbothered by the war. 

As Eriadan was carried out of Amupachil's realm, Amupachil fought a losing battle against Nandtil's army, Kandmu and Avianna beside him as they planned campaigns, as they fought against the Nwalyafir. And it came to be that Nandtil met Amupachil in battle, seated astride his metal steed. And in view of all of Amupachil's soldiers, Nandtil slew him after a brief fight, bolstered by the strength of his fury. And even as Avianna fought their enemies as they closed in around them, Kandmu confronted Nandtil in an effort to end his madness. 

And even as Kandmu split Nandtil's head from his body as he had done for Yarumba, one of Nandtil's underlings shot him in the back. Shocked, Kandmu fell off his steed even as Nandtil, who, strapped to his metal steed, slumped on its back, unmoving as he was caught in the thralls of death.

And even as the Nwalyafir slew the remaining Nandila warriors, Avianna fled, mad with grief even as she wound a spell of concealment around herself once again. 

Avianna, unable to pursue her daughter for fear of bringing the Nwalyafir to her, sang her grief to the heavens. And her song was so full of anguish and sorrow that even the gods cried as she sang for mercy, her sweet words falling like clear jewels, still wearing the Star Jewels about her throat, hidden beneath her blood-stained armor. And so stirred to action, the gods lifted Avianna into the heavens, placing her among the stars against the blackness of the encroaching void. 

And from the firmament above, Avianna watched all that transpired with her people even as they pointed skywards at the three Star Jewels that glowed bright around her neck as they told stories of her sorrow, but also of her hope, for her presence was a source of infinite hope."

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Cody's voice was now a bit rough from all the talking, but Jaster just had to stare blankly over Cody's head. The ending, Jaster had to say, was a bit of a surprise. Jango seemed less capable of reining in his surprise because his ad was staring at Cody in stupefaction. Well, the story seemed more accurate about war, at least. War was messy and people died. Although most stories did not have such an unusual ending. They were usually happier. But then, Jaster supposed, this story wasn't quite sorrowful. It just wasn't the happiest. 

Jaster looked downwards to see Cody looking up at him, probably wondering whether Jaster didn't like his story, given what Jaster knew about him. They would have to work on that. Probably with the help of a mir'baar'ur. 

Jango frowned at Cody. "What happened after that, Cot'ika? To the people, I mean." 

Cody reached for a glass of milk, wiggling his tiny fingers. Jaster passed it over to him and he drank, even earning himself a little white mustache that stretched over his upper lip. Cody wiped his mouth off on his sleeve. "Well, the people say Eriadan grew up, united her people, and eventually was able to broker a peace treaty with the Nwalyafir, which remained in place after her death. They now co-exist in peace." Jaster nodded. A sad ending for this story, perhaps, but not for their people. A good ending. Jaster said as much, and Cody nodded, finishing the last bit of sticky uj'alayi and licking his tiny fingers clean cheerfully.

"I never really thought about how hungry kids are. It's so weird." Jaster frowned as Cody continued. "I mean, I never really ate as much after I got deployed, especially after the Empire," and here Cody spat the word, "but I mean, what with the accelerated aging and all," What? "I'm really hungry. It's weird to remember how this felt. Being hungry, I mean. Even if I didn't want to eat, and I don't really, I'm still so hungry. So weird." And Cody yawned casually as if hadn't just said accelerated aging, and what did that mean? That Cody would die before his time? 

Jaster needed this cleared up. "Accelerated aging, Cot'ika?" 

Cody nodded once again as if this weren't an enormous problem. "'Lek, Buir. All the clones had accelerated aging. You can't have an army that takes two decades to mature, and it's impractical to send cadets into battle. They're not strong enough." And that sentence had Jaster's head spinning. Cadets?

Jango choked a bit. "But you were. Strong enough, I mean." 

Cody laughed. "I mean, we were genetically engineered to be better soldiers. But I also have some aid from a long lifetime of being a soldier. I can take down a few Kyr'tsad di'kute, seeing as they're all pathetic, mewling tookas." Jaster needed some tihaar. Maybe he could get Cody's mir'baar'ur to swear to secrecy. He wasn't quite qualified to deal with this. But then again, that didn't mean he couldn't help.

Jaster pulled the fuzzy blanket right up under Cody's tiny nose, giving him a very warm hug. Cody melted into it. Good. They were making progress. "Cody, you don't need to beat up everyone now. You're safe."

Cody actually laughed at that. "Buir, no one's really safe."

Jango put an arm around Cody. "But that doesn't mean you can't relax, vod'ika."

Cody just shrugged at that, face impassive. "Relaxing means losing lives." Jaster had to hold back a grimace at the words, just hugging Cody tighter. 

It did seem to help. After all, hugs were healthy. Or whatever the baar'ure said about hugs and the brain. Jaster always dozed off after the first couple of sentences. It was time to drag the conversation back to what Jaster needed to talk about. "Can the accelerated aging be reversed? Or just stopped?" Cody peered up at Jaster in confusion. 

"Well, you can't exactly reverse my age, I would think. But it can be stopped." Here, Cody scowled mightily. "But I wouldn't see why you would want to." Jaster shook his head at Cody, trying to equate the battle-hardened war veteran that laid beneath the veneer of tiny, adorable Cody. 

"I would not see you die before your time. And if it's fixable," Jaster said with finality, "we will fix it.

Cody searched Jaster's face before nodding, little face still troubled, but seemingly placated by Jaster's words. "Alright, Buir." Cody yawned again.

Jango shook his head, taking Cody from Jaster's arms, still wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. "You're cleaning up, then you're going to sleep." Cody tried to scowl, but then was interrupted by another yawn. Looking quite irritated, Jango pulled Cody towards the 'fresher, leaving Jaster to stew in his thoughts. 

They still needed to get the chip removed first. Jaster could tell the chip was bothering Cody more than he told Jaster. He could sometimes see Cody itching near the back of his skull, and he didn't want a mind-control chip in Cody's head any longer than it had to be. He definitely needed to get the accelerated aging stopped though. No buir should have to bury their ade. But that would probably take longer. Jaster had no idea how it worked. But he needed to deal with Kyr'tsad, and maybe wrangle the New Mandalorians in his council into taking care of them, the di'kute. 

"Hey, Buir. You're brooding again." Jaster turned to give Jango a hug. 

"There's a lot to brood about, Jan'ika." Jango nodded in agreement.

"There is. Cody's a bit messed up, isn't he?" Jaster nodded. He didn't have any alcohol on Jaster's Legacy. "We'll fix his aging though, won't we?" 

Jaster hesitated. He didn't know how stuff like that worked, or if they were even capable of doing such a thing. "If we can," Jaster decided. And he wanted to be able to fix it, even as he knew nothing about however accelerated aging worked. 

Jango seemed to understand the unsaid statement, because he just hugged Jaster, still wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, knitted by one of Jaster's verde. 

"What about Obi-Wan? He'd still be alive now, wouldn't he? Maybe it'd help Cody." Jaster shook his head. 

"There's too much that we don't know about it. And we can't just take a Jedi youngling from their temple. Besides, the Obi-Wan of this time wouldn't know Cody. At best, it would be awkward and scary for the youngling. At worst, we start a war with the Jetiise because they think we stole one of their little ones." Jango grimaced at the thought.

"I didn't think of it like that." Jaster grinned at his ad, who was running an exasperated hand through his short curls. 

"You'll get there someday, Jan'ika. But first, you must get enough sleep." And Jaster proceeded to herd Jango to bed, giving his curls a well-deserved fluff and further mussing them up. He needed to get Jango a haircut soon; he was looking a bit shaggy. 

"'Night, Buir." Jaster grinned faintly.

"'Night, Jango." Jaster heard Jango turn his lights off and turned into Cody's room, which was as of yet undecorated. They would have to fix that soon.

Cody seemed to be sleeping, but Jaster figured that for someone that had been at war and probably had some extreme PTSD, Cody might not sleep so well. Although, Jaster did know how to put little ones to sleep, and lots of talking was one way to go. Ad'ike were not built for long days, and Cody was still tiny, no matter what he said. Jaster really needed to get that chip and accelerated aging problem fixed soon before Cody turned into an old man before Jaster. That'd be embarrassing. He turned toward the cockpit, trying to clear his head. They'd figure it out. 

—————————————

Cody was slumbering in the adjoining room. And Jango was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling above him which was plastered with little glow-in-the-dark stars that Jango and his buir had put up years ago because Jango said he liked to watch the stars. Jaster had grinned, not saying anything, and eventually, he came into Jango's room showing him the little sticky stars. Jango had been delighted, and they spent ages carefully sticking the stars onto the ceiling in the shape of the constellations that Jango used to point out with his birth aliit on Concord Dawn. The stickers hadn't fallen off yet, and he liked to think the stars would never fall. Jango liked to name them, trying to remember his aliit as they laughed, giving the constellations (which were already named complex, dignified things no doubt made by ridiculously stuck up people) ludicrous names like Fluffy Nexu and Flaming Rawl because why not?

He smiled to himself at the memory of his aliit, because he remembered them, and he was happy now with Jas'buir. And now he had a tiny vod'ika, and no matter how old Cody said he was, Cody was still downright orikih, so whatever happened, Cody would be Cot'ika. Unless they didn't get the aging thing fixed soon, but Jango figured they'd fix it soon enough. His buir would figure something out. And they'd get the chip out too, and Jango would get to do all the things that Arla had done with him with Cody. Maybe he could get Cody to do some pranks with him. Nothing too big, of course, but just something for a bit of fun. It'd be amazing. He could get Silas to help, too. Maybe they could get Myles before he got too stressed out, although he figured Myles would never end up as snobbish as that areutyc shabuir Montross was. Myles was pretty cool, after all. 

And with this thought, Jango slipped off into sleep, the glow-in-the-dark sticky stars above him still giving off some faint light although they had long since lost most of their glow. 

Jango stirred when his dream (a very confusing one that involved a grumpy tooka, precisely 87 sabacc cards that had akk dog faces on the back and grumpy bantha faces on the front, his buir wearing a pink tutu with lots of fluffy frills over his beskar'gam, and a flamethrower that threw bubbles that popped in his face) was interrupted by the smell of heavenly caf. He groaned, trying to pry his eyes open.

He was greeted by the lovely sight of a mug of caf, still steaming and with the perfect amount of milk; Jango only liked a bit of milk in his caf. Enough to make it a lovely warm daryc color, but not enough to sully the delicious flavor of the caf. Buir liked his caf black, which was moderately barbaric. Jango wondered how Cody liked his caf, before remembering that Cody was six years old and not liable to receive any caf for the foreseeable future. It'd stunt his growth, after all. 

While Jango was staring at the caf, thoughts running through his head, he was interrupted by his Buir, who was watching him stare at the mug. 

"Are you going to drink that, Jan'ika, or am I?" Jango directed his attention to Jas'buir, who currently had his eyebrow raised at Jango's full cup of caf. 

Jango shook his head, exasperated. He didn't bother saying anything, and just grabbed the cup of caf, downing it all at once. He grinned at his buir, who nodded seriously. 

"Mar'e!"

Jango nodded back at Jaster. "Mar'e." 

His buir nodded back at him, and now Jango could see the corner of his mouth curving slightly, and Jango knew he was almost there. He grinned, sticking his tongue out at a weird angle, crossing his eyes, and pulling his ears to the side. 

Jaster burst out in laughter, warm and happy. Once Jango's vision cleared, he started snickering, if only at his buir 's expression. It was priceless. Jango wished he had his holocam with him. 

When his buir had finally regained his composure (Jaster, when relaxed, had quite the sense of humor), Jango rolled himself out of bed, hitting the rug next to his bunk with a thump, picking himself up and glaring at Jaster, daring him to say something. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, but Jango couldn't exactly call him out on laughing at Jango's preferred method of getting out of bed. He just shook his head at Jango's expression, grabbing his now drained cup of caf and exiting Jango's room. 

"Get up soon. We gotta make Cody a good lor'vram." Jango didn't bother saying anything at Jaster's swiftly retreating form, busying himself with putting on his armor and thinking about his preferred buttery waffles covered in plenty of delicious syrup. He never put too much syrup on. 

He pulled on his cetare as he stumbled out the door, hopping as he tugged his right cetar on and failing to keep his balance. He fell on his face, with a loud thump and had to pick himself up again, finishing tugging his cetare on and successfully greeting his buir who was already whisking some waffle batter. 

Excellent. His buir knew precisely what the best breakfast food was. Jaster turned to look at Jango, his eyes glittering with mischief. "I've got some pancake batter ready. How 'bout you go pull out one of the pans?" What. No way. 

"Nu draar, Buir. We're making waffles! Right?" Jango couldn't believe it. Surely, surely, his buir wouldn't start making batter and say they were for pancakes. Right? "Buir, can we make waffles? Gedet'ye?"

Jaster laughed at Jango, who was unable to make a sufficient retort in time. "udesiir, Jan'ika. We'll make waffles," Jaster said, even winking at Jango. Jango groaned. 

"Buir, you're a menace," Jango muttered, his face still stinging from falling on it. He needed to stop trying to pull on his boots while going out the door. It would never end well. 

Jas'buir smirked. "I never said I wasn't, Jan'ika. Although I'm sorry to say we're out of syrup."

"What?" His buir just laughed at Jango. He felt as if the universe were out to get him. 

"I'm kidding, Jan'ika. We have plenty of syrup," Jaster said with a smug smile. 

Jango glared at Jaster with no small amount of frustration. "It's too early for this, Buir." 

Jaster shrugged. "It's never too early for this," he snarked, even as he began to whistle a cheerful tune that made Jango want to pull out his hair. It was too early for this. Especially now, as Jango watched Jaster begin to do twirls around the kitchen, dancing as he pulled out of waffle maker, his boots tapping the hard metal floor as he began whisking the batter, his upper body remarkably still as he began to dance, an awful dance that had Jango groaning. There were buir jokes, and buir dances, and buir things that just… It was far, far too early for any of this. Jango expressed his exasperation as he went to flop on the sofa stuffed against the wall. Jaster poured the batter into the waffle machine which sizzled happily, soothing Jango's soul. Jaster came to sit on the sofa next to Jango, slinging his arm around Jango's shoulders and messing up Jango's short curls with gleeful mischief. 

Jango just glared at him, and his buir just laughed at him more. "Really, Buir?" 

Jaster leaned back on the couch. "No need to be so grumpy, ad. You know your old buir is just waffling." Jango covered his face with his hands, incredulous. 

"Gedet'ye, Buir. Gev! " At that point, however, Jango was saved by the arrival of his tiny vod'ika. 

"Jango is right, Buir. That was nearly as bad as Obi-Wan's puns, and that's saying something." Obi-Wan again. Jango had to wonder just what their relationship was. But then, Jango thought as he put the matter out of his mind, he was glad for the assistance. 

"Neither of my ade are cultured enough to understand my sophistication," Jaster moaned. 

Cody just smirked, pulling himself up onto the sofa. He was so kih, it was hilarious. "That's what my general used to say, Buir. Puns are just excuses to torture everybody around you. There's nothing cultured about it." 

Jaster shrugged. "I wouldn't say that, precisely. But look! The waffles are done!" Jango shrugged, casting a glance at Cody, who had jumped off the couch, his short legs unable to reach the floor. He grinned, reaching out for the plate of waffles that Jaster made, Cody following in his wake and looking quite interested in the stack of waffles. But now that he really looked, Cody looked rather tired. Really tired. His face looked rather drawn, with dark spots under his eyes. Jango frowned. He hadn't heard anything from Cody that night, but maybe he missed something. He would have to talk to his buir about this later, but right now, Cody just looked happy as he scarfed his waffles down. Jango watched Cody a bit longer before he dug into his waffles. Saying anything now would just make Cody defensive. Better to talk to Jaster about it. 

Jaster poured himself another cup of caf, coming to sit on the sofa. Cody reached for the cup eagerly, but looked positively grumpy as Jaster pulled it back. 

Jango laughed at Cody. He knew this was going to happen, but it didn't mean he couldn't sympathize with Cody. "No caf for you until you're older." Cody gave him a thunderous glare, so intense that Jango almost thought he'd catch fire from the strength of Cody's irritation. Jango decided to answer him by pouring liberal amounts of syrup onto Cody's waffles. "There you go, Cot'ika." Jango grinned innocently at Cody, who maintained his glare a bit longer before devoting his attention to his waffles. 

Jaster grinned in amusement as he watched Cody curl over his plate of waffles and scarf them down, soaking up the extra syrup with the bottom of his waffles. "We'll be coming out of hyperspace soon. I have the ship on autopilot, but-"

Jango just grinned at him. "Don't worry about it, Buir. Cody can come with me to pilot the ship. You can go sleep." 

Jaster grinned, ruffling Jango's hair. "Thanks, ad."

Cody just nodded, cheeks puffed up with the amount of waffle he had stuffed in there. He swallowed, licking some syrup off his lips. "Sleep well, Buir!" 

Jango nodded, discreetly taking a holo of Cody for laughs. Or blackmail. Whichever turned out to be necessary. He grinned at his buir. "Shoo, Buir. Go catch some rest." 

Jaster turned away with a smile. "Vor'e, ade." He stifled a mighty yawn with his hand. 

Jango actually laughed at him now. "Go, Buir."

Jaster stifled yet another mighty yawn as he nodded, heading off toward his rooms. Cody reached for a tissue on the table, his short arms too small to reach to the container. Jango took mercy on him and gave him a napkin. 

He pouted. "I hate being this tiny. It's so irritating." Jango just laughed at him, and before long, Cody was laughing too, although whether he was laughing at Jango or his rather unfortunate predicament, Jango couldn't tell. 

Jango picked Cody up when they had both finished their respective stacks of waffles. Cody's accelerated aging (and wasn't that a scary thought) seemed to have increased his appetite more than Jango would've thought was appropriate for a young ad'ika, although seeing as he had no baseline to compare Cody's diet to, he wasn't one to speak. 

As Cody protested, Jango dumped the dishes in the sonic washer before proceeding to the cockpit and depositing the very wriggly bundle of Cody into the copilot's seat. Cody gave Jango a very indignant look, apparently unable to think of something to say. Jango couldn't help but laugh at him."We'll get to Mandayaim soon, Cot'ika. Hold on 'till then," Jango told Cody cheerfully as he patted his head. Another affronted squawk later, Jango had his hand batted away. He grinned in delight. He'd always been the youngest in his aliit, and now that Cody was here, he was no longer the youngest. He was going to have so much fun with Cody. It would be brilliant. And, knowing that Cody had been a verd, he bet that Cody knew some good pranks. He'd have to ask.

Chapter Text

Mace frowned as he walked through the vast halls of the Jedi Temple, following Yoda who was currently sitting on his hoverchair, which was, for lack of a better word, hovering along at a very sedate pace. 

Mace was frowning because Yoda had decided to pick Mace as his go-to partner for discussing Initiate Kenobi. And while Mace quite understood the necessity of having these discussions, he didn't quite understand why Yoda had decided to talk with him instead of someone more, well, relevant to Kenobi's life. Like his créchemaster, for example. Or the head of the créches. He was only the poor Jedi Knight who was woken up in the middle of the night by an enormous shatterpoint. The shatterpoint in question being Initiate Kenobi, who was said to have a rather intense vision, but the sheer improbability of a vision giving Mace such a headache (and a lot of lost sleep) had Mace doubting the accuracy of this assessment. Although it was certainly true that Mace couldn't think of a more probable explanation for it besides the one provided to them by Master Lunai. 

His musing was interrupted quite rudely by Master Yoda. "Brooding, you are. Stop it, you will."

Mace held back a groan with what he saw as an unnecessary expenditure of energy. "Yes, Master Yoda." 

He could've sworn he saw Yoda smiling, although he couldn't confirm it. Force-dammit. Mace could swear Yoda was  trying  to make him react. He had been ever since Mace was a padawan with an admittedly awful haircut, although Mace preferred the term unfortunate. He had an unfortunate haircut as a padawan. Most padawans did, after all. 

"Now tell me, when talked to young Obi-Wan you did, observe, what did you?" Yoda turned his piercing gaze upon Mace, which was previously directed towards a group of unsuspecting and now quite embarrassed junior padawans who had been engaged earlier with a poor cleaning droid. Mace sympathized with them. That was quite an embarrassing moment, after all, and the droid flew off to get more supplies, cursing the spill of sticky fruit juice and all padawans. 

Mace directed his attention back to the problem at hand. "I know what I said about Initiate Kenobi. He's certainly young, and his visions, if they are that, have had an adverse effect on his mental health-"

"Mean, what do you, when say young Obi-Wan's visions may not be that?" Yoda said, clearly interested.

"I mean that his visions may not be the actual cause of his nightmare, Master Yoda. I know that's the most likely explanation for the event that Créchemaster Lunai told us about," which was precisely why Mace believed it, "but I think there's something more that we're missing here, Master Yoda."

Yoda's hoverchair sped up and spun around, stopping directly in front of Mace. He stopped, bemused. "Explain, you will." 

Mace shrugged, perplexed. "I mean that the vision, or whatever happened, created such a large shatterpoint that it woke me up while I was sleeping. That's why I was interested in Initiate Kenobi's case at first." 

Yoda just nodded, his hoverchair resuming its place next to Mace, and humming peacefully once again. "Continue telling me about young Obi-Wan, you will." 

Mace shrugged again. His life seemed to be characterized by befuddlement, especially when he was in Yoda's proximity. He had that effect, bewildering everyone and everything around him. But Mace couldn't say it wasn't fun to watch the more idiotic among the throng of senators struggle with Yoda's grammar structure. "He was… friendly. To me, at least." Yoda gestured for Mace to continue, and he did. "I know I already said this, but he was sad, and if he weren't one of our créchelings, I would think he was grieving. Or some variation of that, because while he was definitely grieving, there was something else. I'm not sure what." Here, Mace paused to look at Yoda. He worried he'd only be encouraging Yoda with the coming sentence.

"He liked making puns," Mace said quietly, hoping Yoda wouldn't pick up on it as anything significant, or even worse, an incentive to make some of his own puns. To his great chagrin, however, Yoda's eyebrows shot up, and he gave Mace a sidelong glance, clearly plotting something highly unfortunate for Mace's future. He shook his head in resignation, telling himself that he'd deal with whatever happened later as it came. After all, what else was a Jedi to do?

"Although, I do have to say he had an unnaturally good vocabulary. As in unnaturally good for a youngling, but even more so for a child who is five-standard years old, and probably shouldn't be saying my pies are sublime." Mace paused here at the pain of the memory. "But he was in the Archives for what I surmise was a long time. Maybe he just naturally enjoys reading, and has an unnaturally good vocabulary and grammar structure  because of it," Mace said with a pointed glare. Yoda just cackled gleefully. Some days, Mace had to wonder whether Yoda's grammar structure was intentional, or if that was just the way he spoke. Master Yaddle certainly spoke the same way, so maybe it was just the way he talked, although Mace could entertain the possibility of their shared grammar structure being a conspiracy to drive everyone else insane. It was certainly possible, and while Mace didn't usually believe in conspiracy theories, this one was not nearly as implausible as some of the other ones he had heard. No, Jedi were not all secretly nerfs that were turned into different species by a group of deranged sorcerers trying to duplicate nerfs for an infinite supply of nerf-burgers. While Mace was reliving the incident of being asked by a child of the royal family of Shu-Torun whether he was actually a nerf (he wasn't) while he was trying to negotiate a trade deal with them (and that moment would forever be branded into his mind, the horror of it) Yoda seemed to be finished contemplating whether or not he should be torturing Mace with puns. 

"Come with me, you will." Mace started, not expecting that. 

"Where, Master Yoda?" 

Yoda just cackled, albeit quietly this time, and sped off in his hoverchair, leaving Mace, who was now exhausted by talking to Yoda, to follow behind and try  not to look as if he were running after the distinguished Grandmaster of the Order like the lovestruck, force-forsaken fools that were so frequently depicted in the cheesy romantic holo-movies that Mace did not ever, ever watch of his own volition.

As he dashed  serenely  after Yoda, he noted with some surprise that they were heading toward, if Mace was not mistaken, what would be the Archives. He groaned, tempted to stop following Yoda, but then he continued onwards because a Jedi did not balk from responsibility just because they did not want to hear any more puns, see any more shatterpoints, or hear any more awful grammar. 

As they came to a halt near the entrance of the Archives, Yoda, always happy to embarrass his fellow Jedi, gestured for Mace to come to him as he climbed onto Mace's back, his sharp claws digging into Mace's tunics and his gimer stick whacking Mace's poor cranium with what Mace defined as excessive force. 

Spurred on like some odd, two-legged horse that looked vaguely humanoid, Mace entered the Archives, already scanning the Force for the Force-signature of a very young, small initiate. To his surprise, he found only the shielding  of a very small initiate, precise and latticed in the way that was taught to the Jedi Order's créchelings. But nothing seemed to be seeping through, even though most initiates were always letting out their emotions (which were usually very happy) in little puffs of warmth. Mace frowned. That was odd, but there was nothing to be done about Initiate Kenobi's oddities. Everyone was entitled to them, after all. 

As they ducked into the enormous row of shelves denoted "Galactic Politics," which Mace wouldn't have expected a five-year-old to be in, much less be interested in, they proceeded into one of the alcoves of Archive that were invariably inhabited by some unfortunate padawan who put off their assignments too long, a collection of Jedi Knights and Masters who had an inexplicable desire to spend more time than strictly necessary in the Archives, the various Jedi who needed to use the Archives for their missions, and more rarely, one of the older initiates with a great interest in the Archives. Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, however, fell into none of these categories. He was, after all, an anomaly, and one that Mace should like to help, or at the very least, understand. 

When they ducked under one of the low-hanging arches, they found Initiate Kenobi sitting in one of the smaller niches in the Archives, a little, circular room with a low, domed ceiling. He was settled comfortably in the singular cushy chair that occupied the space, with a disorganized pile of datachips on the small table (curved to fit the room's walls and the couch and its inhabitant). He was also, Mace noted, scrolling feverishly through his datapad which had small black words covering the screen. Not exactly what Mace assumed a young crécheling would be reading. 

"Hello, Masters. What did you need?" Mace started at the unexpected address, especially being called a Master. Kenobi hadn't even looked up from his 'pad, and Mace didn't think he was particularly loud. 

Yoda seemed to have noticed Mace's temporary speechlessness, taking full advantage of it. Mace didn't get surprised that much, it was simply that this initiate was continually blindsiding Mace, and he wasn't quite sure why . "No classes today, you have," Yoda said, seeming to forgo asking the more interesting questions in favor of getting Kenobi to open up. "In the Archives studying, why are you? Extra work for yourself, you are making."

Kenobi finally raised his face, turning his datapad off and setting it on the already overburdened table in front of him. He shrugged, and Mace noted that he looked more tired than a five-year-old should look, illuminated under the warm blue lights that lit up the Archives. "It's only work if someone makes you do it, Master Yoda." Interestingly enough, he had hesitated for a moment before he had addressed Yoda. Odd. 

"Then doing it, why are you?" Yoda seemed more intrigued once he had really met Kenobi. It could not be said that Kenobi didn't have that effect on people. 

"Someone has to do it, Masters," Kenobi said matter-of-factly. As if they needed to do it, but he was doing it instead. Mace cast his gaze to the table, reading the labels.  A Comprehensive Treatise on the Perceived Time-Space Continuum , one label said. The second 'pad near him, not turned off but still somewhat obscured, read  Mandal-  before it was covered by a datachip that had the riveting title of  Nabooian Political Structures Through the Ages. Mace's incredulous perusal of the pile of datachips was interrupted by Kenobi, who Mace now knew had something more about him. 

He had pulled another chip out of the pile of 'chips, which Mace fully expected to hold another extremely boring, or interesting topic depending on your point of view, but that only said  Spicy Mandalorian Recipes to Burn Your Face Off With.  "The Master who came here left the 'chips here. But I'm reading here because it's my favorite place to read. He said I could stay here, though," Kenobi said cheerfully as he waved his 'pad around. 

Mace stared at Kenobi. Somehow, he doubted the sincerity of that explanation, even though it made more sense than a young initiate reading… well. It made more sense, but he couldn't help but question it. There was, of course, the point of Kenobi's speech; he spoke clearly, without the expected errors in pronunciation, grammar, and a more limited vocabulary. And even though the temple initiates received an excellent education, they were still children, not prodigies. Or at least, most of them weren't. Mace wasn't quite sure what to think anymore. 

Yoda was watching Kenobi, scrutinizing him. Kenobi was sitting there awkwardly, probably waiting for Yoda's pronouncement with a grave sort of patience. It was then that Mace noted the unnatural calm that was plastered over Kenobi's face. It betrayed nothing, and Mace couldn't help but think that something awful happened. And now that he was truly facing him, Mace noted that he was so much more than tired . He was weary, and something else. 

"Walk with us, you will," Yoda declared. Initiate Kenobi's eyebrow shot up, hesitating only briefly before he gathered up the pile of 'pads and 'chips, hurrying after Yoda who had already started walking around, his gimer stick hitting the tiles with a quiet  click  each time. Mace gestured for Initiate Kenobi to follow, who was holding a large number of items, all held in his amusingly short arms and who was no doubt preventing his pile from falling out of his arms with an unusual application of the Force. Another example of his oddness and precisely why Mace was so off-balance around him. He gave the pile of 'chips to one of the sorting droids who accepted the excessive pile with a sort of exasperation that only a droid could express. He did, however, keep the 'pad.

He seemed to have noticed Mace's gaze, because he shrugged and said, "Can't shelve a personal 'pad, M-Master Windu," he spoke, frowning slightly before his face cleared up again and he projected an innocent cheerfulness. There was that hesitation again, Mace noticed. As if he were trying to remember their names before he said them. And Mace was pretty sure he didn't forget that he was a Master; maybe Kenobi forgot and was just being polite. But that wasn't quite right, either. 

Yoda was still walking ahead of them, gimer stick clicking with a regularity that added easily to the peaceful atmosphere of the Archives. "Come, you will. And hurry too, you shall. Wait, I do not want to. Stretch my legs, I would like to." Obi-Wan now shook his head with something resembling fondness, and kriff it,  Mace wasn't used to having to read emotions without the aid of the Force. How in the Force was this initiate so well shielded? All Mace could sense was initiate-level shielding and nothing else. The mysteries were piling up, he thought, hurrying after Kenobi's quickly retreating form which was incidentally, around the same height as Yoda's.

He regarded Kenobi suspiciously, who was holding the 'pad at his side, under his arm quite comfortably. "Is that truly not your 'pad, Initiate Kenobi?" Kenobi looked up at Mace with some surprise.

"I never said it wasn't, M-Master Windu. I just said the 'chips weren't  mine ." Mace frowned. There was something off about a lot of what Kenobi told them. He couldn't sense an outright lie, but something else was off about the whole thing.

Yoda seemed to be having the same thoughts, because he dropped back to walk beside Obi-Wan. "Then the datachips, to whom belong did they?" 

Kenobi started at that. "I don't know, Masters." Ah. That was the first lie. Curious. 

"Come with me, you two will," Yoda told them when he turned into the hallway that marked the entrance to the residential areas of the temple. Mace fervently hoped they weren't going to have to eat anything. But then again, when did Yoda ever do what Mace wished he did?

As Yoda put in his code for his quarters, Mace braced himself for whatever Yoda had in wait for them. He felt bad for Kenobi, who still seemed… unnaturally calm. It was disconcerting. For others, it might be disturbing. 

As they entered Yoda's quarters, Mace noted at least two new plants, both with wide leaves, although one was a darker green and was flowering. Stepping into the room, Mace was hit with the full force of the humid air that smelled quite a bit like someone took a couple of plants from various planets and stuck them all together. Probably because that was precisely what had happened. Mace cast a glance to Kenobi, who was silently observing the room, his eyes roving around the room as if he'd never see it again. 

"Sit down, you two will," Yoda grumbled, carrying a pot of tea and a plate of… kriff. He surely wasn't going to give them his biscuits , was he? Evidently, he was. 

Young Obi-Wan was eyeing the plate of biscuits with no small amount of suspicion. They were a light green color, and very fluffy. The tops and edges were a healthy brown, but the rest of the biscuit looked quite suspicious. 

Kenobi accepted the cup of tea readily, as did Mace. Yoda reached for his own cup of tea and biscuit, cheerfully sipping at his tea and taking a large bite out of the biscuit. Mace pressed his lips together. He wouldn't make the same mistake more than thirty-seven times, please and thank you. 

Yoda held out a biscuit to both Mace and Kenobi, his face indicating that they had to take one. Mace tentatively took the proffered biscuit, but Kenobi hid his face behind his cup of tea, sipping it before Yoda sent the biscuit hurtling toward Kenobi's exposed forehead. He ducked under the trajectory of the biscuit, but the green biscuit changed trajectory quickly, and Kenobi, clearly resigned, held out his tiny hand and let the biscuit drop into his outstretched hand. He glared at the biscuit as if it were his greatest enemy, and then at the biscuit held loosely in Mace's hand. He resumed sipping his tea until Yoda interrupted their desperate need to avoid putting any part of the biscuits in their mouths. 

"Make it for nothing, I did not," Yoda said critically, and kriff it if Mace was afraid of Yoda and his wrath. He still hadn't gotten the dye out of his favorite tunic. But before he could convince himself to subject himself to such pain again, Kenobi popped the entire biscuit into his mouth, chewing at an astronomical pace before swallowing and downing the rest of his tea as if it were a shot of alcohol. He reached out for the teapot, which hurtled into his hand and had its contents poured hurriedly into Initiate Kenobi's cup, which was downed quickly and without ceremony. Mace frowned. The actions were entirely too familiar, too practiced to be quite natural. Kenobi finished his sixth cup of tea before glaring at Mace, his message clear. 

Mace, unfortunately, was too cowardly for such a challenge. He stuffed the biscuit into his significantly larger mouth, chewed a bit, then dashed to the kitchen trash can to spit it out. 

"That was disgusting, Ma-Master Windu," Kenobi said with a critical look. And there was that hesitation again. But then, Mace couldn't bring himself to ponder the question more because he was busy washing his mouth out. 

When he returned to the table, pinned under Yoda's amused glance, and Kenobi's oddly fond gaze, he noted some amusement in Kenobi's gaze. If word got around of this, he'd never live it down. "Some things never change," Kenobi said cheerfully, something inexplicably fond in his eyes as he reached for the pot of tea. 

Mace was busy with avoiding the dozen or so flying biscuits that were trying to hit his head, urged on by Yoda's outstretched hand and forcing Mace to do some truly ridiculous acrobatics in a too-small area. Pop. Krrk.  Mace and Yoda looked over at Kenobi, nonplussed, as he pulled out a package of rice crackers and started munching on them in place of the biscuits. The biscuits which had been assaulting Mace quite unnecessarily dropped onto the plate once again.  Crunch. Mace looked over at Yoda, who was laughing silently. 

He turned to Kenobi again when he felt him poke his shoulder. He turned to see Kenobi, looking up at him, his shock of bright-red hair contrasting oddly with the general green and brown of the room. He was looking at Mace with those strangely piercing blue-green eyes and holding out a rice cracker toward Mace. Mace stared at him for another moment before Kenobi wiggled the rice cracker at Mace again as he finished the rice cracker in his hand.  Crunch. 

Mace, unsure of what he should do, just took the cracker from Kenobi. "Are you going to eat that, Master Windu? Because I can if you don't want to," Kenobi offered acerbically. 

Mace shook his head, taking a bite of the crispy cracker.  Crunch.  His eyes widened involuntarily. The cracker, so crispy and fluffy and light, was just enough salty and savory to be amazing. Mace quickly finished the cracker before inclining his head to Kenobi.

"Thank you very much for the cracker," he said carefully. It was so good. Mace would have to figure out where Kenobi got those crackers. Just in case. 

—————————————

It was good to know that Mace still loved Nib-Nib brand rice crackers. Presumably, looking like a cute, lost tiny child on the streets of CoCo Town was generally endearing to the less morally ambiguous inhabitants that would hopefully not kidnap him. He would have to go back to that lady who had her stall at the side of the road and get some more crackers, preferably with some credits. Obi-Wan was still deeply grateful that she provided the crackers to him because he, apparently, was such a little thing and looked so cute she gave him the package of rice crackers for free. He kept them with the intention of bribing Mace in case he ever needed to. It was Obi-Wan's opinion that Mace's love of Nib-Nib rice crackers was the only reason Mace considered Obi-Wan his friend before, and he intended to use his very singular knowledge of the location of discounted Nib-Nib rice crackers to the fullest. 

It would be especially beneficial in avoiding whatever awkward discussion would come up about who the 'pad and datachips belonged to, especially because Obi-Wan, who had grown very attuned to Mace's facial expressions, knew that Mace was aware that Obi-Wan was lying. And while it would have been significantly easier to just leave the datachips and the 'pad at that table and just stick with the assertion that he had left them there so the 'Master' who they belonged to could get them back, he couldn't just leave datachips out. Madame Nu would be upset, and then Obi-Wan would be upset because she'd ban him from entering the Archives for at least a standard week. And that, in Obi-Wan's mind, was a worthy trade. If he aroused more suspicion, at least he'd still have the Archives. They, bless them, were the one constant in Obi-Wan's life. Besides, he never saw bodies littering the floor there. He could read in peace and soak up the peaceful feeling of the Force surrounding him, so different from the agony and death that had suffused the Force by the end of the war. It was nice.

Obi-Wan hefted the tin kettle experimentally, noting that it was almost gone. Master Yoda and Mace were talking about the treaty that ended the Period of Warring States and current Da'rinamar politics, which could have been held without a small, five-year-old initiate in attendance while they drank tea, if only they weren't rather obviously trying to make Obi-Wan relax. A rather ineffective way of making younglings calm down, but that was fine. Although Obi-Wan could safely say that the fragile peace treaty wouldn't last very long. It'd fall apart approximately fourteen years from now. After all, he had been there. An unknown number of civilians had died during the resulting war, including the ones Obi-Wan had watched die. 

If Obi-Wan were asked to write an essay now about the extent to which faulty clauses in the Darian-Toma treaty influenced the development of dissenting political factions during the period 900 ARR to 970 ARR, Obi-Wan bet he'd do pretty well. 

He watched as Mace- no, Master Windu, Obi-Wan would have to remember that, shook the tea kettle nearly upside down, watching in disappointment as nothing besides wet tea leaves fell out, looking rather wilted and despondent in his empty cup. 

Obi-Wan carefully held back a yawn. If only he'd come back a couple of years later. He would have been able to deal with sleep deprivation so much better then. Now, he wasn't sure whether he should just give up and figure out how to make sure he didn't wake anybody up while he was sleeping, because Obi-Wan hadn't been able to meditate without falling asleep at least a bit now. 

Yoda's eternally awful grammar interrupted Obi-Wan's musing. "Stop looking so disappointed, you should. Plenty of my tea, consumed you have." The accompanying thwack underneath the table had Obi-Wan internally smirking, although he made sure his face didn't do the accompanying motion. That would only lead to  his  bruised shins. 

Ma-Master Windu scowled at that. "I'm just avoiding the awkward conversation to be had in the very near future, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan stopped his internal smirking. That… was a very good reason to want to continue drinking tea. Especially such good tea. Obi-Wan hadn't sat down for tea in a while. The last time he had drunk tea, Cody had handed him a cup of tea before he had gone to engage Grievous. Obi-Wan had downed the cup of tea, handing it back to his commander as Cody wished him luck with a mischievous smirk. Obi-Wan hadn't felt like telling him that luck wasn't really a thing, and Cody's smirk had just grown when he hadn't told him there was no such thing as luck. He kind of wished he had now, because Cody's idea of luck was of questionable quality. Obi-Wan still didn't understand why his men had shot him down, only that they had, and that… they hadn't been themselves anymore. It was better, Obi-Wan thought, to just consider them as dead now. After all, he had no idea when the clones were commissioned, only that they were, but Obi-Wan knew Cody was one of the older clones, and even he wasn't particularly old (older than fifteen standard years) by the time the war ended. And as such, he had no way of knowing whether they had been commissioned yet, and why they would try to kill him. Obi-Wan resolutely refused to believe his men would shoot him down. Perhaps because the alternative was worse, but Obi-Wan felt that if he could not trust what he could sense in the Force, he could not trust anything, much less his current predicament, which, Obi-Wan believed, should place him somewhere in the past. Evidenced by Mace Windu and Master Yoda's current bickering over what methods of stalling were socially acceptable, and if one should keep up the charade if the person one was trying to stall noticed you were stalling, or if you should just give up. 

Obi-Wan was currently watching the match with carefully concealed amusement. Every time they turned their heads toward him, he double-checked his inner shields, significantly stronger and more complex than the facade he had put up. 

When Master Yoda had told M-Master Windu that he ought to stop stalling with a certain sort of vehemence only Master Yoda could pull off, Obi-Wan giggled faintly, reaching out with his accursedly small arm and summoning a chocolate chip cookie with chewy dough and half-melted chocolate chips out of a bag in the furthest cabinet in Master Yoda's pantry. As the cookie hit his palm, Master Windu gaped at Obi-Wan, then at Yoda, who looked properly horrified. Perhaps at his inappropriate use of the Force.

"You've been- You've been-!" Mace, clearly, was unable to do anything other than stutter his way through his words as he watched Obi-Wan take a self-satisfied bite out of his cookie. Obi-Wan and Kit Fisto had conducted a raid upon Yoda's pantries while he was off dealing with one of the older créches having an all-out prank war within their créche. The debacle had resulted in a significant portion of Yoda's hair being dyed a dignified pink, paint all over the créche walls, extra work for the cleaning droids that involved a not-insignificant portion of raw nuna eggs, and half a dozen nunas hatching because someone had obtained fertilized nuna eggs from Force-knows-where. After all, most companies selling nuna eggs for consumption weren't stupid enough to let them be fertilized, and the Jedi Temple wouldn't buy them if they were. It had also resulted in a significant portion of the council realizing that Yoda had good cookies, and while Master Yoda was an accomplished Jedi and could tell when they stole his cookies, he still needed his cookies to remain in his quarters, establishing the well-loved game of stealing Yoda's cookies before he moved them again. They had stopped playing that game after the war had carried on, too. 

Mace, by now, was trying to grab one of the cookies sailing past his head. Master Yoda's maniacal laughter reminded Obi-Wan just how odd he was, and how much happier he had been before the war. 

Obi-Wan stretched out his hand as a cookie sailed past him, accompanied by Master Windu's frantic yell, and gleefully pulled it off of its established trajectory and into his palm, stuffing it as best he could into his irritatingly small face. Yoda was laughing at the expression on Master Windu's face, the horror mixed with incredulity giving him quite the look. Obi-Wan wished he had his holocam on him, but alas, not all things were meant to be. 

As Master Windu began to duck beneath the flying cookies, it occurred to Obi-Wan that he looked a bit like a flying bantha, what with all of his brown robes. And with that thought, he snorted, mouth still full of cookie, choking on his cookie in the process of avoiding the unfortunate gaffe of spitting it out. He cursed inwardly, trying to swallow it as both Master Windu and Yoda watched him inhale a chocolate chip, and dump a cup of tea down his throat. 

When he finished, Master Windu, who was no longer reaching for the cookies (which were safely deposited wherever Yoda put them during the distraction Obi-Wan had so graciously provided), gave him a pat on the back. He gave him an indignant look, to which he just laughed. "Are you alright, Initiate Kenobi?" And that was just like Ma-Master Windu, to stay formal until he decided you were a very good friend and needed to help him avoid eating Yoda's biscuits, although Obi-Wan wasn't very helpful in that department. 

Obi-Wan downed another cup of tea. "I'm fine, Master Windu," he said, the taste of chocolate chips still in his mouth. Pity there wasn't any peanut butter. He would have appreciated that. 

Master Windu was looking critically down at Obi-Wan, who gazed up, slightly nervous. He wasn't quite sure what he did wrong this time. "I'm not a Master, you know." 

Obi-Wan froze. Kriff, that was right. Mace hadn't become a Master until he was twenty-eight, and it was only 948 ARR. He wouldn't be placed on the Council until 956 ARR and… kriff. He must have been silent too long, because he was poked in the arm.

"Are you sure you're alright? You seemed slightly… distracted today." Kriff it. He should have expected that they'd notice, but he wasn't thinking about looking normal. 

Obi-Wan smiled tightly. "I'm fine, Master." Yoda poked Obi-Wan in the knee with his gimer stick. 

"A Master, Knight Windu is not yet, young Obi-Wan. Why call him that, do you?" Obi-Wan blinked. What was he supposed to say to that? Why was it that his tongue only worked when it didn't really matter to him? It seemed to be malfunctioning.

"Initiate Kenobi? Are you alright?" Mace seemed as if he were about to poke Obi-Wan's shoulder, but was only refraining because he wasn't certain if he should. 

Obi-Wan shook himself free of his reverie. "Yeah, I'm fine. Masters. Ah, I just thought Master, ah,  Knight  Windu" and here Mace? Knight Windu? Master Windu? raised his eyebrow at Obi-Wan, "was a Master."

Obi-Wan winced when he realized what he had just said, which answered precisely nothing. It seemed that they too had recognized this, and Obi-Wan shot a glare at Mace- wait, no, he couldn't glare at his friend anymore because was an initiate right now, and now they were laughing at Obi-Wan, probably because his face had turned red and he was trying to stutter out apologies, and how embarrassing was that? 

Master Windu, which was what Obi-Wan had decided to call him, just patted him. "Relax, kid. Was it in your vision?" Obi-Wan gratefully took that escape route, nodding vigorously as he summoned the tea kettle into his hands because he needed his fix of tea right now, please. 

Yoda just hummed at him, reaching for the pot of tea, which Obi-Wan handed to him after a brief hesitation. 

"Your studies, going how are they?" Yoda asked. Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say. He grimaced, hiding his face behind his cup of tea. 

"They're fine, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan said, rather uncertain. Master Windu and Yoda exchanged another unreadable look, and Obi-Wan shifted in his seat again. He placed his cup of tea down, because something was shaking, and-

Obi-Wan gripped his elbows because his hands were shaking, and he wasn't sure what was happening. And he- 

Obi-Wan didn't like it. 

"Always in motion, the future is," Yoda spoke, his eyes seeming to see through Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan thrust his hands under the table, pulling out another package of Nib-Nib rice crackers so he could hold something. Obi-Wan nodded faintly, feeling rather sick, and the package opened with an obnoxiously loud tear. He winced.

Yoda tilted his head to look at Obi-Wan, who noted dully that Master Windu was scrutinizing Obi-Wan as well. "Know this, you do," Master Yoda murmured, an odd inflection in his statement, almost asking whether or not Obi-Wan knew that. Obi-Wan did, in fact, know that. He pulled a rice cracker out of the package and stuck it in his mouth, chewing and hiding his hands under the table again. He swallowed awkwardly, his mouth oddly dry and the crisp rice cracker bringing little respite. 

Yoda paused, and the silence was deafening to Obi-Wan. "A vision, you had."

Crunch.  Obi-Wan wondered when they'd get past the awkward statements. He nodded stiffly, even as he tried to relax. Bring his shoulders down and back. Breathe out. Chin up. 

"Know, you do, that the future in motion always is," Yoda told Obi-Wan. 

Crrrunch.  Obi-Wan nodded again, awkwardly and with a fairly accurate idea of the direction of the conversation.

Master Windu spoke up again. "Would you tell us what the vision was?" Obi-Wan almost laughed, but refrained from doing so, his mouth still full of crackers and unwilling to spray them with bits of rice. He swallowed, shaking his head again. 

"But bothered you, it did," Yoda stated, with the air of someone about to give a lecture, and Obi-Wan handed the half of him that had bet on the direction of this conversation approximately half a dozen cubic meters of nothing. "A vision, it was." Obi-Wan nodded tiredly. He had heard this lecture at least ten times. 

Crunch. "In motion, the future is. But when allow our fear to dictate our actions, we do, find only pain we will." 

Cruunch. Master Windu, apparently taking Obi-Wan's lack of an answer as a misunderstanding, spoke up. "Think of it as a- a- sort of cause and effect sort of thing." Obi-Wan didn't laugh, although he was amused at Master Windu's apparent awkwardness with younglings. 

"Imagine Master Yoda planted a meiloorun," Master Windu said, evidently trying to come up with some initiate-friendly form of explaining visions. Obi-Wan, however, had rather unfortunately heard so many versions of this that he knew precisely where this would be going. He'd pay attention though, if only to make Master Windu feel better. Obi-Wan didn't think he would want to make him feel so bad, because being electrocuted by a Sith Lord was not the best way to go.

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, and, encouraged, Master Windu continued. “Imagine Master Yoda planted the meiloorun because he had a vision that meilooruns went extinct the next day." 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow incredulously. This was not the conventional way of explaining things, but that was fine. 

"And imagine that he needed another meiloorun from the past so he could, ah, pollinate the meilooruns so they'd flower and do whatever plants do." Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. Even if he didn't need the lesson, he certainly needed to remember this moment. He never knew Mace was so awkward. 

"So imagine that Master Yoda harnessed the Force to go back in time and save all the endangered meilooruns," Obi-Wan blinked at Master Windu and his ludicrous explanation, "and went to a man who sold meiloorun saplings. But, unbeknownst to Master Yoda," Master Windu said with a sidelong glance at the aforementioned Master Yoda, "the meiloorun vendor is really a fugitive on the run from a bunch of bounty hunters!" It seemed that Master Windu was getting quite invested in this story, for he was gesticulating wildly and was either wilfully ignorant of the look that Master Yoda was giving him or simply hadn't noticed. "And so this bounty hunter, the foremost destroyer of meilooruns in the galaxy you see, takes a grenade and blows up the entire stall! The vendor dies-" here, Master Yoda shot a glare at Master Windu for telling a story to a youngling that included someone being blown up and dying- "ahem, he is gravely injured but survives, but all of the meiloorun saplings are blown up! Ka-bam!" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at this. "But then, with the protector of the meilooruns in the hospital, the bounty hunter destroys all of the meiloorun saplings in the galaxy, and Master Yoda, returning to his own time, finds that his meiloorun sapling is gone! Destroyed by the very same bounty hunters that blew up the vendor!" Mace finished dramatically, his hands miming an explosion and looking at them as if he were waiting for some sort of acknowledgment of his very riveting story with an altogether implausible and illogical plot.

"Understand any of that, I did not," muttered Master Yoda grouchily. Master Windu slumped. 

"I didn't really know what I was saying either," Mace grumbled. "But the intended point is, visions may not always be true, or mean that you have to act. The Force chooses to show us these things, but it's not necessarily telling us to act on it. And we also shouldn't disregard common sense to act on it, either. It is better, in the end, to speak with another about it and check if there is any  real  risk of one's vision occurring, and if there is, people should explore more probably alternatives instead of-"

"Traveling back in time, Master Windu?" Obi-Wan filled in.

"Precisely. If Master Yoda had chosen to search for other meiloorun trees without traveling back in time he wouldn't have inadvertently led to the destruction of all meilooruns in the galaxy." 

Obi-Wan shrugged. "How would time travel work, though? Did Master Yoda will it, or is it as the Force wills? And if it is as the Force wills, then why did it lead to the destruction of all the meilooruns? Was that what the Force willed, then?"

Master Windu looked lost for words, but Master Yoda jumped in. "Think, I do, that while exist, time travel does not," and here Obi-Wan stopped himself from giggling at that statement, "involved to an extent, the individual will is. Make us do the right thing, the Force cannot, but help us on our path it can. Only so much, the Force can change. Help us, it can. Hinder us, it can. But in the end, our choices, determine they do the course of our future."

Obi-Wan nodded, reaching out for the pot of tea. Mace spoke again, probably doubting the effectiveness of their message. "I think the important thing to remember is that the future is always in motion, and before acting on any vision you have, it's important to talk about it. Visions are notorious for their- ah-  questionable reliability ." 

Obi-Wan looked up, searching Master Windu's face for any sign of deception. "Do you believe in time travel, Masters?" 

Master Yoda answered again. "Believe I do, that in the Force, possible, all things are." 

Obi-Wan searched his face. "Do you really believe that, though?"

"Pass judgement on that which has not yet passed, I cannot. Determine what to believe, I will, when come to us it does. For a matter of faith and trust, belief is, and decide I cannot, when know I do not both the messenger and the matter." 

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze. "Yes, Masters. I will remember this."

An awkward silence ensued until Obi-Wan could not stand it anymore. He felt as though every part of him was itching, and he tucked his arms into his sleeves, clenching his hands around his arms, so that his nails bit into his forearms, just to distract himself from the itch beneath his skin, from the need to run and continue running, until he had exhausted all of the blood-stained earth that passed beneath his feet. 

They must have noticed something, sitting in the tense silence as they drank tea, clearly unsure what to say next, for Master Windu stood. "I will return young Obi-Wan to the créches." Obi-Wan jumped up in relief, and followed Master Windu out of Master Yoda's quarters, taking two steps for every step that Master Windu took. It felt as though every step he took freed the sensation of being trapped, and he shook his hands out of sleeves as they proceeded towards the créches.

—————————————

Daesha gazed fondly at the chaos that reigned free in the créche; snacktime was soon, and she had something special planned for her young charges. If only Master Yoda and Knight Windu would return little Obi-Wan soon, she could give it to them. She had obtained some cookies from a friend returning from a mission on Ukio, and a grateful shopkeeper had given him a box of homemade cookies that he was unable to refuse- she had tried some, and she found that they were delicious, had no alcohol in them or any sort of ingredient that wasn't kid-appropriate, and decided that her clan would appreciate such culinary genius. 

"Look, Master Lunai," Emana cried happily, her dark blue tentacles flying after her as she jumped freely over the haphazard tower of building blocks her créchemates were levitating into place. Daesha laughed at the drawing of the entire créche and its inhabitants, all smiling happily and with some extra features. Daesha herself was holding a lightsaber that extended to the ceiling, and Emana was holding a long pole with a flag at the end, silk and fluttering in the most likely non-existent breeze with the symbol of the Jedi Order printed messily on it. 

"That's wonderful, little Emana! Well done! You might be an artist someday," Daesha said fondly. 

Emana puffed herself up. "I'll be a Jedi Knight first!" 

Sachi, a male Mikkian youngling with yellow skin tripped over a recently-thrown wobble-ball in his haste to reach them. "Yeah, we all are! But that doesn't mean you can't be an artist too. We can be more than one thing, right, Master Lunai?" Daesha laughed, picking them both up and settling them on her lap.

"That's true, Sachi. But you have to enjoy it, and work hard at it too." Sachi laughed as if that were the most obvious thing. 

"Of course, Master Lunai. But we'll get there someday, right?" 

Daesha was spared the trouble of answering when Quinlan spotted her, lunging for her legs. "Group hugs!" The tower of building blocks was knocked over as she was swarmed by her clan, to which she gave a very generous hug. 

They were still on the floor, piled up comfortably and very warmly when Knight Windu walked into the room, accompanied by Obi-Wan. Bant and Quinlan were the first to get up, closely followed by Garen. 

"Obi! We thought you'd never return." Obi-Wan laughed, but something about his laugh seemed a bit hollow. Daesha narrowed her eyes at Knight Windu, who smiled faintly at her, jabbing his thumb at the exit. Daesha nodded her permission, trusting that he hadn't been so foolish as to upset one of her charges. 

When their greetings were finished, and they had reached out to tug Obi-Wan over to the puppy pile- he had flinched when they reached towards him, she noticed, but had relaxed almost immediately- Daesha clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.

"We have an extra special snack from Knight Istar today-" a rousing cheer came up from the younglings "-and I expect you all to thank him when he comes around next." They all nodded fervently, and she pulled out the box of cookies. "Half a cookie each. We must make sure everyone gets one." They all surged forward, reaching happily for their pre-cut cookies, and taking, as she had said, half a cookie each.

They were all laughing, chewing happily, and Obi-Wan, who she now doubted was as sorrowful as she had thought before, had grabbed his half and was sitting with his friends. They were laughing at some joke he had made, and Daesha took a cookie-half, watching over the créche and soaking in the happiness that suffused the air.

She turned in surprise when an astounding amount of sorrow poured out of one of the younglings- Obi-Wan, she realized, as she hurried toward him. 

He was crying, sobbing really, over his half-finished cookie, the piece held in his loose hand. Daesha knelt in front of him. "What's wrong, Obi-Wan?" 

He simply shook his head, still crying stormily.

Daesha gathered him up into her arms, his friends watching in concern. "It's just that-" Obi-Wan continued to cry, his little hands clenched around her tabards and not feeling like anything at all in the Force. 

"It's just that?" Daesha rubbed his back. 

"They're such delicious cookies, Master Lunai," Obi-Wan cried. "They make everyone so happy." 

Daesha nodded. "They do, Obi-Wan." He simply sobbed. 

He tightened his grip on her robes, as though she would disappear. "I've never had such delicious cookies, and they make everyone so happy." Daesha nodded, still trying to comfort him but unsure how to. 

"They make everyone so happy." 

Chapter Text

Cody was sitting in the cockpit, watching the lights in the cockpit as they glowed peacefully. Jango had left to get some food, and Cody, having said he knew perfectly well how to pilot a ship, please and thank you, was promptly put in charge of making sure they didn't fly into a planet because of some Force-ordained bad luck. His recollection of painfully implausible events (that did, unfortunately, happen) was rudely interrupted by Jango, cheerfully entering the cockpit. "Cot'ika!" Jango yelled as he scooped Cody up and flipped him upside down. Cody protested, trying to push Jango off of his feet, but was unable to do anything about it. He hated being so small. Jango flipped Cody the right side up again and set him down, grinning. "I got some food. But Jas'buir is up, and he says that once we get back to the citadel in Keldabe, he got one of the best surgeons to help you. With your uh, chip, I mean." Jango's cheerfulness had tapered off into something… less euphoric. Cody, certainly, wasn't sure what to think. He was more than ready to get the chip off his head, and he scratched absentmindedly at his temple. He'd be getting his chip out, the thing that had caused so much pain. 

But at the same time, Cody wasn't sure what to do after that. Getting his chip out, of course, had been the priority. But then the Mand'alor himself had adopted Cody, and now Cody wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. How he was supposed to act. He would, he supposed, figure it out on the way. 

Jango must have seen some of the apprehension on his face- and how different this Jango was from The Prime, for he pulled out a crinkly package, opening it with a loud crackle, and pulled out two small packages. He held one up triumphantly. "Nib-Nib rice crackers!" He tossed one package to Cody, who caught it deftly and tore it open. Obi-Wan had told him General Windu enjoyed Nib-Nib rice crackers, and that if he needed help with any sort of minor bribing, he ought to use Nib-Nib rice crackers. Cody wanted to know if they were good. Jango was already munching on his crackers, cheerfully, and so Cody took a large bite from his cracker. It was… quite good, really. Savory, crunchy, and the cracker was quite puffy. He grinned up at Jango.

"Vor'e, ori'vod," Cody said through a full mouth of cracker. Jango beamed back at him, taking the pilot's seat and spinning around in it. Cody took his seat next to him, still munching peacefully on the rice crackers. They must have been sitting there for a while, watching the stars fly past in blinding streaks of bright white because Jaster had come over to spin Jango's chair around as fast as he could. Which was, apparently, quite fast. 

Jango fell, indignant, out of the pilot's seat. Jaster just laughed, pulling Jango up and sitting down. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace soon, Jan'ika. Make sure you take a seat." Jango looked around, and Cody had no time to react before Jango scooped Cody up, sitting down in what used to be Cody's seat and settling Cody on top of his lap. Cody twisted around, affronted, even as Jaster began to laugh, deep and comforting and filled with mirth. Cody started to giggle too, and Jango patted his head once he started to calm down. Cody, reminded of his vode, especially his batchmates, could not help but relax. It was comforting now, to be touched so gently. The stormtroopers, those osi'yaim hut'uune, thought they were better than Cody and his vode. In his time as a trainer, he had taken great care to try to beat such delusions out of their heads. They had truly needed it, those arrogant bastards.

As they dropped out of hyperspace, dozens of other ships dropped out with them. Cody craned his neck to get a better view of Manda'yaim, because when he had come with Obi-Wan to protect the Duchess Kryze, he didn't have time to appreciate it, and he didn't care overmuch at that time. Mandalore was not the home of his vode. How could it be, when it had abandoned them. But now, it was to be his home, and Cody hoped he could at least care for it. The planet was… beige. Or white, depending. It looked as if someone had taken a photograph of a planet and edited it so that it was monochromatic. Just… bleached, Cody supposed. Scrubbed clean with a military-grade cleaning agent, the one they used to get rid of bloodstains. 

Jaster noticed the direction of Cody's gaze. "Manda'yaim wasn't always a desert. After the Ruusan Reformations, the expansion of our power prompted the Republic and the Jetiise to organize a preemptive strike on Mandalorian space. The planetary bombardment crippled many of our worlds, and much of Manda'yaim remains barren." Cody nodded. Obi-Wan had told him as much, but it was different to hear it from Jaster. It was more personal, now. 

Jango shifted under him, adding, "It also led to the formation of those Evaar'ade. Di'kute." Jaster grimaced. 

"I wouldn't phrase it like that," Jaster said diplomatically. "The New Mandalorians are perfectly entitled to their beliefs. We can compromise on many subjects, and it results in more thoroughly thought out policies that satisfy more of our people, and trying to avoid conflict on more minor things has helped. Besides, our economy does need to be built up again. They just-"

Jango interrupted. "They just make our lives harder, what with their refusal to fight. I understand not wanting to fight, but not even learning how to defend themselves? That's just- just- jare'la." Jaster shrugged, but the corners of his lips were struggling upward. 

"We'll be landing soon, kih'adate. "

At this, Jango grumbled. "I'm not small." Cody almost laughed out loud. It was almost impossible to think of Jango, this Jango, as The Prime. He was more like one of his vode, not one of the trainers. And it was easier this way, too. 

"Buir, can I do the landing?" Jaster laughed. 

"'Lek, Jango. Make sure you don't fall off the landing platform this time, though. It took me ages to get the sand out of the ship." Jango groaned, but happily took Jaster's seat. Jaster unceremoniously hefted Cody in his arms, utterly cheerful as he pulled on the seatbelt. "Jango's practicing his landings," Jaster said smugly. Cody snickered, even as Jango groaned. 

The landing was quite smooth though, and the ship didn't fall off of the landing platform. Jaster deposited Cody on the floor of the ship, pulling on his buy'ce and turning to Cody as they approached the boarding ramp. He grinned at him, and Cody followed him out of the ship. 

Cody's first impression of Keldabe was very different from Sundari. Keldabe had no graceful arches, no stained glass buildings, no glittering reinforced frames. It was as if someone had taken parts of dozens of cities, cut buildings out of them, then threw them all together in a hodgepodge of color and textures. It was organized, Cody thought, but not by any conventional standards. He found that he rather liked the effect- there were bits of green sticking out between the buildings, vibrant and colorful and bold, and Jango tugged on Cody's hand. 

"Come, Cot'ika. You gotta get settled in the palace!" Jango looked back at Jaster, who shrugged.

"We have to get Cody settled in anyway, and I checked, we can't start mobilizing, but I asked Kayli to call in what verde she could. Myles is doing the same. We'll be ready when I can convince the Evaar'ade to launch an offensive. And," Jaster said, turning to Cody, "we might have time to get Cody's chip out." Cody stilled at this. As they proceeded up the path that led away from the docks, Jaster spoke again, a bit awkwardly. "I would take you in a speeder, but I wanted Cody to see some of the city, and I have clearance to use the docks at the citadel. I thought we could walk."

Jango laughed. "It's fine, Buir. It's nice." Cody nodded his agreement. They were walking up a path, paved with some sort of stone and edged with greenery. As they approached the top, Cody could see what must have been the citadel, for it was walled in, sharp edges made into an image that Cody thought he would know if he saw it from above. It was on a cliff, Cody noted, and it seemed to drop off very suddenly. 

"The Kelita River surrounds Keldabe. It's a sort of natural defense, but the citadel is placed at the top of the hill," Jaster informed Cody.

Jango nodded enthusiastically. "A bit more random trivia, if you will. People don't know what made the cliff that the citadel is walled in by, but some people say there was a sea here once. There's salt on the side of the bluff, so those people think it's because there was a sea. But others say that the salt comes from the tears of those that survived the Dral'Han, and that their tears were enough to bleach the side of the bluffs white, and that their tears were so numerous that they poured enough salt into the ground here," Jango pointed at the top of the hill, "that nothing will ever grow there again. And plants don't grow at the top of the hill unless we import soil or something, so there you go." 

Cody wasn't sure what to say to that.

As they passed the gates, the guards standing at the entrance placed their fists over their hearts. 

"Mand'alor," they said together. Jaster laughed, crossing his fist over his heart. 

"It's good to see you too, Shiji, Mabat." Cody thought they were smiling, but they turned back to scanning the horizon dutifully, and Jaster continued greeting those that saw him. 

"Shiji has an ik'aad. She says her riduur wants another ad, but she says they might adopt," Jaster told them.

"That's what Silas says too." Jaster nodded in gratification, again saluting the pair of guards flanking the entrance to the palace. Cody followed Jaster and Jango, through the wide halls, silently mapping out the turns and halls that they passed. When they took a right, Jaster spoke again, cutting off Jango's enthusiastic explanation of the murals on the wall, which Cody found quite interesting. 

"This is where the Mand'alor and their family's quarters are, although since it's only the three of us now, there's plenty of space. My ba'vodu doesn't stay in the citadel, he says it's boring. So the only question remaining is which room you want. Most of the rooms are interconnected, so you'll still have us close if you want. But there's more than enough space in our suites for you to move in. It's up to you," Jaster said kindly. Cody was quite unsure, though. He was used to sleeping with other people- he was a soldier, after all, and the Empire didn't have enough space for regular soldiers, especially clones, to have separate rooms. But at the same time, it might trouble them less if he slept alone. Some of his indecision must have shown on his face, however, and Jango pulled him along through some doors. Wearing a buy'ce all the time was bad for your sabacc face, Cody thought. 

"Cody can sleep in my room until he decides, Buir. Besides, it means I can make sure he's doing alright." Cody let himself be pulled along through the door, followed by a very amused Jaster, and looked around his room for the foreseeable future. There was a bed in the corner, relatively large but not excessively so, and posters on the wall of various worlds and their flora and fauna. There was an especially large poster of a mythosaur, and another small clay figurine of a mythosaur, complete with glue-on googly eyes and a drawn-on handlebar moustache. Cody snickered faintly at the sight, and Jango cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ceramics was an elective, and I was really young, and I made this… so, you know. I was young," he said defensively. Cody just giggled some more at Jango's embarrassment, turning around to admire the room, which was bright and welcoming. 

"We'll have to get you a bed, and some more clothes. We can't have you walking around in Jango's old clothes, anyway." Cody looked up, shrugging. 

"It's fine, Buir. It's not a priority, and these are really comfortable," Cody said truthfully, pulling at the soft cloth. It was soft and better than his blacks. Jaster frowned slightly but nodded. 

"We can get more clothes later, then. For now, I will see if I can convince them to conduct an attack on Concordia, and Jango will show you around." Jango grinned in excitement, tugging on Cody's hand, and he proceeded to show Cody around the entirety of the citadel, which was quite large and seemed to be structured around a series of concentric circles. The outermost ones were for quarters, then dining areas and the kitchen, and then as one proceeded toward the center there were several branching wings, one of which was the wing for the Mand'alor and their aliit, which Cody was now a part of, then an armory, which was enormous and very well built and governed by a very busy Devaronian who had greeted them and then promptly told them to leave, or else. Jango had also taken Cody to see the various training grounds that were dispersed throughout the citadel. Cody supposed it was convenient. Jango informed Cody that most meetings were conducted in the Council room, and not the actual throne room which was mostly for show. He also, to Cody's surprise, showed him to the less essential but also very nice parts of the citadel, all of which Cody would have had to find through many hours of exploration. 

Cody's favorite, however, was the smaller star map room, which was small and peaceful and out of the way, and required one to climb many steep and crooked stairs to access it. Cody almost felt as though whoever made those stairs did so on purpose, for no one could mess up that badly. Jango was mostly done with showing Cody around the citadel, and Cody decided to turn on the projector, sitting with his legs crossed as he stared up at the blue dots and the larger planets. Jango groaned and flopped down beside him, slinging an arm around a very tired Cody.

"This is one of my favorite rooms, too," Jango murmured as he reached out for the controller. "I like looking at the maps of Wild Space. There's not a lot of it mapped, but what is recorded," Jango flicked through the Cadavine sector, "it's- is… less crowded, I guess." Cody nodded, and Jango placed the controller in Cody's hands. Cody flicked through dozens of maps, the blue glow tinting the white-washed room a pale, ice-cold blue. 

Cody was lying on his back, his vode at his side.

"Kote, d'you reckon someone else is watching the same stars we are right now?" Cody grimaced.

"Alpha, I told you, it's Cody. Call me Cody." Wolffe punched Alpha-17 in the shoulder. 

Alpha shoved Wolffe back but hefted himself back onto his elbows to look at Cody. "Why Cody, though? The Prime calls you Kote, 'cause you do so well in the battle simulations. You're a CC, isn't that good, Kote?" Cody glowered at Alpha.

"It just feels like he's mocking me, Alpha." Like the Prime was calling him glory, foolish, and too little too late. It felt like the Prime was mocking him and his vode, making a competition out of his name, telling Cody that he was going to fail anyway, but he still had his useless kote after the fact. 

"Fine, Cody. Then call me '17," Alpha told Cody. 

"Sure, '17. I'll call you whatever you want. Doesn't mean I care, though." Alpha fell back on his back with a thud, tucking his hands under his head.

"Fair, CC." Ponds snarled at Alpha, but they couldn't fight. It wasn't after curfew, but if they were caught out here, it might be marked against them as another irregularity, another reason to decommission them. But it had stopped raining, miraculously, so they had snuck out to watch the stars again. They didn't want to get caught, but they technically wouldn't get decommissioned for sneaking out. They would be decommissioned after they couldn't remember who else had snuck out with them. Faulty memory, they had said, when Cody and Wolffe asked about CC-2223. 

Cody started at the sound of someone coming up the maintenance ladder, looking around for somewhere to hide, but the generator was too far away, and he glanced at his vode, who looked equally panicked. Kriffing hells. Cody never should have come up here. 

And even as he panicked, looking around for someplace to hide, wishing now that he was older and knew what to do in this situation- Alpha had mysteriously vanished, and Cody understood Alpha had to save his own shebs but still hated him for it, the cover popped open to reveal a small blond head. Cody froze in his footsteps, because that wasn't a longneck. 

As the small blond cadet hefted himself up, Cody recognized one of his vode, and he paused, along with his batchmates, to watch the kid as he shut the cover behind him. When he looked at Cody, he froze, and Cody recognized one of the CT models. Not a CC, because his clothes didn't have that short blue stripe.

He raised his head defiantly, responding to the looks of incredulity that they must have been leveling his way. "I heard you guys talking and I wanted to follow. They decommissioned my batchmates, so," he shrugged, "what else do I have to lose?" 

Wolffe inspected the cadet, who didn't move at all under his scrutiny. He challenged Cody and his batchmates to say anything. Grey shrugged.

"The only thing that could happen is that he led the longnecks to us. But if he was good enough to follow us without being spotted, we should be fine." Cody wouldn't have made it through his training if he was just as flippant towards any sort of danger, but he found he had to agree with Grey. Besides, he was the first CT to sneak out, to the best of their knowledge, and Cody felt kind of bad for the cadet. They saw other clones, sometimes, whose whole batches had been decommissioned. They usually didn't last long, even as they tried to help. 

Cody shrugged, gesturing for him to join them. He settled back down, lying on his back as the clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring their previously unblocked view of the stars. Alpha was nowhere to be seen, and Cody found he didn't mind his absence. 

The CT spoke up beside him. "I'm CT-7567. But I want to be called Rex." Cody shrugged and slung an arm around Rex's shoulders. Rex was one of their vode, and Cody felt that he had to try his very best, this time, just in case he could help, just this once. He tugged Rex unceremoniously into the pile of vode, and Cody could not help his laughter as Rex tried to get up and found several limbs tugging him back down. 

"Sorry, Rex. But we're relaxing right now, 'cause we can't use the star map room right now, but we can watch these stars." 

Cody felt Rex relax next to them. Rex spoke again. "They look nicer out here than in the map room." 

"They really do," Wolffe muttered. 

"When the Jedi come for us, d'you reckon we'll see more stars?"

Cody laughed. "Of course. That's what all the pilot training's for. Can't fly without seeing the stars." Rex reached out, his hand twisting to form a starship, which hovered in their sight. Thire added some sound effects, and Rex pretended that the ship had entered hyperspace. 

"That'll be us, someday," Rex murmured. "Someday we will get away from this place, see all the planets."

Ponds laughed beside Cody. "We won't see all the planets. There are thousands of them."

Cody nudged Ponds lightly. "Relax. We're here to watch the stars, which we won't be able to do in a while. It only stops raining once in a million days here." 

Rex frowned at Cody. "You're lying," he told Cody rather severely.

Cody shrugged. "I'm exaggerating. But I'm not so far off of the truth. Besides, relax and enjoy. As long as we're careful, we won't get caught."

"I caught you guys." Cody could hear the sass in Rex's voice. He liked him already. 

"Shush, Rex. We're relaxing, like Cody said," muttered Ponds. Cody groaned but relaxed onto his back. It seemed he would be forever surrounded by sarcastic, di'kutla vode. He couldn't help his laughter, but he made sure to muffle it with his shirt, so it wasn't too loud. It never hurt to be careful. 

Jango's comm chose that moment to buzz, distracting Cody from the Distinct Lack Of Rex, and it was then that Cody realized that Jango had put his comm ringtone on a Winter Festival song. He snickered, but Jango only shot him a slightly embarrassed glance before opening the message. Holographic letters popped up over Jango's arm, scrolling down as he read it. 

Jango stood up immediately. "I need to get to the Council room," he muttered. He frowned as he looked back at Cody, who scowled. 

"I'm coming too, ori'vod. And you're not stopping me." Cody tried to give his best glare at Jango, but it seemed that it only induced more laughter. Jango scrutinized his face, which was set with determination, and very clearly not about to agree to anything. 

Jango grimaced."I can't really stop you from coming. I'll just blame it on you when buir asks about it."

Cody snickered, taking the stairs two at a time and jumping down the last four. "I'm fine with that." 

Jango could only follow Cody until he paused at a mural of a hunting jai'galaar that split into two featureless hallways. Jango snickered, gesturing to the right.

"It's this way," he told Cody, who grumbled incoherently and fell in line beside him. 

—————————————

Jaster watched as Jango pulled Cody away. He was glad that they had gotten along so well, although he wasn't quite sure what Cody knew about the Jango of his- past? Future? But then, he had not missed the fact that he had died on Korda VI the last time around, so maybe Jango wouldn't end up as the progenitor of an entire clone army. That would be highly preferable.

Jaster shook himself, heading towards the Council, where he probably needed to speak to some of the di'kute there. He sent a quick comm to the rest of the chieftains, who were already in the citadel, according to Kayli, who had sent him a comm upon his arrival explaining that everyone had already arrived and that they were waiting on him to start yelling at each other in a special room. How delightful.

He pulled on his buy'ce, determined to beat Kyr'tsad, of course, but also to save the ade they had taken, whose buire they had murdered. He took his seat at the front of the room, at the center of the semi-circular stone table. He watched as the various chieftains entered the room. When done properly, such observations could be quite amusing. For example, Chieftain Janli, a particularly stout (she had suffered a permanent injury in the field and now served her clan through her words) and very kind lady, was pursued into the Council rooms by an angry nuna during a very memorable meeting. Jaster still wasn't sure where the nuna came from, or why it was angry, but he knew he hadn't imagined it. He still had holos. And there was that other time when Aves had to take his ad to a council meeting- it happened sometimes when their ad needed looking after and they had a meeting- and it was usually very cute. However, this time, his ad decided she needed an emotional support tooka, and she was still around three standard, so the meeting quickly devolved into communal tooka patting. It was, in Jaster's opinion, a very productive Council meeting if one considered it from the lens of mental health. It was not, however, a very productive meeting when they came back the next day to try and finish all of the trade agreements that they had (somehow) not gotten to the previous day. And there was that other time a very young Jango, just before an informal Winter Festival, placed a few buckets of green paint above the door so that whoever came in first would be utterly drenched. Jaster, by virtue of being Jango's buir, was privy to such information and had come in through the back door with Jango in order to record the poor soul that walked through the door. It just so happened that poor Adonai, who decided to show some Winter Festival spirit and dress up in some very fuzzy clothing and an extra hat with a pom on the top, came to the meeting early and was utterly drenched in green paint. He had later asserted that he did not seek revenge when he drenched Jango in bright gold paint, but Jaster was too busy laughing to remind Adonai that he had picked the worst possible color to support his claim. 

As all of the chieftains entered the room, Jaster could not help but compare the somber, grim silence that pervaded the room to the easier meetings, before Kyr'tsad had decided to announce its continued existence. 

As Chieftain Alann entered the room, looking rather harried, or as harried as someone in full beskar'gam could look, Jaster stood, deciding that he needed to convince the Chieftains to take action very quickly, if they could save those ade. 

He shifted his papers around, clearing his throat and hoping that he could make, at the very least, a coherent speech. He had, of course, made a speech in preparation for this, but it wasn't as if plans changed. He found it easier to outline what he wanted to say- ensuring that he did not forget anything, but also allowing him some leeway if it needed to change, which it usually did. Jaster had found that this method worked quite well, and he liked to think that his propensity for procrastination as a young man- not so much that he was unable to do his duty well, but enough so that he had plenty of experience in executing mostly thought out plans. "As you all know, I have called this council into session because we have found evidence of both Kyr'tsad's continued existence and the fact that they continue to promote their own version of the Resol'nare, particularly to ade. I felt that it was neither right nor effective that I should immediately call for us to mobilize our ramikade, if only because a significant portion of this council desires to establish a peace of sorts with Kyr'tsad." Jaster winced inwardly. He could have phrased that better, but then, the show must go on. "At the same time, I believe it is necessary, more than anything, to come to a quick resolution. As you all know, we believe that Kyr'tsad has been kidnapping ade, after they kill their buire. While we cannot say what they do with the ade that they kidnap, it is still necessary to prevent Kyr'tsad's growth. In the past, records of Kyr'tsad's egregious war crimes, where they exhibited a reckless lack of compassion or principle in their willingness to use prisoners, ade, and aliit as leverage, as well as their indiscriminate and wanton destruction of civilian targets, indicate a certain level of immorality, and one that we believed we ended with Tor's death." Jaster winced inwardly at that. "Given Tor's reappearance as leader of Kyr'tsad, and his subsequent death," Jaster allowed himself a small, inward sigh of relief at that, "it would be logical, if not prudent, to assume that Kyr'tsad will continue these crimes, in pursuit of dominance in both Manda'yaim and throughout the galaxy, advocating their twisted version of the Resol'nare, for the same pursuit of power.

Following the recent evidence of Kyr'tsad's continued existence, and the location of their current operations, it would be an effective measure, not to mention expedient, to organize a strike force to prevent Kyr'tsad's growth. And the need for speed is vital because the ade that Kyr'tsad kidnapped must be found, and while I recognize that the desire for a peaceful resolution is legitimate, we cannot allow for a delay. The government, as an entity, has great power to do good, as an overarching institution that can implement laws and policies that can benefit our people, but, operated by living beings, cannot be perfect. And we do not require a perfect resolution, for there is none. We must do that which is required by the civilians whose lives are affected by Kyr'tsad, and for those peoples who will be affected in the very, very near future by violence. I have no desire for the eradication of a people, but I have a desire to prevent the inevitable conflict that will arise from Kyr'tsad's desire for power. And so I must emphasize the need for speed, for those who have already been hurt by what Kyr'tsad has wrought, but also for those who will be hurt. No matter what we use to bring peace, we shall fight for the things we have always carried nearest to our hearts, for our language, for the defense of our people and our aliit, for our ade, and in the end, for a united Manda'yaim."

Jaster stood still, attempting to gauge the response. He was aware, of course, that the Council knew he would greatly prefer to launch an attack on Kyr'tsad very soon. Although Pre was still young, he was quite capable of rallying Kyr'tsad, and it would be Jaster's luck if he turned up with the remaining Kyr'tsad ramikade and decided to try to overthrow Jaster. And, perhaps he was a bit too cynical, but he lacked faith in Pre's ability to keep a peace treaty. Pre had nothing to gain from it, after all. Kyr'tsad needed nothing that Jaster could give them, and they wanted nothing that peace could give them.

From the mix of words that Jaster could pick up, however, he thought that most of the council would be at least amenable to considering a military attack. Or at the very least, they could decide not to do something fun and quirky, like trying to do a prisoner exchange, like last time. That went incredibly well.

Aves stood, and Jaster took a seat again, watching. "I should think that we all agree our Mand'alor is correct, and that we must decide our course of action quickly. However," and Jaster suddenly remembered why Aves had been so good at hand-to-hand combat, "it would be foolish to believe that any attempt at convincing Kyr'tsad to accept peace will fail. Anyone attempting to tell themselves as much is only deceiving themselves, and we all are aware of the consequences in the case of our failure." Jaster almost sighed in relief. Maybe he should get Aves a plate of those custard buns that he liked so much. 

As the room erupted into conversation, leaving Jaster to deal with the rapid-fire conversations, and occasionally forcing him to deal with any number of arguments, he received a comm from Jango. 

I gave Cody a full tour of the citadel, he's doing better, I think. We're currently at the star map room. Do you need anything? 

Jaster's lips tugged upwards as he read Jango's comm. They were coming to a reluctant agreement, and it seemed as though Jaster would get his way with the council, this time. He nearly groaned in relief as the Evaar'ade agreed to an armed attack of Kyr'tsad's bases on Concordia, with some conditions. They mostly fell under the category of, do not kill people that do not need to be killed. Jaster didn't necessarily disagree, but it would make his job slightly harder. They were going to prevent as many deaths as possible- they needed to get the ade out of the Kyr'tsad base, after all, and that included not blowing up the entire mountain. 

Jaster pulled up his comm as they came to a consensus, sending a quick message to Jango.

Can you get to the council room? We've decided on armed action against Kyr'tsad, and I would like for you to be here. We just need to decide on a strategy. See what Cody wants to do, but I think it would be awkward to bring him. He's very young, and that might not help with the planning. 

Jaster grimaced in his knowledge that Cody was unlikely to hang back, and continued wrangling the Council into agreement.

Chapter Text

Jaster looked up as the Council Room doors opened, pleased. He could see the paint of Jango's buy'ce amidst the colors of the chieftains. As Jango approached him, however, discontented muttering broke out and Jaster looked up to see what the matter was, only to be greeted with young Cody's visage. He suppressed a groan, dragging a free hand down his face. It seemed that Cody knew precisely what he was doing to Jaster's sanity, for a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Jaster's pain only grew as the Council began muttering in confusion and discontent when they caught sight of Cody, in all of his three-and-a-half foot glory. He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands because that would be undignified . Jango was grimacing, walking stiffly down the stairs even as Cody skipped down, seemingly unconcerned. Jaster needed to see what he could do about this before the Council, especially the Evaar'ade , whipped themselves into discontent at the sight of a not-quite-child in a war chamber. 

When Cody reached Jaster, he vaulted onto his desk, saluting neatly and standing at attention. "Jango said you called him to the Council chambers, and so, here we are." Jaster nearly groaned in exasperation. Cody clearly knew what he was doing, and the confused murmuring grew in volume. 

Jaster picked Cody up under his arms, and he hung from his hands limply, utterly relaxed. Jango greeted Jaster with an almost identical look of exasperation. "Cot'ika, you probably shouldn't be here." 

Cody glared at him and muttered something under his breath. Jaster had a pretty good idea of what he said, however. And before Jaster could stop him, Cody turned around, stole the microphone, and addressed the Council at large. 

" Su cuy'gar . I am aware that I look like a child," and here his face scrunched up in irritation, and Jaster just buried his face in his hands again after a failed attempt at stopping whatever bombshell Cody would drop on the Council, "and I am one, but I have spent the majority of my life training for warfare, and I would hate for my childhood to be in vain, so you all will allow me to help with this because I know what I'm doing and you all look like you probably haven't waged a large-scale war in a while." Jaster unburied his face to do damage control, but the damage was already done. The chieftains had begun to clamor, not least because it was inappropriate to allow a child (although Cody wasn't a child) to help with war planning. It simply wasn't done. Learning self-defense was not the same as learning how to plan a war, and Cody knew that and called them all out on it, but he wasn't very delicate about it. 

Cody turned around to face Jaster, who had unburied his face and was now working his jaw, trying to figure out what to say. He eventually decided to capitulate, but carefully, just in case Cody thought that his damned puppy eyes would work more than once. Jaster didn't know what he would have to face when he adopted Cody.  

"Cody, it's not appropriate for an ad to help with war planning- it's simply not done. And I understand both your desire to help and your ability to, but-" 

Kryze had interrupted Jaster, concern apparent in his eyes. "It's not right for a child to be helping with a war effort, even for our more militant groups, excepting Kyr'tsad . We don't promote the use of ade in warfare, even if the child in question may be more experienced."

Cody grinned happily. "But that's precisely the point, sir. I'm more experienced in planning and waging a war than all of you, which you have just agreed is possible. So it would make sense, especially because my participation is completely voluntary, to let me help you." Jaster sat back in his chair to let Cody do the convincing. He was certainly stubborn enough, anyway. Cody gazed back at the Council, many of whom were staring at him in disbelief.

Jaster, who saw it fit to intervene now in order to save time (they were still on a Very Important Mission), spoke up. "I know some of what Cody has told me, and his military training-" and here Jaster's voice grew slightly strained "-is likely greater than ours, especially in the context of the limited scope of our recent military campaigns. As much as it pains me to allow an ad in military operations, Cody is willing and more than able to help us." Cody beamed up at Jaster, who could only muster a faint smile in return, but whose heart flipped a little to know he had Cody's regard. 

Today, the Ka'ra seemed to be in Jaster's favor, for after further questioning, more suspicious glances, and even more discontented muttering, people seemed to accept that if Cody was of no help, then he would leave to go mess around in the courtyard, which Cody grumbled incoherently at. Jango, at this point, seemed unable to contain his amusement at Cody's antics and had to pull on his buy'ce to conceal what Jaster assumed to be his laughter. Jaster's lips tugged upwards, but he turned back towards the Council, determined to keep a straight face. 

Myles moved towards the side of the Council chambers, where a control panel rested. Jaster's circular desk, with a dark top, slowly lit up with a warm blue glow, and electric blue holograms appeared, projected by holoprojectors concealed by the desk. Jaster stepped out of the newly-formed circle of holograms and swept up his buy'ce just as a keyboard popped out from the desk, ready for use. Myles returned to Jaster's side, and he nodded in acknowledgment, pulling up old blueprints of the mines on Concordia. 

Jaster winced as he surveyed the schematics, knowing that they hadn't taken any survey of that area in years, and both Jango and Cody, who had to take a few steps back to be able to see over the top of the table, were openly frowning at the incomplete, and sometimes patchy parts of the mines. The deeper areas were almost entirely incomplete. 

He caught Cody muttering something along the lines of "Goddamned…Geonosis… karking zombie bugs…" but Jaster decided that he'd rather not know. Jango was snickering slightly beside him as Jaster was typing furiously, trying to see if they had any more maps of Concordia on record, while Myles was trying to organize the Council members into some semblance of organization, instead of bunched up around the projector. 

He grinned as Hochi, who had somehow brought a spinning chair into the Council chambers and was presumably busy hacking into whatever network he might need to, pushed himself off of the table he was resting his feet on and brought himself to a perfect spinning halt in front of Myles, who shrugged, and brought Hochi's datapad display up on the holoprojector, which had a MandalMotors logo at the bottom. Jaster looked askance at Hochi, who just shrugged in answer, muttering a brief quip about trash firewalls. Jaster sighed and gathered his thoughts. 

But before Jaster had given the holo proper thought, Cody interrupted them. "Don't you have data for the neighboring areas?" Jaster winced, and Myles began pulling up old data of the surrounding area. Carina, who had been sitting near Hochi, threw her datapad at Myles, who Jaster now had intense sympathy and the utmost respect for. He watched as the program merged the two projections. Cody nodded his approval, and Jaster began scouting the diagram for potential entrances. It had been a while since he had planned with a large attack force, and this presumably wouldn't be the last. He might as well learn something from this experience, even if-

Cody now interrupted Jaster's train of thought, his brows furrowed. "The doors are reinforced, correct?" 

Hochi piped up from where he was sitting again. " Lek ."

"But then, what about the vents? All mines have to have them- they need ventilation for combustion, and the gasses produced from any operations have to have some way to escape. And it would be foolish indeed to construct a mining system without any other way out."

Jango frowned slightly at Cody, likely already somewhat acquainted with Cody's unique brand of problem-solving. "What are you thinking?"

Cody scrunched up his face, thinking. "Well, we obviously can't blow them all to haran , and crawling through vents isn't nearly as easy as it is in the holofilms, but it'd be useful reconnaissance. If we can just figure out the layout and where their main forces are and where the ade are, we can enter with force, once we find an entrance." He nodded determinedly, studiously ignoring the nonplussed faces of the other Councilors, and the displeased expressions of many of the Evaar'ade , who were not happy about the invasion, and who most definitely did not prefer having a child lead their war efforts. As long as Cody didn't go batshit crazy, Jaster found no issue with it. If Cody were an actual child, it would be different, but as he wasn't… Jaster shrugged when Kryze looked askance at him from across the room. 

Cody, who didn't miss the action, grinned devilishly. "As you all seem to have nothing else to say, I propose that we, at the very least, launch a reconnaissance mission, and shortly after, a rescue mission for the ade and an invasion for Kyr'tsad . It'll go great!" Jaster looked once more into his wicked grin and could not help but wonder what he had gotten himself into. 

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While Jango wrangled the projector, Cody was talking at breakneck speed and planning a full-fledged invasion. It surprised Jango that Cody was more experienced than any of the other Chieftains in planning a large-scale war; there had been no need for it in recent history, except for small skirmishes with Kyr'tsad . Compounding Jango's surprise, then, was the revelation that Cody was not only an experienced war planner but also an effective leader. In less time than expected, Cody's intellect was employed in corralling the Chieftains into one course of action, accepting input and truly thinking it over, and also occasionally jumping on top of the holotable so he could manipulate it. Jango was ashamed to admit that he could've gotten Cody a box of sorts, but thought it was too funny to see him standing on the holotable like a self-appointed conqueror. 

This was how time passed, in an easy facsimile of peace, even though the nature of their activities was anything but peaceful. It was only until Cody assigned himself to one of the main attack groups that any trouble arose that could not be negotiated. 

Jaster was adamant that Cody not go, and Cody was discontented with this, perhaps forgetting that he was less than half Jaster's size, or maybe deciding that the mission (which could easily be taken care of by fully grown verde ) was more important than his life. This, then, would not greatly surprise Jango, given all that he knew of his new vod'ika . Jango frowned, pulling his vod'ika aside. Jaster watched them go. 

"Cot'ika, you can't go on this mission," he said, putting his hands on his shoulders.

Cody glared up at him, snarling. "I've got more experience in this kind of warfare than most, if not all, people going on this mission. I must go-"

"No," Jango said, looking away to articulate his feelings. "You may have more experience than a verd , but you are still limited by the irrefutable fact that you are a child. You physically cannot do what you were accustomed to doing as a fully grown adult, and in a battle, that can be fatal. You need to give yourself time, Cody, to grow, and maybe just-" Jango ran his hand through his hair "- give yourself time, Cody, without war."

Cody was silent at this, and Jango took it as permission to continue. "You cannot continue on as you have been, Cody. And perhaps nobody cared before, but we do now, and it's not sustainable to go to war with children. It's not-" Jango sighed again. "We don't- we don't want this for you, Cody, and it'd be comforting to know that my newest vod is safe."

Cody grimaced, gesturing helplessly with his hands. "But I can help, Jango, you don't understand ."

"No, I understand. And I get that it's hard to get over, Cody, and maybe it's different for you, but maybe it's because you hate feeling like you're doing nothing to help, after being the one that people have relied on for years and years, or maybe it's because you feel like a burden for not being of use- but, just, Cody, we need you to be safe here, to recover. And that also entails not coming to Concordia with us. You've helped so much, Cody, it's obvious you've got a brilliant mind."

And Cody interrupted him here. "But I can't come?" 

Jango tugged gently at his hair, finally smoothing it over. " 'Lek, vod'ika ." 

Cody huffed in frustration, and Jango grasped his tiny hands between his own. " Gedet'ye , Cody, think about it. This life of war that you have led, you excel at, but gedet'ye , Cody, we don't want that to be your life now. You've been extraordinarily helpful with the planning, and maybe we could get you to coordinate attacks, seeing as more than half of our attack plan is yours- but we don't want you to be hurt. That's all, just remember that." 

Cody nodded solemnly and followed Jango back into the Council room in silence. As they entered, Jango resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair, instead opting to seek Jaster out and give him a so-so sign. Jaster nodded, choosing to wrap up the planning. Myles left, presumably to ready the transports, and the chieftains scattered, to do whatever their duties were. Most Evaar'ade were assigned to humanitarian missions, or directing supplies. 

Jaster turned to Jango and Cody. "Jango, you're going to be coming with me on the gunships. Cody, Hochi's going to be helping out here with coordinating attacks- so please stay here and help. Myles informs me that we've got some modified MSE-6 droids."

Cody grins evilly, and Jaster continues. "They're adapted, Myles says, for reconnaissance. They've got flamethrowers, apparently, and thrusters. And sensors and cameras, of course, which are more important than the flamethrowers." Cody giggles mischievously, and Jango is startled at the lightness. Perhaps Cody likes flamethrowers?

"Do they have remote control?" Cody asks with what Jango deems to be an excessive amount of enthusiasm. 

Carina walked in, carrying a modified MSE-6, which was looking much less like an innocent repair droid and much more like a very small, highly overqualified tank. Cody was clearly delighted, and turning to Jango, his vicious excitement was evident in every line of his body. It occurred to Jango that Cody, in his current state of Tiny-Cody, was still very deadly and Jaster and Jango, despite knowing they had to have Cody remain behind, would be wise to watch their steps in the future, in case Cody did get his hands on one of the modified MSE droids. 

Jango also figured that Kyr'tsad would also have fun being violently assaulted by modified repair droids. He'd have to ask Carina and Hochi about the modifications. He suspected that they added more besides the flamethrowers, he'd just have to figure out what. Looking at Cody, Hochi, and Carina's enthused discussion in the corner, Jango figured that, no matter how the attack on Concordia went, at least it'd be entertaining to see what would happen. 

He turned to greet Jaster, who shrugged easily when Jango pointed out the evil machinations being planned by his new vod'ika . "I don't think anything he would do would be bad, for us at least, Jan'ika . It's no problem, except for Kyr'tsad . And I want to see what they come up with. It should be fun." Jango despaired for his buir's sanity, and Jaster only laughed at him. 

He quickly sobered, however. "You're going to be with me for the fight, Jango. Myles will be heading the second squad- they're going to be handling the evacuation of ade and any other prisoners. As you know, they'll be entering after us, but we'll be drawing most of the forces, and hopefully Vizsla, toward us and not them while they take care of the ade ."

Jango nodded. "I assume that if the MSEs are discovered, we're joining in early?" Jaster grinned. 

"Everyone's going over battle plans one last time, and then we'll get the modified MSEs sent out. Ready?"

Jango looked around at the flurry of activity surrounding them. "I do hope that was a rhetorical question, buir ." He gave Jaster a huge bear hug. "This better go well." 

Jaster smiled at him, and Jango braced himself for an inevitably bad buir joke. To his surprise, it did not come. "If this goes well, I'll get us all whatever we want from Kyr'tsad , and you can even get those jam cookies." 

He grinned at his buir . "Look at this unabashed abuse of your station to bribe your ade . Shame, buir ! But it'll probably work anyway." 

Jaster raised a single eyebrow at him. "It already did." Jango shrugged. It was true, anyway. He did love those jam cookies. And their filled donuts. 

Jaster slung his arm around Jango's shoulders, pulling him tightly against his side. "All we need to do now is make sure our preparations are made, and that all our teams are ready. Kryze should be organizing his people now to be ready for our return, and maybe for any prisoners we might have gotten. Hochi's going to be taking care of the MSE droids with Cody and Carina. And we will be checking that our forces are prepared." As Jango's eyes landed on Cody spinning a diagram of what looks to be a modified thermal detonator, along with another diagram of an MSE-6, insides exposed and parts being shoved aside, he shrugged helplessly. It wasn't as though they would do anything before they had the intel they needed. Any amount of chaos, Jango decided, would help them in their mission. At least with this, he could ensure Cody would stay here, stay safe, and blow things up from a healthy distance. Pandemonium, Jango thought, was more easily appreciated at a distance. 

He and Jaster joined Hochi's small planning group, which was discussing the possibility of fitting thermal detonators in the MSEs without also blowing up the MSE. Cody was going off about something with repulsors, and Jaster waved a hand in greeting to Cody, whose mischievous smirk spread across his small face. Jango dropped his unoccupied arm around Cody, mussing his curls up and having his poor hand whacked in protest. 

"We gotta get the Mice ready," Hochi said, smiling fondly at Jango. He nodded, pushing Cody towards Hochi, where they would, presumably, make a few more (or perhaps more than a few) changes to the MSEs, or the Mice, as Hochi called them. 

"We will see you again, Cot'ika. Ret'urcye mhi , and stay safe, ner ad ," Jaster murmured to Cody. Cody nodded dutifully, and Jango swept him up in another hug, setting him down beside Hochi. 

"You will fight another day, vod'ika , when you are older," Jango told him, and he turned his head aside, mouth twisting downward. 

" Ret'urcye mhi , ori'vod . An-and--- May the Force be with you." Jango stutters out his thanks, and then Cody tugs Hochi and Carina's arms off, dragging them to the droids. Buir comes up and lays a gentle hand on his pauldron. 

"We must go make preparations, Jan'ika." And if Jango repeated, 'May the Force be with you' in his head, uttered sincerely and with great meaning from his six-year-old-but-older-little-brother, then no one needed to know. It was his head, after all.

—————————————

In the chaos that followed, Jango didn't see Myles until they were already boarding the ships. He knocked on Jango's buy'ce , a smug grin painted across his face. 

"Are you ready, Jan'ika?" Myles asked. And Jango shrugged silently, because it seemed now that this was more real than anything else he had done before. The impact here was greater than the missions that they had conducted before, even if his buir had the dha'kad . Jaster was standing before a hologram of the tunnel system, his face tinted blue with the light. He turned to greet Jango with a warm hug, pulling off his buy'ce , and Jango did the same. 

Jaster's warm hug enveloped Jango, and Jango felt an overwhelming warmth, safely ensconced in his buir's arms. "If all goes well, Jango, Kyr'tsad should be effectively crippled, and the remaining Kyr'tsad members can be taken into custody, and this accursed war will finally be over. And then we will be able to establish a real economic presence, and then we can finally, finally , get those numbing peppercorns that they grow on Concord Dawn that you like to eat for some odd reason." 

Jango beamed up at his buir . "Then let us hope that everything goes well, so we can show Cody the only way to make tiingilar ." 

"That is correct," Jaster said with a smile. "Are you ready?"

Jango scowled at his buir . "Myles already asked me that. And I hope I am ready."

"You have spent enough time messing around with your jetpack, Jan'ika, that you could figure out a way to run Kyr'tsad over in it. And besides, Hochi has informed me that Cody has put some delightful modifications into the MSEs. It should be fun to watch, at the very least." Jango laughed in delight but quickly concentrated on the diagrams his buir had pulled up. Jango had, of course, reviewed these before they had gotten underway, in case anything went wrong. But then, it wasn't a bad idea to review it one more time before the MSEs were sent down to the surface of Concordia, to work as a sort of scout, but also as an excellent distraction to use while he pretended he wasn't watching Jas'buir. 

His buir was looking tense. Well hidden, of course, but Jango had always been good at reading people, and when it came to people like his buir , who he knew very well, it was easy to see the tell-tale signs of tension. And the way his buir was flicking through plans (short as they were) incessantly was one of the most common ways Jaster calmed himself. Even as Jango kept an eye on his buir (to ensure he didn't become too frantic, because if Jaster panicked, Jango was bound to panic as well,) he pored over the archived records of Concordia's mines, the one in question being one of the largest beskar mines on Concordia, which was previously owned by MandalMotors. It was shut down nearly half a century before this, when environmentalists, backed by the Evaar'ade and by extension, the Republic, began pushing for the restoration of Concordia. Dozens of incidents involving the deaths of workers working on the restoration project, which were attributed to feral wildlife, discouraged civilian support for the plan, and it was eventually abandoned. Escalation of the civil war, Jango remembered, drove the idea out of everyone's mind. Perhaps it was also notable that they had no way to monitor any comings and goings on Concordia. It would be ridiculously easy, Jango thought, for Kyr'tsad to maintain a base here. Even when the Haat Mando'ade were able to locate them, their records of the tunnel systems were obsolete anyway and were utterly useless except for general directions. 

Since the outbreak of the civil war, the beskar mines were abandoned and forgotten, except in long-forgotten legislation. Kyr'tsad would have had plenty of time to change them to fit their needs, and their forced recruitment would have bolstered their numbers as well. 

Of ade, as well, Jango remembered. 

Which was why they were orbiting Manda'yaim now, preparing for the MSEs to be flown to the deep mines of Concordia. 

Hochi's ship, the Gayi'kaab , leaves the rest of the ships, and Jango thinks that Jaster is also relieved that Hochi hasn't called them to inform them that Cody is not on the ship, as he is supposed to be, because while Cody could not be stopped from helping, Jaster agreed that it would be better that Cody beat Kyr'tsad up from afar rather than at point blank range. 

There is silence, now that they're waiting for word from the MSE droids, and Jango sits with his buir in front of the holos, waiting for word from the Gayi'kaab . 

The view window is smudged with dust from the take-off. Manda'yaim's atmosphere has always been like this, Jas'buir says, ever since the Dral'han . Jango can see Manda'yaim , glowing from the light of the sun, and the shadows form the shapes of people. It looks as though they're reaching upwards, toward the light, and Jango thinks that if he were starring in a terrible holodrama right now, the captions would read, [majestic music plays] , and he would have a romantic interest trapped on Concordia, and while the [majestic music] played, Jango's [love theme plays] would be woven throughout his heroic music. Jas'buir doesn't look like he's thinking about starring in a holodrama, and so Jango pokes his shoulder, already plotting a way to drag his buir out of his dark and somewhat philosophical mood. Jango knows his buir too well.

Jaster turns to Jango, and he doesn't hesitate to reach out and ruffle his hair. 

"What do you say to a droid that has been destroyed?" Jaster looks supremely unamused, but Jango isn't so good at making puns, and he's been keeping this one for a while. 

"What?"

"Rust in peace." Jas'buir's mouth curves upward now, so Jango tries again. 

"You need a minute to process that?" Jango says, and now buir looks as though he will take Jango up on his challenge. But before Jango can use up the rest of his pre-prepared puns (he worked hard on these, but if he must, he will tell them to buir later), Jaster's comm lights up, and Myles says that they're ready to move in. Apparently, the MSEs have been found, but they're still in commission. The Gayi'kaab is still on Concordia, but Hochi and his team are still operating the MSE-6 droids. Turns out that there were some high-powered tasers installed as well. Jango jams his head back into his buy'ce , and joins Jaster in the cockpit, automatically running his hands over his weapons. Jaster does the same, even as he speaks with Myles. 

—————————————

Jango thinks it strange that it's utterly still as they dive through the atmosphere, gunships flanking them on either side. There is no air defense, and Jango is unsettled until he sees remnants of surface-to-air anti-aircraft weapons. It looks as though the missiles, and in some cases, the turrets, have exploded, and Jango's never been so grateful for Hochi and Carina's ridiculous obsession with hacking into things they're not supposed to hack into as they meet minimal resistance landing near the mines. 

Myles' troops hang back because there aren't any more discreet entrances, so they need a distraction, and Jango follows his buir off the ship, pistols in hand. They emerge into complete chaos, and while Jango's not entirely sure where the Gayi'kaab is, they've obviously wreaked havoc upon Kyr'tsad after they were discovered. Jango follows Jaster, covering him as they shoot their way towards the main doors. Jango's got the new and improved layout in the corner of his HUD, although they still can't breach the doors, which are sealed shut. The only good thing coming from this is that Myles says he can get through a side-opening now. A crushed MSE droid lies near a control pad, and fighting breaks on both of their sides, Kyr'tsad having come out of some kind of side path. 

Chaos breaks out as their starfighters arrive, providing air support until Kyr'tsad's smaller jets arrive. Fires break out as broken pieces fall to the ground, and Jango's so busy trying to avoid getting shanked in the side by a ramikad in gray armor that he doesn't think about where the extra ramikade came from until more appear, and they're looking younger this time, about the same size as Jango, and suddenly they're stuck fighting soldiers that stumble under the weight of their armor, swinging oversized kade at them. Jaster curses over the comms, yelling for them to switch to stun, even as Jango steps over the limp body of an adult Kyr'tsad member. 

Jango checks for routes to the side of the main doors, hoping that one of the MSE droids has mapped it out. He curses when he finds none, but still fights his way to the side, turning on a thermal scanner, and yells for his buir when he finds where the footprints disappear into rock. 

One of their starfighters crashes into a knot of fighting ramikade , and Jango feels a brief flash of horror before it's stifled by urgency. They're held down until they can get into the facility and open up the doors, and Jaster knows this. Air support is limited until they can get their larger ships down past Kyr'tsad's fighter jets. 

Jango frantically searches the blank rock for any openings, yelling into his comms for assistance. Buir is cutting down ramikade with daunting ease and knocking out the younger, clumsier ones. They can't be sure that they're ade , but they will not risk it. It's much harder to knock out a ramikad in armor than to kill them, and it's limiting their ability to fight their way out of the chaos in front of the doors. 

Jaster's cursing a lot now, unfiltered, and Shazta, one of the more heavily armed ramikade arrives at the side door where Jango's stuck, unable to open it. 

"Jaster told me to come here, where's the door?" 

Jango points wordlessly at the blank, unnaturally smooth rock in front of them, and Jango can read her incredulity through her armor. 

"You didn't think of just blowing it up?" Jango grimaces. He was trying to find some kind of panel, but blowing their way past what looks to be a less secure pathway would also work. 

Shazta lays a liberal amount of detonators at the door and around the door and drags him away, shooting another Kyr'tsad soldier under the helmet. Jango ducks for his life when she triggers the explosion, and rock and fire rain down from the sky. 

It looks like the blast doors on this were much less secure, and Jaster yells for them to get the doors opened up, quickly please , and they duck into the musty corridors. The map in his HUD flickers back into existence once they've found a larger passageway, devoid of all life except for roach-rats that scurry past them and into their miserable holes. 

Jango thinks, right, right, left, straight when as they run, trying to remember the way out even though he knows it probably doesn't matter after the seventh second-to-the-right passageway. Shazta pushes him behind her, and he comes face to face with a huge pack of thermal detonators as she shoves them into his arms. He can hardly see past them when he figures out that they've finally come to the main blast doors, the entrance filled with Kyr'tsad ramikade . He curses when Shazta lays out a split-second plan over comms, giving him no time to argue. Haar'chak!

Shazta runs out with her assault blaster, blitzing her way past the surprised ramikade that lie in wait for the rest of Jaster's party, and Jango has no choice but to follow her, covering her with his pistols and throwing detonators to the sides, the bag now clipped to his belt. The side passage has put them out near the doors, and Jango curses at the pad, messing with the wires. His hands shake uncontrollably (which has never happened before, why is this happening now?), and he has to abandon his efforts because he can't figure out the locking mechanism fast enough, and Shazta needs help. He pulls out his Westars again and throws another thermal detonator at the wall with a brief warning to Shazta, which explodes and causes rocks to rain down upon them. The cavernous room shakes, and dust obscures Jango's vision. 

Buir's yelling at Jango over comms, and Shazta pulls some insane maneuver with her jetpack and a couple more explosives that buy her some more time. Jango curses some more, hands shaking as he tries to rewire the locking mechanism because it's not fucking working , and another explosion rocks the chamber, dust raining down. 

Hochi pages Jango over comms, and it's with Hochi's calming voice in his ear that Jango yells in excitement when he finally figures out the mechanism, pulling hard on the gears as he tears away the cover on the lock and rewires the locking gears, feeling as though he's back in Keldabe, rewiring locks again and again as Tokla yells at him to be faster, more efficient , and Jas'buir is waiting at the side with some iced water and maybe a jam cookie, as encouragement. He curses again when his hand slips and he drops one of the wires, but it's okay because he's got it and the doors are shuddering open. Cody yells encouragement before the comm call cuts off, because they're all probably busy with the MSEs. 

He twists around just in time to see a Kyr'tsad member shoot him in the pauldron with a blaster, and he returns the favor, but in between the chest plate and the helmet, where there's much less protection, and the soldier goes down. Jango grabs an EMP off his belt and jams it into the lock, pulling the cover over it again and welding it shut. He runs to Shazta, who's currently beating the shebs of some poor di'kut , and drags her to cover. Complete anarchy floods in, blaster fire and smoke and Jango searches for his buir in the crowd, panicking a little because the smell that floods into the cavern is all burnt flesh and blaster fire and blood, and Jango's not sure what he'd do without his buir . 

Shazta grabs Jango's back and shoves him to where buir has activated his whipcord and has tied up a prisoner who looks small, smaller than Jango, and whose helmet is ill-fitted to their lekku that poke out from under their armor. Jango switches his blaster back to stun and shoots a ramikad who rushes his buir . Jango sets the EMP off once the doors have completely opened, and they lock in place. 

Jango thinks they've almost routed Kyr'tsad , and they're cleaning up a bit, pushing the captured Kyr'tsad members towards the sides and setting up guards when Jaster yells for them to be ready, and it seems like Cody's plan has worked, because these soldiers are much, much more experienced than the ones that they sent out to defend the doors. Jango no longer notices the stench that invades his nostrils, because Jaster's commed Myles to tell him that they've currently got Kyr'tsad thoroughly occupied. 

An asshole nails Jango in the head, and he shakes it off, but not before Jaster has a chance to plunge the dha'kad into his side. He stares at the blade, stunned at the inky blackness that seems to swallow light, and Jaster curses when he draws it out again and he can't wield it as he would a beskad . It seems to work well enough, however, because when faced with the dha'kad , many of the Kyr'tsade hesitate to approach, even though Jango can hear Jaster cursing over their comms. Myles is reporting their progress, they've found rooms, and they've not found any ade yet, but they're picking up heat signatures now. 

It makes sense that now is the time when all goes to haran because Jango sees what looks to be a flying MSE-6- it's got razor blades sticking out of its top, like a helicopter, except if he squints, he thinks he can see- oh what in ka'ra forsaken haran has Cody done - the MSE drops like a stone, and Jaster yells over the comms for their ori'ramikade to pull back, because oh shit that's a lot of explosives in one tiny maintenance droid.

Luckily, their friends on the Gayi'kaab aren't trying to kill them, and it detonates a decent distance from their troops. Jango can see the MSE detonate just before it reaches the ground, shards of shrapnel flying outward, followed by flames and- what in haran did they load the MSE with- because they're sent flying backward, and Jango distantly registers some Kyr'tsade being thrown from the explosion, limbs and necks twisted in unnatural shapes, and the ones closest to the MSE hit the ceiling before they fall to the floor again. Jango's ears are ringing, but it seems like the explosion has taken care of most of their issues because there's a lot less Kyr'tsad ramikade shooting at them, even though their own troops are shaking off the ringing in their heads. Jango will have to talk to Cody about where he got these ideas because more MSEs come screaming in on their miniature wheels, propelled by equally miniature jetpacks that throw flames at the poor ramikade, shooting off where the fuck did they get whistling birds and tiny missiles and flaming shrapnel flies everywhere. Jaster has already told them to pull back, and they're not so dumb as to approach the chaos that is the MSEs, and they're dragging their friends back from the chaos because it doesn't seem like the MSEs will be destroyed soon, and they're not trying to get killed. 

There's another helicopter MSE, except its razor-sharp blades don't seem to be for flight, because they've extended to be nearly a meter long, and they're chopping away at armored legs and now the downed ramikade are screaming as they try to escape the writhing mass of whipcords and flame and the occasional explosion.

" Ke'pare! " Jaster's amplified voice yells over the commotion, and the MSEs freeze, whipcords still wrapping themselves around unfortunate Kyr'tsad members. 

He activates the dha'kad , and Jango is suddenly reminded that his buir is terrifying, because his cape streams blood-red behind him, and the dha'kad hisses, and he seems larger than ever. "Swear loyalty to me as Mand'alor and denounce Kyr'tsad and you will be spared. If not, this wanton bloodshed will continue." 

And as Jango drops to one knee, he can see a few of Kyr'tsade dropping their weapons and dropping to a knee. Some tied by MSEs do as best they can, but Jango is disheartened when so many of the Kyr'tsad ramikade hurl abuse at those that have knelt, and when they are tied up and restrained like the rest of their prisoners, the simmering chaos breaks out again, and the MSEs are no longer so effective. Their armored shells give way to detonators, to deadly beskade , and Jango runs next to Jaster, covering him. The dha'kad cuts through the cheaper plastoid alloys so smoothly, the armor might not even be there. The beskar alloys can stop it, but Jas'buir grows more accustomed to the swing and balance of the dha'kad , and it is so bloodthirsty that Shazta has stopped using her beloved explosives and has returned to using her rifles because they run too high a risk to their own troops. 

Jango can barely see to the edges of the cavern, too obscured by dust and smoke to see much detail, but he yells for Jaster's attention when he notices another group of Kyr'tsad ori'ramikade run in, their helmets detailed with a jai'galaar . Jaster yells for their ori'ramikade when he sees the yellow jai'galaar on a metallic gray armor, with dual antennas. 

Pre Vizsla still shows signs of adolescence, he hasn't quite filled out his armor yet, and he's not quite as tall as the ori'ramikade that flank him, but he walks with confidence, burning with fury. Jango might respect him if he wasn't going to try to kill his buir . 

As it is, Myles says over comms that they've found the ade and need a bit more time to get them all out, and that he's sending ramikade to find any more information from Kyr'tsad's servers. Jaster curses and faces Pre. 

Vizsla radiates bitterness when he sees the dha'kad in Jaster's hands. "That does not belong to you, you fucking hut'uun ." Jango snarls in fury and levels his blasters at Pre.

The smoke has died down, the blaster fire almost absent, and yet Jango has never felt such anger. It's stifling, and he hates Vizsla so much now, his cocky stride only serving to further his fury, his bitterness at Kyr'tsad , and it is with a single-minded focus that all watch when Pre Vizsla strides up towards Jaster and draws the beskad at his side. He challenges Jaster to a duel, and now Jango hates him so much for this, for calling Jas'buir a coward, and when the dha'kad ignites, the dark blade crackling, Jango cannot help but hope that Vizsla dies today. 

Chapter Text

Cody doesn't curse when it seems like they've been caught out by  Kyr'tsad , no, he's productive and sends the MSEs scrambling for cover, messing with those  ordinii'se  who can't aim to save their lives. 

He's not bitter about not being let onto the mission, he's bitter because Hochi has been keeping an eye on him the entire time, so close to him  all the damn time  that Cody has no choice but to stay and whack  Kyr'tsad's  shins from a distance. Controlling the MSEs feels a bit like playing the hologames that Echo and Fives had gotten their hands on- Fives always lost because there was no strategy to his movements- he pressed all the buttons as fast as possible, without much thought. Cody beat him then, and now he's whacking armored shins with helicopter vibroblades. 

Most of the MSE droids have been put on autopilot- turns out that Carina has an obsession with cleaning technology that translates nicely into pathfinding for robots that have flamethrowers. Cody doesn't think this is problematic as much as it is mildly terrifying. 

No amount of fire will stop the absolute chaos that Cody witnesses through the cameras of the MSEs he's watching, though, and when Hochi yells that it looks like their  ramikade  are being pushed back to the cavern- makes sense,  Kyr'tsad  did do a pretty decent job of staying together, and the attacking teams are relatively spaced out- Carina yells through the comms to get back, and she drops  briica'nara , which she named Happy Times. Cody winces briefly when half of his MSEs drop offline, having been blown up, but sighs in relief when he sees that very few of their troops were actually hurt by the bomb. 

Excellent aim, Carina. 

Their comms are briefly silent- Cody hopes no one has a concussion, although they probably do. He drives Edmond around, which is what he named one of his droids- and puts out fires with his very special scrubbers that have been modified to extinguish fires. 

There's a sense of unreality that comes with controlling tiny mouse droids through a screen, like tiny minions that also happen to have flamethrowers and knives. It's not something he's ever felt on the field, and Cody feels like he's letting someone down, what with his inability to physically help. Edmond puts out a small fire on someone's  kute , and there's not really much more time to think about it, because now Jaster has stood, and he's challenged Pre Vizsla to a duel- 

Cody's never felt more useless in his life, watching his first  buir  fight the man who has brought such pain to his General (don't think about him, either). There's no audio, so Cody's utterly lost when some of  Kyr'tsad  sinks to one knee, and the others only look angrier. It looks ridiculous, how divided they are now. They have already lost, Cody knows, but he's riveted by the proceedings anyways. That is his  buir , Cody thinks, at least, the man who said he would be Cody's  buir , his father, those who the natborns speak of with such pride, and he desperately hopes that Vizsla dies today.

Hochi and Carina are just as silent beside him as Cody watches the familiar blade of the dha'kad  come to life in Jaster's hands as Vizsla draws a beskad from its sheath. 

They are still for a few more moments, and Cody wishes he could hear more than this suffocating silence. 

Vizsla moves suddenly, lunging quickly and clumsily, and it's evident that Tor Vizsla has trained him, the proof written in his swift, vicious movements. His footwork, though, is unsteady in his anger, and he lunges after Jaster with quick, wide strokes of his  beskad . Jaster blocks Vizsla with the  dha'kad , but Cody is suddenly reminded that Jaster hasn't had much time to understand how sabers work. Like all other lightsabers, there is no weight in the blade, and the connection between the wielder and the crystal is what is most important for wielding a  kad'au  with any kind of proficiency.

Jaster blocks clumsily with the  dha'kad  again and again, and Cody thinks he's near tears because Jaster needs to stop treating the damned blade as a  beskad , and more like- Cody's General had said it was an  extension of his arm , not a separate entity, and Vizsla's angry, formless, desperate swings drive Jaster backward as he tries to understand the blade. 

Some  di'kut  blocks Edmond's camera, and Cody's forced to move Edmond for a better view. In the time that it takes for him to do this, Jaster has forced Vizsla to the ground with his whipcord, and Cody silently lets out a cheer of relief. Jaster is a more experienced fighter than Pre Vizsla is, but he needs someone to teach him to use a  kad'au . And while he isn't even close to proficient with a 'saber like Cody's  jetii , his strokes have become stronger, and the  dha'kad  isn't waving every which way. 

It's when Jaster is able to kick Vizsla's legs out behind him, using a complicated combination of a flamethrower, a small explosion, and some luck, that the remaining  Kyr'tsade  seem to recognize that Vizsla cannot win this fight, and Cody, to his immense shame, sees one  verd  rise to their feet and thinks that they will surrender. 

The hope of complete surrender is lost when the  hut'uun  throws a small thermal detonator that rolls to Jaster's feet. Vizsla was clearly forewarned, and he flies out of the way, but Jaster barely has time to turn to the side before the detonator explodes, and Edmond decides to get caught in the blast and breaks. Cody sits shell-shocked before he jumps out of his seat and runs toward the cockpit because there's no way he's going to sit here watching a blank feed while his newly adopted  vod  and  buir  are stuck with some weaponized cleaning bots.

Before he can get more than a few feet, though, Hochi holds him back, "I promised the  Mand'alor  that you'd not be in the battle, Cody, wait a minute,  fu- " Cody barely registered the triumph as he twisted in Hochi's grip and landed right side up. 

Hochi made another grab for him (not that Cody could blame him) when Carina halted him, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Shouldn’t we go after our  Mand’alor ? Even if he did tell Cody to remain here, and us with him, the fighting is over. Our droids,” she smiled a little, “have served what purpose they were meant to. We can offer what assistance we are capable of there, which is much more than we can do with our purpose having been served.” 

Cody beamed at Carina. “Your eloquence, O’ wisest and most beautiful of all, is appreciated.” And without delay, he hopped into the pilot’s chair, only to find he was too short to reach these controls without assistance.

Carina laughed lightly and took his place at the helm, and they flew toward the mines with the greatest urgency. 

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Obi-Wan lies there for a moment after falling to the mat again. He’s been trying to go through his katas, to no avail.

He knows what it’s supposed to feel like, he knows what the forms are, and he’s done these again and again and again so many times. And yet, Obi-Wan’s limbs are shaky and unbalanced, they misjudge distances and strength and he is sent crashing back down to earth, disappointed and upset with himself. 

It’s late at night now, for the other younglings are roasting marshmallows in between sweet crackers and little squares of chocolate somewhere in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. There’s little time to do what Obi-Wan truly wants to do, for his friends seek him out, trying to keep him from withdrawing further into himself. Their kindness is something Obi-Wan hoards carefully, thinking about it when all he can think of is fire and darkness and  pain . 

But now, when he has no desire to fall into his dreamlands, and when everyone is absent and he can see what has happened to him, Obi-Wan is going through his katas clumsily, slowly, trying to acclimate himself to this awful inconvenience. Better this than dead, of course.

It is with this thought that Obi-Wan picks himself up again, and holds himself in the first stance of Shii-Cho. If he must relearn his katas, then he might as well start at the beginning. 

Obi-Wan tries his best to go slowly, to give himself time to grow accustomed to the strange heft of the training lightsaber, and to the way his limbs don’t quite cooperate. By the end of the kata, having made so many mistakes, Obi-Wan is exhausted, and he falls back onto the training mat, feeling only a little better, for any satisfaction for the progress he has made is inhibited by the knowledge of what he had been capable of, in another life. 

The training salles are deserted, and the hallway outside is darkened. The ceilings throughout the salles have been painted, a sort of community project over time. Jedi simply continued adding their art to the existing murals, if they wanted. Obi-Wan gazed at his favorite one now, tired, but unwilling to go back to the créche. 

He smiled sheepishly at one of the paintings. It was of a group of sailors, leaving their boats, limbs dripping with seawater and looking utterly miserable. Someone, Obi-Wan figured, must have been particularly bitter about a mission. He thought that whoever it was had made the sailors particularly ugly because there was no way the inhabitants of that particular world could look quite so horrific. 

He started when the door of the salle slid open to reveal Master Windu, who looked very odd from Obi-Wan's vantage point. Obi-Wan grinned and waved uselessly from the floor. 

"Would you like me to get up?" 

Mace stared blankly at Obi-Wan and moved to sit beside Obi-Wan, who now had an excellent view of his chin. "When Master Lunai said you weren't with the others, this was not quite what I imagined. What were you doing, Obi-Wan?" 

Obi-Wan stared up at the ceiling. What would he say?  I can't see the Room of a Thousand Fountains without seeing dozens of dead bodies? I cannot interact with my peers anymore? I feel so useless, that I am doing nothing even knowing what will happen?  The silence stretched on, and Obi-Wan said nothing. 

Mace sighed again. "I should rephrase my question. Why are you here?" 

"To practice." 

"Evidently," Mace murmured, taking the training saber from Obi-Wan's hands. "And why were you practicing, when all of your friends are having fun?"

Obi-Wan said nothing. 

"Why do you feel the need to practice, Obi-Wan?"

"I am not good enough, Master," Obi-Wan whispered. And wasn't that the crux of the matter? Obi-Wan was not good enough, in this life or the last, to prevent what he surely should have foreseen. 

Obi-Wan looked back up at Mace when he felt the hilt of the training saber press into his palm again. "Spar with me, then, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan hesitated, and then did not when he pushed himself to his feet and was again reminded of his stature.  Kriff . As little as Obi-Wan had used Ataru in his later years, he was still reasonably proficient. At least, his past self was. 

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Jaster blinked as the world came into focus around him. Fighting had broken out again but without restraint. Blaster shots blurred the air above him, and he yelled as a  beskad  swept down from the mist and towards his face, bringing the  dha’kad  up to block the blade. 

His head was foggy, and his vision blurred, even as bolts illuminated the stifling air. He rolled to his feet, pushing Vizsla away and checking his helmet for damages. There were none, but he faltered beneath Vizsla's onslaught and briefly registered a sharp pain in his side before he spun the  dha'kad  against Vizsla. 

Jaster stumbled again as Vizsla’s blade, dripping blood, flew towards his neck and he blocked. He backed towards the  haat’mando'ade , losing ground and unable to discern the glittering beauty of the  dha’kad  that he wielded, buckling beneath the fury of Vizsla’s frantic strokes.

—————————————

Obi-Wan fell again to the ground after a flip that he had used to disarm Mace and rolled to his feet. His frustration mounted. Mace was not using his full force, and yet, Obi-Wan could not fight him. He was useless in this form, not yet able to do all which he was able to do before. His limbs, now exhausted and unwilling to continue, shook with exhaustion.

Mace paused when Obi-Wan brought his saber up again, but any protests he might have had were silenced as Obi-Wan took up a ferocious opening attack that Anakin had been particularly fond of. Obi-Wan thought of the times Anakin had laughed in delight, twirling his 'saber before leaping to engage with Obi-Wan, and later Ahsoka. In the absence of such free-spirited joy, Obi-Wan felt nothing but stifling grief, and he knew his strokes lacked power and precision and did not care. 

And the weight of his hopelessness overcame Obi-Wan so that he fell to his knees, no longer resisting the oppressive load of his uselessness, and he let the training 'saber deactivate and roll from his hand. 

—————————————

The glittering darkness of the  dha'kad  hissed as Vizsla brought his beskad down upon it with savage force, down again and again, and yet the  dha'kad  seemed to become lighter in Jaster's hands.

Jaster's comm crackled to life, and he could hear Cody now, saying that they were coming- who was seemingly replaced by Carina, who reassured him that they were coming as air support, not to worry- Jaster was very worried, and exhausted, and the debris raining down from the ceiling was not helping, stirring dust into dense clouds that obscured Jaster's sight. And then, with an almighty crash, a far corner of the side and ceiling of the mine fell to the floor, luckily not crushing anybody beneath its weight and pushing clean air into the chamber, where Jaster could see that the fight was going much better than he had expected. 

But Vizsla, seeing that his fight was going poorly paused in his assault, for his divided forces had a less effective defense, for their surrender ensured that they would not fight the  Haat Mando'ade . The respite allowed Jaster to push himself forward, crowding Vizsla, whose burning anger seemed to dissipate in face of the light and seemed to give way instead to fear. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan stared blankly at the walls, at the amalgamation of colors that spoke of so many past Jedi that had been here too. He wonders what it would be like if it was overlaid with blood, now, but Mace has dropped to his side and is now gripping Obi-Wan's shoulders with unexpected gentleness. 

"What is wrong, Obi-Wan?" Obi-Wan shakes his head, despairing.  This is meaningless, I am here for nothing. 

"Obi-Wan!" Mace shakes his shoulders a little, more alarmed. 

Obi-Wan shakes his head, disgusted with himself. "Didn't mean to say that." 

Mace looks even more concerned now. He pulls Obi-Wan, and half carries him to the side of the salle, where there are benches. 

"Obi-Wan, what's wrong?" 

He's embarrassed to find that he's crying. "I'm just so tired. I'm so  tired ." And Mace pulls him into a fierce hug, warm and solid and everything that Obi-Wan is desperate for. 

—————————————

Jaster, exhausted, was unable to stop Vizsla from disengaging from their fight, although he tried to chase him before sinking to the ground. The dust clouds, not entirely gone, concealed him from their eyes as the remaining  Kyr'tsad  still loyal to Vizsla rallied to him as he disappeared from their sight. 

"Buir!" Jango exclaimed as he ran to Jaster. "Are you injured?" 

Jaster shook his head no. "Could you get a squad to find where Vizsla fled?" 

Jango cast his gaze to see Jaster's side and froze in horror. " Buir , you're hurt, let me-  baar'ur! " 

A  baar'ur  came running over when Jango called, who had forced Jaster to lie down. With the adrenaline gone, Jaster could now pinpoint the throbbing pain in his torso, which, he supposed, was bleeding. Jaster waved off the painkillers- he still had to do his duty, as much as Jango disapproved, but accepted the hypos and once his wound had been bandaged and bacta applied, he pulled his chest plate back on and tried to sit up, but Jango pushed him back down. 

"Buir, you must rest, if only for a little bit," and the tremble of his voice translated through the voice modulator, and Jaster did not try to sit up again. 

"We need to find Vizsla again, now," and Jango nodded. 

"There are already parties that are tracking them. We will find him,  buir ." 

Jaster closed his eyes, worried about not being able to confirm a definitive victory without having captured Vizsla, but it was interrupted by an agonized shout. " Buir! " And Jaster opened his eyes to see Cody running to them. 

Cody stopped a few feet from Jaster and looked at him, quiet in his uncertainty. "Are you alright?" Hochi and Carina came up behind him. 

"Cot'ika was very worried about you,  alor ," Hochi murmured, and Jango reached for Cody and embraced him tightly. Cody stiffened but soon sunk into his embrace, settling on the dusty ground beside Jaster and Jango. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Cody whispered, staring at his feet as though he were confessing a most shameful secret, and Jango only pulled him closer as the  baar'ur  gave him one last hypospray. 

"Rest,  Mand'alor . Gar shuk meh kyrayc," Tacchu commanded him, and Jango laughed, quickly spouting reassurance and giving Jaster a very pointed look, which he thought was quite unnecessary. 

Jango eventually stands to take care of the prisoners that they have taken, and the ones that surrendered to Jaster, leaving Jaster under Cody's watchful eye. Hochi and Carina have long since left to help find Vizsla with the help of the  Gayi'kaab . 

Ramikade  busy themselves around them, and Jaster stands to help. Cody offers only minimal resistance, before realizing that he can't stop Jaster and offers his hand as support. 

As the line of  Kyr'tsad  walks past them, Jaster is reminded of the work they must complete before anyone would be able to create a government for a united  Manda'yaim . They can tell the ones who believe in  Kyr'tsad  from the ones who don't. Those who spit in their faces, who snarl and bite and look at them with hatred are the ones who truly believe- those will be sent to prison. Those who cower and hide and struggle away, who cringe and hesitate when those surrounding them denounce them and hiss threats Jaster knows didn't ask for this life.

Jaster turns away from them and goes to Myles, who's typing with a sort of frenetic energy. They haven't heard anything back from those trying to find Vizsla, and although he still needs to do so much, Jaster's utterly exhausted. Cody is now propping Jaster up, and Myles takes one look at him and forces Jaster to sit, even if he doesn't attempt to get Jaster back to the ships. The sheer numbers that  Kyr'tsad  has, though, make him incredibly grateful that whatever happened today, they didn't have to deal with  Kyr'tsad  attacking them on  Manda'yaim , or in Keldabe. 

Myles is communicating with the officers, trying to document everyone coming through, the numbers, trying to determine which ship to send them to- the  ade  go to one, those who swore loyalty to another, and those who didn't to a third. They still have other ships coming from  Manda'yaim  to help with the transport, but it's absolute chaos from where Jaster is sitting- the endless shuffling of boots, the dust that still rises from the bloodied earth, fractured pieces of equipment and bodies that still lie broken. 

It is then that Jaster receives a comm from Carina, whose ghostly blue figure looks grim, and Jaster knows then that Vizsla still lives. 

"Vizsla has gone off-planet, Mand'alor. I'm sorry. They had ships near here, hidden."

It's nothing Jaster doesn't expect, but he's so tired now, and he wishes that Vizsla's ships fall out of the sky so that he doesn't have to deal with him later. 

"But all the ships were made by MandalMotors. There's a few left here- they're all fighters- we don't know how they got them, fighter production is tightly controlled- and they don't appear to have been licensed-"  someone shouts something in the distance  "they're all Kom'rk-class, look to be modified, 'alor, what do you want done with them?"

Cody nudges Jaster when he is silent too long. "Download whatever data you can from them, take as many as you can lift, and then blow the rest to  haran ." Carina smiles. 

"Of course, Mand'alor."  Carina's blue figure disappears from his comm, and Jaster sighs and looks at Cody, who is focusing on something else. He is more absent than anything, and Jaster sighs and stands, watching over the crowd and clamor as  Haat'mando'ade  sort  Kyr'tsad  into groups. He is still standing while a line of  ade  walk past him, all of different ages but still outfitted for war. 

One stops in front of him and spits in Jaster's face, still holding a younger  ad  tightly, who clings to them. Guards rush to restrain them, but they snarl in fury and fight them, even as the younger  ad  pleads with them. Jaster remains still while he watches this unfold, a splitting pain in his side and now in his soul and mind, for the expression of overwhelming grief and fury, directed at Jaster, gives him no sense of victory. 

And as the guards lead them away, to the ships, the younger  ad  starts to cry, dry heaving to the side, even as the first  ad  strokes them to provide some measure of comfort. Jaster is unable to watch and kneels in front of them, trying for reassurance, but the first  ad  only snarls when he speaks, and screams in his face. 

Jaster is still kneeling when they are taken further, still dragging their feet, when the first  ad  turns back to Jaster and with an expression of complete disgust and curses Jaster. "You are no better than  Kyr'tsad , for your actions." 

Jaster stills, staring at the  ad  that he will never harm. 

"You killed so many- ruthless, just like  them ." Vitriol spews ruthlessly from their mouths, and Jaster is silent, watching them. "Whatever they were to you,  Mand'alor , you took everything from us." 

Cody comes up beside Jaster, anger clear- "He saved you,  di'kut,  why must you-" Jaster stares at them and bows his head in grief. 

" Ni ceta ." 

Nothing more is said while they are led away, but Jaster can still feel their burning anger on his face. 

He thinks that there is nothing grimmer than the prospect of more war, now, and he would like nothing more than to sit with his  ade , and perhaps eat some of those jam-filled cookies.  How wondrous that would be! 

And yet Cody's turned away again, watching the swift progress of the  ramikade  as they sort out the captured  Kyr'tsade  members, and Jango's busy sorting out their situation, all while Jaster kneels on the filthy stone, covered in fragments of  haran . He rather thinks that this went well, however. They may not have captured Vizsla yet, but at least Tor's definitely dead, and they've disrupted  Kyr'tsad's  main base of operations- however long it will take them to rout  Kyr'tsad , at least they will be able to do so. 

It is now that Cody turns to Jaster, who was a steady presence by his side but still borne by his fury, and he can see the fear in Cody's eyes, so similar to Jango's but dark and tragic in ways that Jaster cannot imagine. Cody looks at him a moment longer, and Jaster knows nothing else to do when Cody rushes into his arms. 

He cradles this small, precious being in his arms even as his back aches to be released from this  haran , but there is nothing warmer than Cody, who curls into him and tells Jaster that he is  glad you are still alive, buir . And Jaster cannot help but hold Cody's little form a little tighter, just to ensure that, despite what may happen in this accursed civil war, that  Kyr'tsad  does not take his  ade  from him. 

Jaster finds another pair of steady arms wrapping around himself and Cody, and when he turns to see that it is Jango, he laughs a little.

"Group hug!" Jango says as he carefully embraces them. 

Jaster is still reveling in the presence of his  ade  when one of the obliterated remains of the MSE-6s starts hissing. Jango looks at Cody in alarm, even as Cody giggles hysterically. 

"I hoped we might have a chance to celebrate-" and the dozens of obliterated MSEs go up in flames with cheerful popping noises, scattering brightly colored sparks a short distance every which way. It looks a bit like a miniature firework show, and Jaster cannot be forced to tell Cody not to engage in frivolous use of military supplies when so many  ramikade  clap and cheer at the sight. It looks very much like a miniaturized light show, and Jaster is more amused than anything. He's never finished a battle and then been greeted with multicolored explosions. 

Jango seems much more concerned when he sees the explosions. "Cot'ika, why?" Cody beams up at both of them, and Jaster thinks he'd allow Cody to set as many (minor) explosions as he wants if he could smile like that again. 

"Insanity is only misunderstood genius,  ori'vod ." Jango's face sends Cody into hysterical laughter. 

Baar'ur  Merus returns to Jaster, looking him over critically. Cody has vacated his place by Jaster's side, and he and Jango accompany Merus in his careful examination of Jaster post-bandages and bacta, giving him a death glare with a solid affirmation that he visit the medbay as soon as he returns to the ship. 

Jaster takes this as a victory. After all, he might have not been able to get Vizsla, that fucking  hut'uun , but at least the  Haat'mando'ade  were able to rout  Kyr'tsad  from their main base of operations. He groans as he stumbles to his feet, and Jango and Cody come to his side immediately.

The dust is clearing, and Jaster knows he must get back to the ship, so that he may take stock of their dead and wounded, and of  Kyr'tsad , although most of them have been remarkably cooperative. The product of killing their only post-adolescent  'alor , he supposes. Nothing to be done for it, Jaster supposes, except to keep going until he is able to properly manage the aftermath of their battle with  Kyr'tsad . Not the least of which, Jaster knows, is placating the  Evaar'ade , and trying to figure out some sort of environmental solution for Concordia after they find the rest of  Kyr'tsad's  bases. What they have done here, finding the main mine system that  Kyr'tsad  has been using, is only the very start of a war they must wage on the remaining  Kyr'tsad  members. 

He trusts his  ramikade  to know how to scour the base for information, so Jaster may do his duty, sitting in front of holoprojectors and fielding dozens of comms from his  ramikade , with reports pouring in and with an understandably tired and frustrated  baar'ur  grumbling and gently rewrapping his bandages. 

Jango has forced Cody to sleep- whatever Cody has done in the past, it cannot be permitted now that he is a young child. Jango sits beside Jaster quietly, coordinating with the  Evaar'ade  over their efforts to house  Kyr'tsad's  prisoners, explaining the situation- they cannot begin to restore Concordia's ecological diversity before they beat  Kyr'tsad  up, what is so hard to understand about that? Jaster laughs lightly when he reads Jango's missive to an  Evaar'ade  councilor who seems to desire to start talks about prohibiting firearms, now that she believes that  Kyr'tsad  has been defeated.

There is no better feeling, Jaster understands, than knowing that your  ade  who will succeed you will be nothing less than admirable. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan's propensity for disappearing suddenly during their free time seems to have gone unnoticed. After his embarrassing bout of tears, Mace had returned him to Master Lunai, his manner kind but hilariously flustered. As much as Obi-Wan remembered Mace loving the younglings, he supposed this much younger Mace had not yet figured out how to deal with one that was sobbing hysterically in his lap. 

As a result of this, Obi-Wan was avoiding Mace at all costs. A good decision on the whole, Obi-Wan figured. It has worked for a few days now. He wished to say something to Mace, but he knew not what to say. What could he say? 

Hey, Master Windu, I'm from the future and a Sith who had taken control of the Republic and both sides of a war caused the demise of the entire Jedi Order.

Absolutely not, Obi-Wan thought distantly, and pulled down a datapad, and a few datachips. The Archives, Obi-Wan has decided, are his new favorite place. The chairs in particular are very comfortable. Properly squishy and supportive and ergonomically correct.  Excellent chair-acter , Obi-Wan thinks smugly. 

Obi-Wan has to read the headline of the article that comes up when he pulls up The Coruscantimes, and he then pulls up a dozen other networks just to ensure that he's not hallucinating. He might be, given his current set of circumstances. 

The headline varies between the networks, but they all seem to agree with each other. 

Mandalorian Sects Called "True Mandalorians" and "New Mandalorians" Compromise on Leadership in Mandalorian Space in Retaliation for Sentient Trafficking Violations,  the Galactic News Service reads. 

Mandalorian Factions Depose of a Group Named "Death Watch" in Violent Series of Conflicts,  another cheerfully states. 

Obi-Wan scrolls past  Hottest Mandalorians- You'll be amazed at what they're packing underneath all that valuable armor. How to get a Mandalorian for yourself! 

Coruscant Daily says  True Mandalorian and New Mandalorian Factions Groups Cooperate to Eliminate Sentient-Trafficking Operation Run by Splinter Group Called "Death Watch."

Obi-Wan taps on the article. 

In a series of ongoing conflicts, True Mandalorian forces have launched attacks on Death Watch forces on Mandalore's moon, Concordia with New Mandalorian support. True Mandalorian leader, Jaster Mereel-  Obi-Wan gapes at this-  has said that after attacks by Death Watch on True Mandalorian forces on Korda VI, evidence emerged that Death Watch had been kidnapping young sentients to indoctrinate as child soldiers. 

Mand'alor Mereel has claimed that "We are already attempting to rehabilitate the youngest ade [children] into adoptive families. If the ade desire to return home to an adult that can support them, New Mandalorian humanitarian aid helps to return them promptly to the planet of their choice. Those who have sworn to recognize the legitimacy of the Haat'Mando'ade [True Mandalorian] and Evaar'ade [New Mandalorian] government have been placed on probation but are allowed freedom." When asked about those who still believe in Death Watch's legitimacy, Mereel states, "They are prisoners under the joint authority of the Haat'mando'ade and the Evaar'ade, although they are still treated humanely and allowed to read information and media. We cannot, surprisingly enough, allow a group of well-established warriors believing in terrorist ideology to be rehabilitated like those who have promised their allegiance without a substantial assurance of safety." Compiled reports of massacres and kidnappings across the Outer Rim have been published. Local and planet authorities confirm that similar patterns between the killings suggest that one group has been the perpetrator, but that the killings were "far too widely distributed for a local force to discern a noticeable pattern."

Recent battles on Concordia have wreaked havoc on Concordia's already struggling economy and environment. The mines on Concordia were largely abandoned after previous conflicts that drove many companies such as MandalMotors, out of Mandalorian space. Death Watch has been using the mines for its operations for an unknown amount of time. The new leader of Death Watch, Pre Vizsla, has taken up authority after the death of Tor Vizsla on Korda VI. He was reported to have fled the battle after a traditional duel for leadership between Vizsla and Mereel occurred.

New Mandalorians and True Mandalorians have been politically opposed on many counts, but the recent cooperation between their leadership suggests that they may be able to retain the stability that has been undermined by persistent civil war. 

The article continues, but Obi-Wan can only stare at a photo of the Mereel Clan standing in a chamber with what was presumably the entire council. He recognizes a few- Duke Kryze is still alive, and he is struck by the familiarity of some of their armor- he thinks that he recognizes Aves, who has a truly magnificent plate of custard buns in front of him, and a councilor named Janli who was as exceedingly kind as she was intelligent. Obi-Wan recognizes few others. 

But Obi-Wan squints to see the Mereel clan standing in the center of the chamber, where a few Mandalorians stand. The caption of the photo tells Obi-Wan that there is Mand'alor Mereel, Jango Fett, and his third child who was recently adopted, but Obi-Wan can't explain his need to see who the unnamed third child is- he stands beside Jango, leaning comfortably upon his leg and he is evidently happy and safe and- Obi-Wan doesn't know why he wants to know the third child's name. It is stupid- simply because the child looks to be close to Obi-Wan's current age is no reason to be so curious about the Mand'alor's family. After all, it seems that something drastic has changed- Jaster Mereel is not dead, and Jango Fett has not been plunged unwittingly into the role of a leader. And now there is a third child, towards whom the Force gently pushes Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan shuts the 'pad off. He is being foolish and stupid, and it seems that something has happened correctly in the galaxy without his interference- why should he interfere now? And even if he had enough need, it would be difficult for a young child like Obi-Wan to sneak out of the temple without being caught. The temple guards are very solicitous about the welfare of the younglings. Obi-Wan sneaks one last look at the youngest Mereel child, whose face is still too blurry for Obi-Wan to see properly, and groans at his irrational obsessions. 

The Force hits Obi-Wan upside the head, and all Obi-Wan does is close his eyes.  Shut up. I'm so done with this, leave me alone, please.  

The Force is more insistent now, and Obi-Wan groans and turns the 'pad back on. Time to do some first-rate stalking. 

Chapter Text

Mace knew not what had possessed him to spar with an initiate- it was clearly the wrong course of action given how upset the youngling was, but he needed to find Initiate Kenobi to be able to help- and yet the youngling's force signature blinked out just around the corner. Mace could scream in frustration. 

Younglings . The temple should've had a course on younglings. Mace would've taken it. 

So far, as soon as Mace got somewhat close to Initiate Kenobi, his force signature blinked out as though he never existed, and he vanished from sight. It was immensely frustrating. 

And just now, Mace could've sworn he had seen a flash of tan initiate robes disappear around that pillar. Mace groaned and kept walking, determined not to break out into longer strides. It would not do for others to see him running about the temple like a decapitated chicken, even if he needed to resolve this issue. The shatterpoints were giving him a headache, and he needed to understand whatever this was. 

Mace groaned when the vast halls of the Jedi Archives greeted him. Whatever Initiate Kenobi was up to, it wasn't anything normal. Which, Mace supposed, was normal for Kenobi. If only he had been able to find Kenobi earlier, he wouldn't have had to do this undignified peeking into aisles. Mace paused when he reached the romance section. Initiate Kenobi was definitely not here, but it seemed that his favorite author had published a new novel- Heart of a Star- and if he stopped really fast, he could perhaps check out the holobook before someone else got to it… but, Mace had a duty, and that duty was to find Initiate Kenobi. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan tumbled out into the midst of a crowd and barely avoided being stepped on by a large Trandoshan who was in a hurry, muttering something about the acquisition of pancakes . Obi-Wan, now desiring pancakes, still rushed onwards, ducking under a few inconvenient barriers as he speedily retraced his steps to CoCo Town. 

It would be difficult for Obi-Wan to get off-world. He looked too young to be traveling alone, and didn't have any money- but if he could just get off-world, then he could find his way to Mandalore if he had money, since many outer- and mid-rim planets generally had more inconsistent travel regulations, and if Obi-Wan was careful (he always was) he could get to Mandalore without many mishaps. 

Obi-Wan was ready and willing to break any number of rules, as long as it was necessary. 

And this was essential, even if it was selfish. After some more digging, a tad bit more snooping around Mandalorian media outlets, and some illicit activities, Obi-Wan had come across the name of the Mand'alor's newest ad - Cody, or Kote, as some new outlets had named him. And this Cody's pictures bore an eerie resemblance to Obi-Wan's Cody, even when tinted blue. The scar on his face, the quiet and steady confidence in his eyes, the tilt of his chin, the way he clasped his hands, his stance- everything about this Cody reminded Obi-Wan of his Cody, and presented with this hope, Obi-Wan had to go to Mandalore, even if this Cody was not his Cody. 

And besides, Obi-Wan rationalized, it was possible that if he were able to go back in time, Cody could too. After all, Obi-Wan had no idea what caused his sudden trip. Perhaps if he went to Mandalore, he might learn more. 

With renewed determination, Obi-Wan arrived in CoCo Town and sought Dex's presence in the force. Surprised, Obi-Wan sought a path he had taken many times in another life. 

Even though Obi-Wan knew Dex was here- he still didn't expect for him to have already established his diner- it was clearly undone, but Dex was here instead of selling donuts or weapons. 

Obi-Wan hesitantly knocked on the door, and hearing no response, he opened the door and poked his head in. The room was dirty and unkempt, and it seemed as though it was abandoned. But Obi-Wan could hear music coming from the kitchen; Dex was certainly here, and it sounded like he was cleaning. 

Obi-Wan delightedly ran into the kitchen which was significantly cleaner than the untouched dining area. 

Dex, who had been fixing the stove, turned and saw Obi-Wan. "Ben?" Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. "What are you even doing here, kid? And how did you find me?" 

Obi-Wan beamed up at him. "I was looking for you!" Dex set his tools down with a heavy sigh, and Obi-Wan pressed on, utilizing the deadly technique of a puppy face. "I might need some help." 

Dex looked at him for a long time, and then gestured for him to sit down. "What kind of help?" 

"I need to get to Mandalore, but I have no credits." 

Dex frowned. "Do you not have guardians?" 

"My guardians are on Mandalore right now,” Obi-Wan lied smoothly, “they left me here at a boarding school, but with the improved political climate, I want to head back and see them again.”

Dex nodded. "I heard about that- a contact of mine was there, and tensions have lessened. Can't your guardians help you get there?" 

Obi-Wan shrugged and looked down at his feet . "I just really want to see them, that's all." I miss them.

"Alright, I'll help you." Obi-Wan cheered, even as Dex grumbled. "You did help me out with those officials, and it's not much trouble for me. I have plenty of money from-" 

"Other things?" Obi-Wan chirped. Dex sighed in exasperation. 

"You can't take a direct transport there, kid. It's too far, and Mandalore's not even part of the Republic. And I know you're not truthful but I'll help you out anyway." Dex trailed off, muttering something about damned tooka eyes . "There should be lots of ships from Coruscant that will go along the Hydian Way- if you can stop at Corsin or Bandomeer you should be able to get to Mandalore, but Bandomeer might be better since it's so close to Mandalorian Space. The mining operations there might let you hitch a ride if they're exporting to Mandalore as well." 

Obi-Wan nodded solemnly, trying to quell his fear. Perhaps Xanatos had not yet found the time to expand Offworld Mining Corporation to Bandomeer. And even if he had, Bandomeer was so close to Mandalore that it would be easiest to take a transport there and just get to Mandalore or even one of its moons.

Dex chuckled. "I don't know what's going on for you, but I'm sure you'll be able to find whatever you're looking for. You're a strange kid." Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "Transport to Bandomeer shouldn't be bad, but if you need to get to Mandalore, it'll be more." 

Obi-Wan beamed. "Thank you, sir! I will repay your kindness in the future." 

Dex shook his head as he ushered Obi-Wan out of the diner with enough credits for food and transport to Mandalore. Obi-Wan giggled as he heard Dex mutter, "I don't know what's gotten into me" just before the diner door closed behind Obi-Wan. His mission was accomplished, and Obi-Wan couldn't help the hope that was spreading through his chest, the effusive joy that had him grinning like a lunatic. 

There had been nothing for him here, but now he had something else to hope for besides the death of Palpatine. 

With these thoughts lifting him up, Obi-Wan headed to the nearest ticket station, overwhelmingly happy. 

—————————————

Mace was going mad.

He was almost certain that Kenobi had gone into the Archives, and Madame Nu had corroborated his statement- but he had not left the Archives, according to Madame Nu, and there was no chance that he would've slipped past Madame Nu's notice if he'd left. Mace himself had tried to sneak past Madame Nu when he was a young Padawan. 

He had a healthy respect for Madame Nu.

But Initiate Kenobi was nowhere to be found, not in the Archives, nor in the crèche, or in the gardens, or in any classes, and when he asked Kenobi’s crèchemates, they only gave him a blank look and said, he’s looking for pancakes. 

What kind of initiate goes looking for pancakes? 

Mace had spent hours looking for Initiate Kenobi, and the Force was no help as it gurgled happily around him, chuckling and giving him no indication of where he might be able to find this child. 

For Force’s sake, Mace had other things that he needed to do. He had to file mission reports, research and report for his various committees, prepare his saber classes- and yet here he was, searching for a particularly troublesome  initiate. Although, Mace reflected, it was very important that he be able to apologize for his conduct, and this, unlike his other responsibilities, could not be put off. He had never encountered such a strange youngling- Initiate Kenobi’s movements, while unbalanced, were clearly defined and practiced, and they were forms that Mace would not expect an Initiate to know. He should not have pushed for a better understanding of Kenobi when he was so distressed, no matter what his assignments were. 

It was with this final thought that Mace turned into a refectory that was particularly well known for its delightful baked goods, hoping to find some tasty goodness that he might be able to eat before he had to continue looking for Initiate Kenobi.

Who was sitting before a hefty plate of pancakes, liberally topped with whipped cream and strawberries and syrup. 

Mace decided that this was wholly unfair, and nearly walked out the door. But no, Mace had to be responsible, and that required him to go up to Initiate Kenobi and his pile of pancakes and to talk to him about things. 

But first, Mace needed moral support. Perhaps a slice of pie? 

Pie in hand, Mace approached Kenobi’s table. “May we talk?”

Kenobi nodded and mmmphm ed through his mouthful of pancake, gesturing towards the opposite seat with his fork.

Mace set his pie down and promptly forgot all that he was going to talk about. “Why are you eating pancakes?” 

Initiate Kenobi looked down at his plate and then up again. “I wanted pancakes?” 

Mace stared at him for a long time, and then heaved a great sigh. “I apologize for my conduct in the salles. I wish I could have offered you greater solace.”

Kenobi shrugged. “S’okay. I’ve got pancakes.” 

Another mouthful of pancake disappeared. Mace frowned, again. 

“I like pancakes,” Kenobi declared cheerfully. 

His mouth, Mace saw, was quirked up in a small smile, genuine and sweet, and perhaps Initiate Kenobi’s overwhelming grief was only a small incident- but Mace knew what he had felt in the force, and such great sorrow in a youngling was not something he could ignore. If only he knew what to say, perhaps this would not be so awkward. 

Mace regarded Initiate Kenobi curiously. Besides the mound of pancakes, his demeanor had changed. His Force signature, no longer hidden from Mace as it was before, still hung around Kenobi in a dismal cloud of misery, but it had lessened from the pure sorrow that Mace had felt from Kenobi before, and Mace was reassured that perhaps Kenobi was feeling better. 

"If you ever need anything, Initiate Kenobi, I will be more than willing to help," Mace nodded firmly and caught Kenobi's gaze. "All you need to do is ask." 

Kenobi stared at Mace, stunned. He opened his mouth, perhaps deliberating about whether he ought to speak, but a small frown crossed his face, and he said nothing. Mace stifled his faint disappointment and let it fade into the Force. If there was anything Mace could do, he needed Obi-Wan to tell him what to help with. Pushing, as Mace had learned, would do them no good. 

Kenobi stood up with his cleared plate and bowed deeply to Mace. "Thank you for your kindness, Master Windu. I will remember this." Mace blinked a little in surprise, but smiled and returned Kenobi a small bow. 

"Remember, if you need anything, all you must do is ask," and as Obi-Wan bounced away, Mace could not help but feel a surge of fondness. Initiate Kenobi, however weird, was an endearing child. All Mace knew to do now was to wait and hope that Initiate Kenobi might reach out to him. In the meantime, he would ensure Obi-Wan's continued safety.

—————————————

Obi-Wan, now full of pancakes, hurried to the crèche. As much as he needed to get to Mandalore, it would be folly to leave the temple without any prior preparation. And as much as he needed supplies, Obi-Wan needed to leave for Mandalore before he was found out. Mace especially was watching Obi-Wan far too much for comfort, and Obi-Wan would like to avoid another awkward encounter, no matter how well meaning Mace was. 

Obi-Wan nearly groaned when he turned the corner and saw all his friends- Quinlan, Garen, Bant, and Siri were all gathered in a circle, but before he could get away, Garen looked up and beamed. "Obi!" 

Not now, Obi-Wan thought, even as his chest warmed to see them. Screw it, Obi-Wan decided. He could wait a little bit to go to Mandalore. 

Bant turned and smiled too, but then her face gave way into concern. "How come Knight Windu was asking about you, Obi?" 

Obi-Wan laughed. "I got my pancakes, and Master Windu showed up halfway through, asking me about- well, doesn't really matter, and he got pie." 

They all looked unimpressed, Bant especially. "Obi, that's an awful excuse. Knight Windu looked really concerned. Like, really really really concerned! He kinda looked like he was about to tear out his hair!" 

Siri snickered. "If he had any hair to tear out." 

Obi-Wan could feel his chest warming even more. At this rate, he may even explode. He had forgotten how good it was to be around his friends. Obi-Wan grinned. "I'm sure Master Windu could get some more hair if he really tried. As it is, he might just shine his head." 

Quinlan only smirked and head-cuffed Obi-Wan, who scowled. Quin was always using his stupid muscles to bother him. Obi-Wan grumbled incoherently as Quinlan started to move, dragging Obi-Wan with him. 

"What're you doing, Quinlan?" 

Bant trotted alongside Obi-Wan, who was now being dragged along by his neck (very gently) through the vast halls of the Jedi Temple. How undignified . Siri and Garen began to follow, seemingly amused by this turn of events. 

"You're gonna take a break, you doofus. We've decided you need a break!" 

Siri nodded in determination. "You've been off, Obi-Wan. It's not okay. We will force you to get better." 

Obi-Wan grumbled again, still dragging his feet as Quinlan dragged him along. "You cannot force me to get better. That is folly." 

Garen gave him a sharp look, or at least as sharp as his baby face could look. "Master Lunai says the best thing to do to recover from an upsetting event is to sleep and get hugs." Bant nodded in agreement. "So that's what we're gonna do." 

Obi-Wan groaned. This would only make leaving for Mandalore harder. If only he had been more wary, he would not have gotten held up by his friends. Stupid feelings, Obi-Wan reflected bitterly. But if this expedition turned out to be ill-fated, then perhaps the Temple would take him back on good behavior if they didn't realize why he had left. But Obi-Wan was reluctant to make a lie about where he was planning to go. 

If he made a contingency plan, if he made another plan in case the Cody on Mandalore was not Obi-Wan's Cody, then that might mean that the Cody now was definitely not his Cody. That this journey was inevitably going to fail. 

Obi-Wan could always make up a lie, but he desperately needed this plan to succeed, so that he might be able to talk to someone who might've been a friend once. Perhaps for other reasons too. 

Quinlan interrupted Obi-Wan's musing. "We will take a nap!" he announced, and without further ado, let Obi-Wan out of his hold and they all piled onto a giant mattress on top of Obi-Wan.

"Garen," Obi-Wan hissed, "get your unnecessarily pointy elbow out of my face!" Garen quickly complied. "And where did you even get this mattress?" 

Bant rolled over on the cushions, stretching happily. "We talked to Master Lunai about it. She did say it was a good idea." 

"Right." Well, if Obi-Wan was going to be stuck here under a pile of limbs and friendship, it would be beneficial to stay. He had checked the time charts for a shuttle to Bandomeer, had bought a ticket- all he needed to do now was gather his belongings and make sure he caught the shuttle. It should not be difficult, Obi-Wan decided sleepily. 

He had not felt this warm and comfortable in a very long time, surrounded by soft blankets and ensconced safely with his friends, and Obi-Wan drifted into blissful sleep. 

—————————————

Mace startled as Master Daesha Lunai, smiling softly, came to him in the gardens. 

She gestured for him to follow her, and he acquiesced easily. 

“What happened?” Mace queried. Remembering that Daesha was Initiate Kenobi’s crechemaster, he frowned, alarmed. “Did something happen to Initiate Kenobi?”

Daesha glanced back at him sharply. “On the contrary. I thought it might be comforting for you. I believe Obi-Wan’s condition has improved, and hopefully this incident was only an anomaly.” 

Daesha paused in the doorway to one of the bedrooms in the crèche to tell Mace to be quiet, as though that was necessary. But Mace was overwhelmed with fondness, the expectation of sleeping younglings having been superseded by the tranquil picture that met Mace. 

The beds had been pushed to the side of the room, the mattresses pulled off and pushed into one large conglomeration in the middle of the room. Blankets, plushies, and pillows had been piled on top, and over all this, a mound of younglings, all of which had answered him when he had asked for Obi-Wan's location, were curled up on top, clearly tuckered out, and huffing little sounds of sleep. 

Mace did not try to repress his quiet joy, and looking one last time at the peaceful scene, he left them and bid farewell to Daesha. He still had mounds and mounds of paperwork to file, all of which needed to be done soon. Cursing Yoda and his propensity for delegating unpleasant tasks, Mace returned to his rooms, feeling much lighter. Perhaps the day had not been a waste, after all. 

—————————————

Pale rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, waking Obi-Wan from what must have been the most restful slumber he has had in a very long time. Obi-Wan's arm and both legs were asleep, as his friends were piled comfortably around him, feeling incredibly toasty. Obi-Wan turned over and lifted himself on his elbows, gazing at his friends for just a little longer. If this worked out for him, he might still see them again. And even if he didn't, Obi-Wan still had a lifetime of memories with them. That would be enough, no matter what happened. 

Quinlan's arm tightened around Obi-Wan, and he had to pry them off, the clingy bastard. He gathered his clothing and belongings from beneath his cot, folding them into a satchel and tucking the remaining credits that Dex had given him into one of his shirts. 

In the threshold of the door, Obi-Wan turned back to see his friends, all still sleeping soundly in the pale rays of sunlight. He stepped through the doorway and gently shut the door behind him, creeping through the darkness of the creche, which was devoid of life at this early hour. 

Obi-Wan crept through the vast halls of the Jedi Temple, feeling a little nauseous as he turned through darkened passages that he'd explored in another life. He took a less frequented path to the Archives- through the service halls that droids traveled in. As he did so, he snatched quite a few ration bars and filled his satchel with what he could take. He also stole a few cookies that were lying conspicuously on trays. 

Feeling as prepared as he could (which was not at all prepared), Obi-Wan set off to the closest spaceport he knew, darting around people's feet and generally causing chaos- he had booked the earliest flight to Bandomeer, and since he had slept properly, he no longer had an excess of time.

Despite this, he still arrived at the shuttle with a few minutes to spare, panting and sweaty, and doubtless disgusting to the ticket collector, who gazed loftily down at Obi-Wan, his nose tipped up and his glasses sliding down his nose as he accepted Obi-Wan's carefully preserved ticket. However, Obi-Wan cared little for the stares of those surrounding him, and he was more preoccupied in hoping for better things. Perhaps, if he were lucky enough, this endeavor would work out, and the Cody in this world traveled back in time, just as Obi-Wan did. 

The mechanics of the thing were not to be considered, though, and Obi-Wan studiously ignored the fact that he was sent back into his original body- but Cody didn't exist yet, and he had no body to be sent back into. 

Obi-Wan was consumed with doubt- he could not go back now that he had already decided to go, recklessly, and without thinking through the consequences of leaving the temple. Even if this hope was lost, Obi-Wan still had other things to do. He didn't need to be a Jedi to accomplish the things which he needed to do. It would be fine. 

Even if the Mand'alor's son was not his Cody, Obi-Wan could do something for them. 

Obi-Wan passed the time on the bench sifting through his mind and the Force, trying to mend his cracked shielding. The warmth of the life that surrounded him comforted him as Obi-Wan tuned out the noises of the spaceport and focused instead on the flow of energy and the comforting presence of the Force. Obi-Wan had been so alone, but now he had hope, and the dull emptiness inside of him was replaced with quickly rising warmth. This would work out alright, no matter who the Mand'alor's son was. However, Obi-Wan considered that this Mand'alor, Jaster Mereel, who had died early in another life, was still alive. Surely that indicated that things had changed? 

The hushed hum of conversation surrounded Obi-Wan as the transport lifted off from Coruscant. It was soothing, the noise of discussions. Obi-Wan frowned when he heard a nearby Rodian discussing used wares under his breath, and he focused on it.  

"... expensive, too expensive to waste, even though the Republic'll turn a blind eye to most of it. Just know a few good contacts, and it's a shoo-in."

His companion, clearly with hidden weapons- two knives in each boot, a blaster in his pants and under his jacket, and another, longer knife in his right sleeve, nodded in agreement. Obi-Wan slouched in his chair and curled his arms around his pack, pretending to be asleep. Nothing good would come of it if they believed he was listening in, even if he was out of earshot from them. 

"...And the worst of it is, most of 'em aren't even properly behaved- you have to break 'em in first, before they're any use." 

Obi-Wan stifled his burning rage- in this state, he was in no condition to attack them- he had no lightsaber, since he'd decided against bringing a training saber, and if he did attack them right now- it'd draw too much attention to him, which he couldn't afford if he wanted to be able to get to Mandalore. He could, Obi-Wan decided, make their lives miserable if he went about it in the right way… but then he'd have to take a detour from Mandalore.  

"....I can help you transport yours," the Rodian murmured, and Obi-Wan had to focus even more to hear the rest, "... the head of the Banking Clan lets us use certain things to help our operations for our aid." Obi-Wan frowned deeply. He remembered nothing about the Banking Clan being involved in any sort of scandal regarding slavery- perhaps he forgot about it, but it was unlikely. The Force was thrumming in warning. "...if you help me with this operation, you won't have a problem with your trade if you stay within the correct channels." 

His companion hummed in agreement again, "I'll accept your aid," and Obi-Wan was sorely tempted to look over at them- "Thank you very much for your assistance," they murmured silkily, and the Rodian chuckled nervously.

"Of course," his words were silky and obsequious, "it benefits us all." Obi-Wan hhmphed into his pack, wrinkling his nose in contempt. Slavers . They always left a grimy feeling in the Force. 

"Offworld, huh?" Obi-Wan startled. "I should've known. Once they changed leadership, they've always been more comfortable with our help." Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, soothing his beating heart.  Obi-Wan continued to pretend to sleep, even as the Rodian stood and left, presumably to conduct more shady business deals. His companion, however, stayed. 

Obi-Wan allowed the conversations of other passengers to wash over him. He had known Xanatos had used, even encouraged Offworld's unofficial slave trade- after all, it was astoundingly lucrative. But so early ? Obi-wan huffed again into his pack. What to do? 

However, near the end of the flight, his choice on what to do was startlingly limited, as he felt the Rodian's companion watching him, their eyes burning through Obi-Wan, still curled up, but no longer feigning sleep. They stood and sat across from Obi-Wan, training their dark eyes and a sickly sweet smile on Obi-Wan.

Stranger danger , Obi-Wan thought humorlessly, even as the Force rang in warning. "Hey little man. Where are your parents?" Obi-Wan pointed wordlessly at another couple sitting nearby. 

The person's face lit up. "Lemme go talk to them. Little kids shouldn't be sitting alone. It's dangerous ." Briefly, their lips curled up in an odd imitation of a kind smile. 

Fuck . The person had gotten up and was approaching the couple. They shook their heads, confused and entirely unhelpful to Obi-Wan. Screw it , Obi-Wan decided, and snatching his pack to run, he twisted around to push the companion away with as much force as he could muster. Panicking, he could not find the concentration to throw them away. Twice, he shoved them away with the force, but in his unfocused panic, it dissipated around them. With shameful ease, they dragged him into a separate room and plunged a hypo into his neck. Why couldn't he fight?  

Should've paid more attention. Will pay more attention in the future, be more careful, Obi-Wan decided, and succumbed to the oppressive force of sleep. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan woke to the thunderous noise of ship engines, feeling dread sitting deep within his stomach and cuffs around his neck and wrists, knowing that he would be much better off sleeping again. 

How was it that this always happened? The worst part about it now was that he should have known better. An unattended child, on some random transport where no one would take notice of his presence or his absence- he should have known better, he should have been able to fight more easily. Obi-Wan could not understand why he struggled with simple katas, could not prevent another slaver from taking him. Why is this?  

Obi-Wan stared forward, feeling that it was oddly dim - was it the lighting, or was it just Obi-Wan? The light panel swayed dangerously, flickering, and illuminating both the enclosure and the dead insects lying in its cover. 

He withdrew towards the back of the cage- no use volunteering himself for whatever they had planned, and drew his legs in towards his chest and watched the slumped forms in the other cages and said nothing and realized that this time, there was no one coming for him. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was bored out of his mind. There was absolutely nothing to do in the darkness, besides sit against the bars of his cramped cage and wait for something more interesting to happen. If he had still been an adult, he would've been supremely unconcerned, and probably would've escaped by now. But now, Obi-Wan reflected, he was far too uncertain in using the Force freely to be confident of his success. 

As Obi-Wan knew well by now, a failed escape attempt was far more painful than remaining put. But he must, or else he'd never reach Mandalore. He closed his eyes, sinking tentatively into the Force. 

There was some apathy and blankness from the two pilots, but that was fairly typical for slavers. One of the passengers felt different: bloodthirsty, but that was also typical. Some sorrow and hopelessness from Obi-Wan's fellow prisoners, some of which were sitting in their cages, leaning against the bars just as Obi-Wan was. But nothing overtly unsettling, Obi-Wan thought. 

Obi-Wan waved a greeting at the being in the cage next to his, who waved back hesitantly but offered no further interaction. Which was fair, of course. But he still needed to figure out a way to get himself, and these other slaves out. 

With no apparent solution in mind, he settled back against the cold, uncomfortable bars of his cage and waited for another development. 

—————————————

The development occurred some time later (Obi-Wan hated it when he lost time in darkness) when the lock rattled and a Mandalorian stepped in, keys in hand. Obi-Wan stared in shock. This was the last place he'd expect to see a Mandalorian- the light from the hallway outside illuminated their dirtied gray and blue armor and a stylized jai'galaar on their pauldron. Death Watch, then. 

But then, what was Death Watch doing on a slaver ship? Obi-Wan's question was left unanswered, as the Mandalorian cast a brief glance over all the slaves, their gaze lingering on each of them only for a moment, before they called for Tuk, presumably one of the slavers. 

A flushed, portly man descended the ladder into the hallway, puffing heavily. "Wha' d'ya want, Mando?"

A cold voice came from the vocoder. "These ones are hardly worth the creds we're paying you for them. We asked for strong youths. These things," their voice was chilling, "are hardly worth the ration bars needed to keep them alive." They sneered, kicking the bars of a cage, causing the frail looking Twi'lek inside to flinch back. 

"If you still want our cooperation, and our support, you should tell your master , " and here their voice dipped again into contempt, "we demand better goods that will truly fit our purposes. These are too weak. They lack mandokar ." 

Tuk puffed up in indignation, but seeing the Mandalorian level their gaze at him caused him to avert his gaze, looking down. He waved to the Mandalorian to follow him, his tone obsequious. "'course we can work somethin' out Mando, but thar's no need t' do it in front o' the goods." 

The Mandalorian watched Tuk for a moment, before nodding and following him out the door, the steel door slamming shut behind them, and leaving Obi-Wan to his racing thoughts. 

A Mandalorian! Obi-Wan knew Death Watch was a splinter group, working with other organizations by the time of the Clone Wars. But so early? Who were they working with, and how might he find this out? Were these connections the cause of their prominence during the Clone Wars? 

But more importantly, it was apparently a Mandalorian group that had purchased Obi-Wan and the other slaves. Obi-Wan doubted that the Mand'alor's Haat'mando'ade would tolerate slavery, but if Death Watch still had operations on Mandalore, perhaps he might be able to get to Mandalore by just… going with the flow and escaping after they were on planet. A reasonably solid plan that may be subject to change, Obi-Wan decided, and he settled back to rest so that he might have enough energy later to execute whatever escape plan he devised. Obi-Wan was getting rather adept at escaping, he reflected. Not the worst thing, but unfortunate that he was getting so much practice. 

Neither the pilots nor the Mando returned to see the slaves, but Obi-Wan woke when they dropped out of hyperspace. He sat up straight, waiting for whatever might come next, watching the other slaves shift in fear when they landed. Tuk emerged, looking immensely disgruntled, and Obi-Wan stifled a smirk. It was never a good idea to antagonize slavers, no matter how happy you were to see them in distress. 

Obi-Wan no longer felt like smirking when they emerged from the ship, dragging their chains behind them to see the painfully familiar view and scent and feel of Bandomeer's deep seas, just before they were led back into the entrance of another familiar mine. 

He felt as though the universe was laughing at Obi-Wan when he caught sight of Xanatos's ugly mug, younger than Obi-Wan ever knew him. Tuk went up to Xanatos, and in a low voice that Obi-Wan was not meant to have overheard, informed him that, "Mandos didn't want them. What d'ya want to do with 'em?" 

Xanatos cast an imperious glance over all the slaves, and Obi-Wan shrunk down, both physically and in the Force. His gaze paused over Obi-Wan before moving on, and Obi-Wan exhaled softly. "Just put them to work in the mines. It's not like we need them for anything else, and they won't be much of a problem once they're dead." 

Tuk nodded and a droid took their chains from them to lead them away. "What are we going to do with the slavers' payment? We didn't get any money off the Mandos." 

Just before the door shut behind Obi-Wan, he could just see Xanatos wave Tuk away. "Kill them." 

Obi-Wan's eyes adjusted to the darkness again, and he was greeted with a familiar sight after the elevator doors opened- dusty corridors and caverns filled with slaves spurred on by electrowhips, illuminated by lanterns that cast a dim red light on everything. An Imbat loped over to them, hands full with electric shock collars. Obi-Wan lashed out immediately before the unnecessarily tall Imbat reached him, throwing the shock collars against the wall and shattering his cuffs before he released the slaves around him. 

Obi-Wan lifted a droid with the Force, crushing it and throwing it into an Imbat rushing towards them. Obi-Wan knew how to do this. He knew more, was more experienced. And without further ado, he reached out to the Force and let its immense energy rush through him. Nearly bursting with the feeling, Obi-Wan leaped across the dark corridor to strike a tall guard, snatching their prod to catch another strike.

He relished the feeling of letting the Force flow through him to guide his strikes and blocks, and he nearly laughed as he jumped to flip over the small head of a guard and strike them with enhanced strength. But even as he danced through the struggling guards, Obi-Wan saw the slaves staring at him, some in shock and some in surprise, but none of them moving, and Obi-Wan pushed closer to them with fluid strikes, hoping to convince them to fight back as well. 

He stumbled and nearly dropped his stolen weapon at the now familiar sensation of a Force choke, his limbs freezing in place for a moment when he saw Xanatos stalking towards him, looking so similar to the man that haunted Obi-Wan's apprenticeship. "Pathetic child ," he snarled, and Obi-Wan cursed himself and his fear as a different kind of darkness began to overtake his vision for the second time that day. 

—————————————

Jaster suppressed a groan. They had spent far too much time arguing over nominations for provincial governors, and if this continued, he wouldn't be able to have latemeal with Jango and Cody. 

Cody, predictably, had refused to stay idle while Jaster was working with the Council. Jaster was already planning to assign Jango to a committee for investigating Kyr'tsad's ties with other organizations, and to find the last remnants of Kyr'tsad before they could organize themselves again and pose another threat to Manda'yaim's carefully crafted stability. He figured it couldn't hurt to assign Cody to it as well. From what Cody has told them, he must have been a frighteningly competent commander when he was an adult (what a strange thought) and it would give Cody and Jango time to be together. 

Jaster smirked at his brilliance. He hadn't anticipated Jango, but he seemed to have it all down pat with Jango and Cody. All he needed now was a good cup of caf, and for this meeting to be over.

Jaster watched Chieftain Awaud get into a heated debate with Kryze over the treatment of those who had joined Kyr'tsad . It was easily agreed that children would be rehabilitated with the Haat'mando'ade or Evaar'ade families, depending on their preference, and perhaps reunited with their original families, if they were still alive and able to care for them. The adults were different, however. It was difficult to distinguish those who had been coerced into fighting for Kyr'tsad, and those who had joined willingly. 

Mass punishment would be unfair to many, but allowing them to argue that they had been coerced would give many Kyr'tsade that still believed in Vizsla's leadership to be free. Trials for each individual would take a long time, Jaster knew, but perhaps for the clan heads? Given time, and a probation, they could ensure a peaceful assimilation of clans that had left, if their clan heads were amenable. 

Jaster nearly sighed with relief when Chieftain Kast proposed a system for trials of leaders in Kyr'tsad . Aves agreed, and Jaster felt as though his brain were fried as he talked through court systems and trials with the council. 

Jaster's misery was interrupted by a comm from Jango, a heads up that they had found one of Kyr’tsad’s off world connections and he thought it would be of interest to Jaster, given its proximity to Manda'yaim and the circumstances of its discovery. Below, a note from Cody implored Jaster to take special note of this incident, saying only that Bandomeer was a significant planet to his general. 

Well, then. They need only ask. 

Jaster waved his hand to cut off Kast, who had been giving a well prepared speech against a system of judges chosen entirely through elections. 

"An important matter has come to my attention. I will return when possible, and Myles will continue this meeting in my stead." 

Myles gave a heavy sigh, but waved Jaster away and sat to take notes, nodding for Kast to continue. Jaster tried to communicate his apologies, but Myles shook his head, a clear permission to hear whatever it was Jango and Cody wished to tell him. 

Jaster sent a quick comm to Jango- on my way - and hurried to leave the tension of the council. Jango had unknowingly rescued Jaster, and he was immensely grateful.

—————————————

“ Buir!” Jango smiled in greeting when his buir entered the room, and he came to stand by Jango’s side in front of the holotable, stopping to ruffle Cody’s hair and earning an indignant squawk.  

Jaster smiled, but then turned a serious gaze towards him, and Jango brought up the holo of Offworld's mining operations on Bandomeer. 

"We suspect that Kyr'tsad has been cooperating with Offworld Mining Corporation to supply Kyr'tsad with minerals in exchange for their work as mercenaries, capturing civilians to be used as slave labor in Offworld's mines."

Jaster's stomach dropped. "I see," he murmured.   

"And?"

Painfully aware of Cody's gaze upon him, Jaster nodded and pulled up a star map of Bandomeer and the Braxant Run. "And it will be taken care of swiftly."

Offworld's mining operations were vast, and although they had likely hired guards, they would be hopelessly outmatched against Jaster's ramikade . If all went well, this would be a quick operation. 

" Buir? " Cody piped up. 

"Yes, Cody?"

Cody grasped Jaster's sleeve. "Xanatos, the owner of Offworld, is a dar'jetii ." 

Jaster let out a surprised breath, and nodded his understanding. They could deal with this, too. It would only require a little more planning. Jaster looked down at Cody again, at his furrowed brows and stiff bearing, and he placed a gentle hand on Cody's shoulder.

"If Kyr'tsad continues to sustain itself with Offworld's fortunes, then we must ensure that Offworld ceases to supply Kyr'tsad with materials that would allow them to continue operating. As this matter is rather urgent, I think that discussions on gubernatorial elections may be delayed." 

Jaster pulled up a call for the war council, and sent a quick comm to Myles. It would be easy enough to plan an assault. Bandomeer was relatively close, and Offworld wasn't Republic sanctioned, so if they didn't go near any Republic operations, they would be okay. Then, it was only a matter of planning an assault.

—————————————

Obi-Wan cursed himself as he woke, shaking off sleep and a splitting headache. He shouldn't have panicked when he saw Xanatos. He had though, and now he was in this mess, chained with Force-suppressing cuffs as well. If Anakin were here, he'd make some joke about how many times Obi-Wan had been imprisoned. If only he were here, however, instead of the (not hated) face that stared at him through the bars. 

"Hello, little one." Xanatos smiled at Obi-Wan, face hollow and ill-seeming. "How are you feeling?" 

Obi-Wan did not answer, too busy suppressing the urge to spit in his face. It was an undignified and childish urge, after all. Xanatos only smirked, waving for an Imbat guard to come over.

"I felt your strength in the Force. Those Jedi really do poorly in taking care of us, their children, huh?"

Obi-Wan was a firm believer that sometimes, the best course of action was silence. 

"I mean, little one , look at how you've ended up here due to their neglect. I mean, how even is it that an initiate, not anywhere aging out, ends up on some shitty transport to some outer-rim planet?"

Obi-Wan (does not hate) being called little one, but he (does not hate) talking to Xanatos even more. Even the rusty steel that sways beneath their feet as waves crash against the rig is more fascinating than the sickly sweet smile that Xanatos offers. 

"I could offer you the kindness, the support, that they never gave you, little one." Xanatos waves the Imbat guard over, takes the keys and dangles them in the air. "I would give you freedom and show you the love they've never given you. Teach you the Ways of the Force, the combined learning of two masters. You could have everything you've ever wanted," and here Obi-Wan could not help but look up, "without the loneliness and hatred that you've faced."

Obi-Wan found another fascinating patch of durasteel to look at. 

"Be my apprentice, little one. I know I could be a better master than you would ever have. Say the word, and I will let you go free from this cell, and you will travel the galaxy with me. Here, Xanatos' voice tints raw desperation and grief. "You could be my little brother. We would be a family."

Obi-Wan thinks that Xanatos is unforgivable still, but thinks that maybe the Order got some things wrong. Even if they did, however, he will never join Xanatos, even for a moment. Committing sentient rights violations crosses some boundaries, Obi-Wan decides.

"No, thank you." Obi-Wan will find another way out of this cage. 

Xanatos' previously sweet smile twists into something sour. "I think you'll change your mind soon. Consider my offer, while you languish here. It is an infinitely better offer than whatever else will be coming to you, should you continue to refuse." Xanatos bows low, mockingly. "May the Force be with you, little one. You will need it." Xanatos presses an electrostaff into the Imbat's hands, walking away.

Finally , Obi-Wan nearly smiled. The Imbat grunted unintelligibly, pulling out a chain of keys to unlock Obi-Wan's cell door, electrostaff in hand. Obi-Wan tensed slightly, painfully aware that if he did not get this right, he wouldn't be able to escape quite as easily for a long time. 

Just as the Imbat opened the door, electrostaff in hand and the other occupied with the bundle of keys, Obi-Wan darted forward and reached out to pull the keys from the Imbat's unsuspecting grasp. 

And as the Imbat lunged towards him, sweeping the electrostaff in a wide arc, he ducked underneath it, forcing the Imbat further into the cell. Too slow to turn and catch him, Obi-Wan darted outside, slamming the cage doors shut and waving at the poor Imbat with his keys. If he weren't so pressed for time, he might've been able to deliver some pithy remark. 

Alas.

—————————————

Cody stood atop a crate by Jango's side as he directed the ramikade , referring to his 'pad and occasionally, whispering some commentary to Cody. 

After a broad ori'ramikad left them, Jango leaned down to whisper to Cody. "Mitsa's ad is a well-meaning menace. Mera once snuck into the kitchens late at night to make Mitsa's riduur a birthday cake. We had clean up duty for a week ."

"Never go out with those two. You'll feel so single, you'll cry from loneliness," Jango muttered as a pair of riduure departed, still checking each other's pistols and with matching vambraces, painted with evident care. 

"Ara's such a little shit," Jango hissed, not waiting for the ramikad to be out of hearing range. Cody nodded dutifully. As he walked away, he flipped Jango off, and Cody giggled. The holo he took of Jango's face would live on forever. 

Jaster jogged towards them, and Cody perked up, tapping Jango's elbow to draw his gaze from Ara's retreating figure. " Buir! " 

Jaster smiled fondly, ruffling Cody's hair. Cody hissed and swatted his hand away. He was no Loth cat!

Jango snorted, but quickly wiped the smile from his face when he saw Cody's face. Jaster watched with a faint grin. "I've finished checking ammunition." 

Jango nodded seriously. "Who's going?" 

Jaster placed a hand on Jango's shoulder. "You're coming with me, to Bandomeer. It'll be good for you, since Bandomeer's a Republic planet, and you should have more experience with conflict mediation. Myles is a little disappointed, but he's staying behind to continue coordinating rescue and aid with the Evaar'ade and leftover conflicts with the remaining Kyr'tsad on Concordia. And, Cody. If I didn't know better, I'd try to keep you in the safety of the citadel, but it'd save us all trouble if you came with." Cody internally cheered. "And even if you find this limiting, you must stay with either me or Jango the entire time. No matter what, you're still an ad under our protection, and the Council has already bitten my head off for allowing you to come. No heroics, tayli'bac? " 

Cody nodded frantically. "Of course not, buir ." If he played this right, and ensured Xanatos' death now, Cody's little general would never have to meet Xanatos, never be enslaved in Bandomeer's deep sea mines. 

"We will be departing soon. I'll see you both on the Ca'sarad ." He brought Cody and Jango in for a fierce hug. "I've got to finish up with the council. They're talking to the Republican Senate. Securing emergency permissions, and whatnot." 

Jango nodded dutifully, and as Jaster departed, Cody reached up to grab Jango's shoulders to hitch a ride to their ship. It was faster, after all. Cody's short legs were currently a disadvantage, one that must be minimized. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan remembered this place. He loathed these walls, the stench that wafted from the machines, the pain that echoed through the Force and split his head with hatred and resentment and pain. Above all, he hated that he knew where the slaves were from their presences in the Force, but also from the pained cries that echoed through the halls. 

Xanatos didn't help at all, either.

It was probably good that he remembered this place, though. He needed to find the control center, and see if he could shut off the slave collars and machinery. The machinery was liable to explode from the ionite, and the destruction of the mine would prove fatal. 

All Obi-Wan had to do was find the control center before Xanatos discovered what had happened to the Imbat guarding him. He just needed to find what level he was on, and then he'd be able to make his way to the control center. He vaguely remembered it, from his past life. He just needed to find it again. 

Each mining floor was identical. The dull gray walls, covered with dust from mining and the occasional spot of dried blood, only lent themselves to a more depressive atmosphere. 

At the sight of a steel-gray elevator box, Obi-Wan huffed in relief. Third floor, please! and he hammered the button. He desperately needed to get out of here, but his duty was to those trapped here. Perhaps even the Imbats, who likely had no choice in being here. As a general rule, Xanatos was hardly an ideal business partner. 

But as the elevator came to a halt, the doors beginning to slide apart, Obi-Wan hesitated. Xanatos' Force presence was one he was painfully familiar with, and it felt too near-

"Hello there, little one. " 

—————————————

Mace cursed himself. How was it that a youngling could go missing? And not just any youngling, a youngling under his care and supervision. But then, why did Obi-Wan feel the need to leave the Temple? And where would he go? 

Master Plo said that Obi-Wan did not have any family on Stewjon that would've contacted them. And Obi-Wan was a youngling. The probability that he knew someone outside of the Temple was ridiculously low. Mace let loose a string of expletives as he hurried through the halls, inadvertently frightening a pair of junior padawans. 

Whoops. 

He had asked Ema to look over the security camera footage from the time that Obi-Wan had joined his friends until this morning. There was footage of Obi-Wan leaving the room, but he had disappeared without a trace after that. It was possible, then, that Obi-Wan was still in the temple, hiding. Surely, he had no reason to leave the Temple. But just in case, Mace would ask Ema to monitor surveillance throughout Coruscant. With that possibility secured, Mace could scour the Temple and hope that he would find Obi-Wan here. 

Mace would've cursed again had he not been passing by a clan of crechelings. 

Mace grimaced. Obi-Wan seemed so well when he ate pie with Mace. A little off the walls, perhaps, but not in distress. Such a light soul, and yet he had gone missing. He should have kept a closer eye on Obi-Wan. They had known he was upset, after that vision. He should've pressed for more details, if this was what had so sorely distressed young Obi-Wan. 

What if Obi-Wan had a second vision that night? Perhaps it could have driven Obi-Wan to leave the security of the creche. Mace hurried back to Master Lunai's creche, hoping that she might allow him to see Obi-Wan's room. If he could see the details of Obi-Wan's vision, then perhaps that would give him insight into why Obi-Wan fled the creche, and perhaps even the temple. 

—————————————

"What's on your mind, ad'ika ?" 

Cody turned away from the viewport, a slight frown on his face. "I don't think it's anything that matters now." 

"Ah. Something changed from last time, then?" 

" 'Lek, Buir ." 

"Is it better this time, do you think?" 

Cody turned to face him fully. "I hope so." 

Jaster smiled, pulling Cody into an embrace, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Things will go about better this time, you'll see." Jaster smirked. "It's because we're here." 

Cody hugged Jaster tightly, felt even past the strength of his beskar'gam , and Jaster chuckled fondly. Just then, Carina came onto Jaster's comm. 

"Dropping out of hyperspace in two minutes, alor . We're cleared for emergency entry on account of Kyr'tsad ." 

Jaster nodded seriously. Cody's slight frown was back too. What to do?

"It looks like Jango did well. Should I let him pass Galactic Relations?" 

Cody giggled. "Of course not. One interaction without incident doesn't necessarily prove that it will be so in the future." 

The doors burst open. "Ah! So my vod'ika wants me to suffer! I should've known!" Jango lunged for Cody, pinning him down to tickle him, and received a boot in the face for his attempt. 

Jaster chuckled, but pulled them apart. "We'll be landing soon. Well done on securing our clearance, Jango." He beamed at his ad . "Alas, you should get your buy'ce on, and Cody will be staying at my side. No mischief," he eyed Cody seriously. "Promise." 

Cody nodded. " Elek, Buir ." 

The stars blurring across the viewport seemed to slow, and the Ca'sarad lurched as they dropped out of hyperspace. The rich blues of Bandomeer's oceans, the swirling clouds, and its deep green landscape stretched across Jaster's view. Perhaps this was what Manda'yaim was before the Dral'Han. But then, what use was there in dwelling on legends that he would not see again? 

Jaster smiled at his ade. "Xanatos' guards are likely incompetent buffoons. This should be easy enough." 

—————————————

Obi-Wan was utterly unprepared for the sight of Xanatos' smile, so seemingly genuine and kind. "Hello, my apprentice. What mischief have you been getting up to? Surely, you wouldn't think to escape?" 

Obi-Wan executed a perfect bow, still stuck in the elevator. "Of course not," he said, entirely truthful. Obi-Wan had other things he needed to do first. 

"No?" Xanatos parroted. "Then why are you here?" 

Aha, Obi-Wan thought, as Xanatos' smile twisted and deformed into something truly demonic. It's go time, and Obi-Wan thought now, not of all he had lost before, but of the persevering growth of something else in this new and uncertain world. He called the Force to him with ease, finally, and pushed Xanatos back, just enough for him to dart out of the elevator and into the control room. 

Xanatos screamed his rage and ignited his saber, an all too familiar shade of blood red erupting from his hilt. A pair of human guards with blasters raised them, and Obi-Wan had a moment to think, how uncivilized, before he was forced to dart out of the line of fire, ducking behind a console just before it was fried by the bolts. These turds. 

Xanatos laughed, high and mildly deranged. "Surely you did not think you would get away, little one. It will be easy enough to capture you." 

Obi-Wan fumed inwardly. His fear of losing everything that no longer existed had given him such uncertainty, stopping him from beating Xanatos' ass. 

I must say, General, his ass isn't even that good.  

Imaginary-Cody was right. Xanatos was so incompetent, grown-up Obi could've beaten him in a heartbeat. And really, what was the difference between grown-up Obi-Wan and current Obi-Wan, that prevented him from doing such a thing? 

Absolutely nothing, Obi-Wan thought, and gathered the Force around him to pull Xanatos' saber from his hand. Clearly, he hadn't expected Obi-Wan to come out of his cover, and although the shooting resumed, Obi-Wan now had a 'saber, and the Force came so easily now, rushing over him so gently, like a sorely missed friend–

Xanatos wouldn't have had a chance, anyways. He wasn't even that good, had focused too little on defense and never really cared about shoring up his deficiencies in form, and didn’t really have a chance to after he left Qui-Gon. 

Obi-Wan relished in the feeling of ease the Force lent him, now. He would always be a little afraid of losing those around him, but in the here and now, he could protect the people he could. 

With Xanatos’ lightsaber, he quickly incapacitated the guards, and Xanatos screamed his rage.

So silly, to be so utterly incompetent with anything other than a ‘saber. He hesitated, however, when he rested the blood-red blade against Xanatos’ throat. This was the boy, the man, that his master had loved so deeply. Obi-Wan had only ever seen Xanatos at his worst, face twisted in fury and illuminated with red light, but Qui-Gon had loved Xanatos in a way he had never learned to love Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan struck Xanatos in the back of his head with the hilt of his blade, hard, and paired with a very strong sleep suggestion, he fell forward and face-planted into the filthy durasteel floor. He pocketed Xanatos' lightsaber, for safekeeping. Obi-Wan frowned a little. Being so angry all the time must be terrible for blood pressure. Did Sith suffer from such things? 

He would leave Xanatos for Master Qui-Gon. They both deserved some closure, but closure without the whole jumping in acid sort of ending. 

Handcuffing the prone guards to a pole with the cuffs he found on their belts, and Xanatos to a pole on the other side of the room, he peered over the controls. 

A strange thought, that he'd seen this all before. Different circumstances, of course, but it was the same still. How odd. He snagged the keys from Xanatos' belt and found the override key, disabling the bomb collars across the compound. 

As his own collar deactivated, Obi-Wan nearly cried with relief as the ever-present hum of the device faded out. He hissed a little as he snapped the collar off. His neck was rubbed raw- but not nearly as badly as before, Obi-Wan reflected. 

But then, just as Obi-Wan was about to leave for the lower levels, as that was where most of the holding cells for the slaves were, the roar of spacecraft engines erupted from around the rig. 

Good thing that the command center is above water , and Obi-Wan unshuttered the viewport. Perhaps Master Qui-Gon had come–?

But as soon as he saw the familiar make of Mandalorian ships outside, he jerked back from the port and darted to the elevator, hammering the button. 

Kyrt'sad, Satine had said, before she eschewed speaking in Mando'a. Death Watch .

Obi-Wan did not know what Death Watch would do to the slaves remaining on the rig, but he had to try and prevent it, no matter what. 

The elevator doors slid clumsily open, but Obi-Wan hesitated when he saw Xanatos' prone form. Surely, leaving him to Death Watch would allow him to continue terrorizing innocents but– he would not have another chance to free those in the rig. He had a whole lifetime to chase Xanatos.

Mind made up, Obi-Wan darted into the elevator and waited, heart rabbiting in his chest, as it descended too slowly into the lower floors. The Imbat guards had surely realized something was amiss as soon as the collars were deactivated. But how would Obi-Wan prevent them from stopping their escape? But as soon as the doors opened, Obi-Wan was greeted with the sight of the Imbats, always so emotionless and cruel in his memories, without their electrowhips and staffs, huddled in a corner away from the other slaves. 

Obi-Wan had to evacuate the slaves before the Mandalorians reached the lower levels. Already, he could hear the heavy sound of beskar armor as Death Watch ramikade swept through the rig. Who would have known that Xanatos had such a relationship with Mandalorian terrorist organizations.

Obi-Wan ran up to the group of slaves, huddled against the wall in fear and uncertainty, and offered a bow in the manner of the Jedi. A little lie here would not be amiss. 

"I am with the Jedi. We are here to save you, but you must evacuate quickly. There are stairways that lead to outside platforms with spacecraft." 

Obi-Wan was greeted with blank looks, and tried again, in Ryl. And in Huttese. And Bocce. And–

"No need to repeat yourself, little Jedi. We understood you the first time," rumbled a muscular Twi'lek in the front. If Obi-Wan were alone, he would've hidden his head in shame and embarrassment. 

But just as the group started to rush towards the direction he indicated, he shouted over the rising din. "Please, I need help to evacuate the slaves on the other floors: we just need to alert them."

Obi-Wan had never had a chance to do this before. Qui-Gon had rushed them out, so focused on Xanatos. But the Force hummed with certainty, and Obi-Wan knew this to be right. "Please." 

Obi-Wan nearly shouted in joy when a few of the slaves paused and broke off from the main group to join him. "There are 17 more floors below us for mining operations. We only need to alert them to join those heading towards the landing pad." They quickly nodded, and Obi-Wan assigned each one floor, and resolved to reach the rest in time, even as he sprinted down the stairs to the 27th level, feeling a little lightheaded. Surely, they could've installed fewer floors, and thus fewer stairs?

But nonetheless, he pushed through the rising dizziness. Here, the stairwell followed a large spiral towards the bottom. If he jumped, he would make it to the last floor in mere seconds – mind made up, Obi-Wan leapt over the rail, ignoring the shouts of the other slaves who had agreed to help alert the others, and nearly laughed at the feeling of the air rushing through his fingers. The air was stale, smelling of stone dust and blood and ionite but it was still freedom .

Obi-Wan broke his fall with the Force at the last moment, executing a flawless front flip and landing in a light crouch. Show-off, Cody had said. 

Obi-Wan rushed into the mining area, delivering much the same message. The Imbats were huddled in a corner again, unmoving.

Obi-Wan hesitated to approach them. He was still afraid of them, perhaps. Little Obi-Wan had never seen them after Bandomeer, and perhaps had never gotten over his fear of them. Fear of the weapons they wielded, of the ruthlessness and machine-like efficiency with which they spurred him to labor. But most of all, fear of the blankness of their Force signatures. But now, Obi-Wan had felt that blankness again, and knew that it was not their fault. Surely, he could extend the same courtesy of understanding to them, for they had not truly hurt him in this life. 

He approached them, slowly. "You should take the stairs as well. There would be enough ships for everyone." 

They, too, fled into the stairwell. 

Onto the next floor then. 

—————————————

Jaster held one of Cody's small hands in his as the dropships descended onto the landing platform. 

"You'll stick close to me, ad'ika, 'lek? " 

Cody nodded dutifully. He would not allow Jas'buir to take too much of a fall with the council. He would, however, wreak as much damage within those confines as possible. With his free hand, he gripped the blaster they had allowed him more firmly. A little different from the model he had used in the Clone Wars, but it still lent him comfort. 

So uncivilized, Obi-Wan had said. 

It is more uncivilized to drop your lightsaber in battle, General. He had still unhooked his General's lightsaber from the clip on his utility belt, placed it in his General's hands.

When he looked up at his face, though, General Kenobi's smile had been blinding. Thank you, Commander Cody.

Over the comms, the pilot echoed in Cody's ears. Barycir o'r ta'raysh, she'cu, sh'ehn….

Cody had done this many times before. He needed no reminder. But then, as he checked his line for security, Jaster would take care of anything that went wrong, the overprotective heli- buir .

As they descended from the ships, Cody also decided that this was much easier than any operation they'd conducted. Not a single blaster shot came from below. No air defense. Cody and Jaster looked at each other. 

Even as they landed, taking off their lines, the rig was silent. Surely, a trap? 

Immediately, the rhythm of feet pounding, running across durasteel, reached their ears. Guards, then. Perhaps they were unprepared. 

As the clamor grew closer, Cody hefted his blaster, and Jaster pulled him a little closer. But then, the sound of their voices reached their ears, and Jaster lifted his hand, signing something. 

Hold. 

Cody frowned, but stayed at Jaster's side. The rush of voices was filled with fear, panic. None of what he would've expected from a trained security force. They stood still at the entrance to the landing pad, waiting. And as the people emerged, Cody realized something had gone awry. 

These were the slaves they were here to help. Screams erupted as they saw the Haat'mando'ade , people pushing each other to return to the perceived safety of the rig, and Jaster sprung into action, removing his helmet, and encouraging the ori'ramikade to do the same. 

"My name is Jaster Mereel. I am the Mand'alor of my people. We came to help, to free you. Haat, ijaa, haa'it ."

With eyes narrowed in suspicion, one of the slaves that was not able to retreat into the rig to watch them with fearful eyes scoffed. 

"Your people supply Crion with the weapons he needs to expand his enterprises, Mand'alor ."

Protests erupted from the ori'ramikade . "If you speak of the other Mandalorians, we can assure you that we do not represent them." Muttered agreements broke out. "The sect that you would have encountered is called Kyr'tsad, Death Watch, in Basic. We do not consider them Mandalorian, for our culture despises slavery in any form. We would offer the option of our support, if you are comfortable, and if not, we will of course allow you safe passage to the landing bay, where you may take whatever ships there are. We will not hinder you, I swear, we will only offer what help we can."

Jaster nodded to Jango, who quickly cleared a path for the slaves to reach the landing bay. " Haat, ijaa, haa'it, I promise you that you will safely reach the landing bay to escape, if you wish. I will again offer our support, that you are free to accept or reject." 

Cries and whispers erupted from below, as the stairway must have been crowded. Jaster waved a baar'ur forward, who proffered their med-kit. 

"I am Baar'ur - Medic Naasuke. I pledge to help any requiring medical aid." 

The one who had stepped forward in explanation took a hesitant step towards the landing bay, watching them hesitantly. When none of the Haat'mando'ade twitched, he ran, and quickly, a massive stream of people who followed were rushing towards the ships, although a few approached the Mand'ade , requesting medical aid. 

"Buir! " Cody shouted over the din, pulling on Jaster's hand, and he turned towards Cody, kneeling against the rush of bodies to hear Cody better. "Something has happened that did not happen the first time." 

Jaster nodded in understanding. "We will ask those who have asked for our aid," and he proceeded to where the baar'ure had set up a temporary station. Cody could see him speaking to some slaves, and when he returned to Cody, his face was set in a grim frown. 

"They say that there is an ad who freed them from the collars. One said he fought Xanatos, and was taken away. Another said that he came to their floor to save them." A warm hand settled upon Cody's shoulder.

"We have to find them, then!" Jaster smiled faintly. 

"Indeed, Cot'ika ." Cody, distantly registered Jaster sending a comm for the rami'kade , busy with assisting those newly Freed, to keep a lookout for an ad of any description. 

The roar of the first spacecraft taking off reached their ears, and Jaster smiled grimly. "They will have freedom to live better lives. We can focus our efforts here, in the present, and ensure we are doing the best we can do."

Slowly but surely, the flood of Freed slowed. Interestingly, Cody noticed an abnormal number of Imbats. From what he recalled, they were highly isolationist and rarely left their home planet. How had Xanatos accumulated such a large population here? 

As the last few slave ships were prepping to take off, and as those who had requested Mandalorian support in relocation or settlement were being ushered onto their ships, Cody's eyes were drawn to a child. They were one of the last to come out, and were frozen, stiff with fear, in the entranceway. Cody frowned, tracing their face with his eyes. He knew those eyes, knew that nose, knew the shape of those lips, that he had dwelled on for so long. 

Cody did not wait for Jaster, even as his name rose from his buir's throat in fear and panic, even as he pushed through the oncoming crowd that rushed around him. Surely not , Cody thought, surely, he would've been in the temple now, he is too young–

But when Cody reached them, he was so certain, but his arm stuttered with hesitation. This General does not know him. This Obi-Wan would be afraid of some stranger reaching out towards him, after what was undoubtedly an awful experience. But this Obi-Wan reached back, seizing his hand as though he might disappear at any moment, and whispered roughly- "Cody?" 

He nearly jerked back in shock, but Obi-Wan's firm grip on his hand- his hands were so cold - stopped him from doing so, and he stared back. "Obi-Wan?" You can call me Obi-Wan, Cody, when we're alone.

Cody felt a familiar warmth rushing over him as Obi-Wan gripped his hand more tightly, eyes shut. "It really is you, Cody," he whispered, and Obi-Wan's eyes were opened again, gazing at him with such wonder and warmth that Cody thought he could never stop looking. He could not question how this had happened, right now. It was enough that his General was here, right now, and so close. 

He tugged Obi-Wan toward him, and opened his arms just as Obi-Wan swayed forward, stepping into Cody's space– Cody pulled him- so small, now- into a tight embrace, his arm around his back and the other hand curled in the hair at his neck, so careful not to hurt but also so afraid of letting go, now that he had this chance. I'm so, so, sorry, for my betrayal . But too selfish, he could not let go of Obi-Wan, could not abandon this feeling of warm hope that had spread so quickly in his chest. 

You're here, alive again. 

I have not lost you.

Obi-Wan's arms curled tighter around Cody, and he inhaled deeply, ignoring the smell of blood and sweat and thinking only of the warmth that was his General, Obi-Wan, in his arms again, and did not let go.

He spoke into Obi-Wan's hair. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

 A giggle escaped his little General. "I'm okay, Cody." Trust Cody's general not to tell the truth, even now. Cody now frowned, forcing Obi-Wan to let go so that he could give him an inspection. 

He scanned him quickly, an ache spreading in his chest at Obi-Wan's bleeding and raw throat, at the numerous cuts that covered his skin, at the tears in his clothing, charred at the breaks. "You're hurt, General." 

His general shook his head again. "Not very badly, Cody." 

And no, General Obi-Wan would not be allowed to do this, just as Cody got him back. "You're going to the baar'ure, General," and he gripped Obi-Wan's hand in his and he followed easily, so trusting. 

Jaster was standing a small distance from them, reluctant to interrupt them. 

His general's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Jaster. He placed his fist over his heart, not letting go of Cody's hand. " Mand'alor ." 

Cody laughed inwardly when he saw Jaster melt before his little general's charms. Jas'buir knelt before them. "Your name, ad? " 

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," and Cody could see Jaster's eyes widen at the name, as Cody's broken narrative of his time before slid into comprehension at the sight of this friend.  

Jaster only glanced at Cody once, and at their intertwined hands, but greeted Obi-Wan with a warm smile. "Well met then, Obi-Wan Kenobi." 

—————————————

Obi-Wan gripped Cody's hand a little desperately. He had panicked a little when he had emerged from the rig. How would he ever escape with so many Death Watch rami'kade milling about?

But then he had seen the familiar face of the child he had come here for and realized his error, made in the blindness of panic. Haat'mando'ade , not Kyr'tsad . And then the Mand'alor's son approached him, greeted him by name, and he could feel the warmth of Cody's force signature washing over him. Gentle warmth, like a sunset, its radiance spreading across the sky and lighting up his world with pink and gold hues. How could he ever let go of him, when he had just gotten him back?

He barely paid attention to the medic's attentions and to the Mand'alor's introductions, but collected himself enough to greet Jango Fett, who was Cody's elder sibling in this life. As intelligent and kind as records had stated, Jaster smiled and guided them into the ship, offering them both a small room to rest in, with two cots. You two deserve some time together, and Obi-Wan wondered how much Cody told him. 

No matter, Obi-Wan decided. There were many things to discuss, but not now, when he could feel the glow of Cody's presence in the Force, just next to him. Cody shoved him onto his cot, and settled upon his own bed. 

"I am glad you are here, General." Obi-Wan frowned.

"It's Obi-Wan," he told Cody, turning over to face him. "The war hasn't even started yet, and besides- we're alone, now." 

Cody was already looking at him. "As you wish, Obi-Wan." And he felt a little foolish, hiding his smile in the blanket. But then, the loneliness and fear caught up to him, and he hesitated a little, his grin fading.

But then, Cody solved his problem for him, reaching for Obi-Wan's hand. 

"The cots are big enough for both of us, now. If– if you wanted." Cody's voice tipped into an uncertainty and a fear he did not like.  

Obi-Wan scrambled off his cot and joined Cody under his blanket, twisting their fingers together and soothing himself with the physical reminder that he was no longer alone. Not even that, Obi-Wan thought. I have Cody by my side again. Things were not so bleak, anymore. 

Cody seemed to share the same sentiment, for he pulled Obi-Wan into another warm hug. "Is– is this okay, Obi-Wan?" 

Obi-Wan twisted to face him, and pulled him closer, hugging him to chase away the remaining chill in the Force. "I want you here, too."

—————————————

Cody ducked his head into Obi-Wan's hair, hiding a smile. "It is less lonely for the both of us, now." 

"Truly." 

And, a pressing matter. "We'll talk about everything… later, right?"

Cody could feel Obi-Wan nodding. "We will, I promise. But, Cody, I'm really tired right now…" 

Cody giggled a little. Their current bodies were so inconvenient. 

"We'll sleep. And I'll be here when you wake, Obi-Wan. We won't be alone again, not if I can help it." 

With that reassurance, Cody could hear light breaths slowing until Obi-Wan fell into sleep's embrace. 

There were things Cody was forgetting; there were reasons he should not be falling asleep with his general in his arms. But it was so warm, and the blankets were so soft, and Cody knew his buir and ori'vod would keep him safe. It was harder and harder to remember those reasons, and so Cody let himself fall into sleep.

Chapter Text

It's a good thing that Mace has lost all of his hair already, because if he hadn't, it would've been humiliating for the whole temple to watch him go bald in the span of a few days. 

Mace doesn't have retrocognition, or psychometry like Initiate Vos, but he can still feel the echoes of pain and grief that permeate the room. It is a little hard to breathe here, where little Initiate Kenobi woke in such pain. There's no chance that he would allow Initiate Vos anywhere near here, not even with the possibility of finding Initiate Kenobi. He understands why Daesha has demanded new sleeping quarters while this room is cleansed. 

His comm buzzes, and Ema's message comes up. Surveillance shows Initiate Kenobi leaving the temple. He made contact with a former weapon dealer, a besalisk by the name of Dexter Jettster, better known as Dex. Shortly after, he went to the spaceport and took a shuttle. From there, I cannot tell where he went. 

Mace groans, and shoots Ema a quick thank you . He owes her something. Perhaps he can invite her for dinner. For now, he needs to find this Dex. 

Ema sent him the besalisk's location. A restaurant in CoCo Town, by the name of Dex's Diner . Mace frowns a little, but smooths down the front of his robes and checks for his lightsaber. It is a little odd that Dex would choose to become a chef, after being a weapon dealer. Truly, a fascinating career change. Hopefully, that career change also indicated a willingness to cooperate with him, Mace reflected bleakly as he approached the Diner. 

He smiled a little when he smelled a truly delectable scent wafting from the Diner, and the busy hum of a full restaurant. Good food always brought good things. And a few criminals, Mace suspected, as he watched a rather shady group of individuals exit the Diner. Although to be fair, criminals had to eat as well. 

He pushed the door open, only to be blasted by warmth and the clamor of voices. A WA-7 waitress droid whizzed past him, arms full with platters and some alcoholic smelling beverages, to set them in front of their waiting customers. They came back quickly, greeting him with a clawed hand and a bright, slightly tinny voice. 

"Hello, my name is FLO, and I will be your server. If you will follow me, you may be seated." 

Mace did not follow her, instead approaching the counter where a large besalisk is busy frying nerf steak burgers. 

The besalisk noted his presence, frowning a little but waving him off. "FLO will seat you, and then we can talk soon." 

Mace decided not to push it; it is urgent to find Initiate Kenobi, but not at the risk of antagonizing their only lead. FLO seats him promptly, handing him a menu and speeding away with a cheery wave. 

Now that he thinks about it, though, he is a little hungry. If this Dex won't talk to him soon, Mace sees no issue with being a little more efficient. If he eats now, when he must wait here anyways, he won't have to eat later when he'll have to be searching for Initiate kenobi. An excellent plan, Mace decides, and ends up ordering a Nerfburger and a Sic-Six layer cake, at FLO's enthusiastic recommendation. He does not understand why he chose to take her advice: she cannot eat, in any case. 

However, when his food comes out, Mace cannot imagine protesting further. His Nerfburger is utterly delicious, the burger perfectly grilled and bursting with flavor. The layer cake is light and well-baked with even layers and a deliciously smooth, flavorful filling. When Mace gets Initiate Kenobi back, and if Dexster is truly a friend, he will have to take Initiate Kenobi here to eat. 

Although the food is delicious, Mace cannot help but feel impatient as customers slowly file out and it seems as though Dex is finally free to speak with him. This is, after all, time critical. It is not safe for young Force-sensitive children to be alone, as Mace knows full well. He has seen and heard of too many horror stories to think that Initiate Kenobi will be alright when Mace finds him, and Mace feels an odd sort of responsibility towards him. However haunted, he was a kind and talented youngling with a sharp wit, and Mace knows that the Jedi who will take him as their Padawan will truly be lucky. 

Dex comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands clean with a cloth before he sits across from Mace, a greeting on his lips. 

Mace does not hesitate before starting. "I am looking for one of our Initiates, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was seen entering your shop, and we are hoping you will be kind enough to help us locate him."

He knows he has a lead when a gleam of recognition enters Dex's eyes as he pulls up a holo of Initiate Kenobi. But then a thread of suspicion enters Dex's eyes. "D'you have proof that this child is truly under your care?" and Mace is at once relieved that Dex does truly seem to care for children, and annoyed that his search is so delayed. No matter, though. 

Mace reaches into his robes and pulls out his wallet, practically throwing his numerous identification cards onto the table between them, finally setting his lightsaber on the table with a dull thump . He then pulls out Obi-Wan's proof of guardianship with the Temple on his datapad, and looks at Dex, expectant. 

Dex sighs, his mouth pulls into a slight frown. "This Obi-Wan introduced himself to me as Ben , a few weeks back. He was a little strange, but he was a good kid, so when he asked for my help to obtain the credits necessary to take a shuttle to Mandalore-" Mandalore? What the hell would Initiate Kenobi want with Mandalore? " – I helped him. Took the shuttle to Bandomeer a few days ago."

Mace resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. First, he needed some answers. "Why did you help him?"

"I first met him a few weeks ago, you know?" Mace certainly did not know. "Bright kid. Kind, charming. Helped me out in a tight spot. He said he had family on Mandalore. And he was a little odd, too."

"Odd?"

Dex studies Mace. "If you're his guardian, I should think you've noticed. He's sad, even if he's all bouncy. And he knows things he shouldn't've known." Mace does know this. He nods in agreement. 

"Do you know the code of the shuttle he took to Bandomeer?" 

Dex shakes his head, offering a small consolation. "Bandomeer is a farming and mining planet. There shouldn't be many shuttles heading there anyways. He would've bought the tickets for one leaving two days ago, in the morning. If you're lucky, there'll only be one." 

Mace nods gratefully, and starts putting his pile of IDs back into his wallet, and taking his lightsaber back to clip to his belt. Mace doesn't miss that Dex's eyes follow his 'saber with an interested gleam, but he doesn't comment. 

"Thank you for your help. It was greatly appreciated." 

Dex waves away his gratitude. "No problem, Jedi. I hope you find the kid." 

Mace fervently hopes so as well. He steps out into CoCo Town, comming Ema that he was going to take a Jedi spaceship to Bandomeer. 

As he is hurrying to his ship, Ema comms back. It should not be a problem, but Xanatos' Offworld Corporation has a presence on Bandomeer, with its deep-sea mines. If Initiate Kenobi was headed to Mandalore after Bandomeer he should have been fine, but I would be mindful of Xanatos while you are there. 

As Mace takes off and enters hyperspace, he considers comming Qui-Gon for more information on Xanatos. He does not, though, and resolves only to bring Qui-Gon into this if Xanatos truly becomes a problem that he needs Qui-Gon for. Which, given Ema's confidence that Obi-Wan should not have run aground of any foul dealings with Offworld, he would be absolutely fine.

—————————————

As Mace drops out of hyperspace, he sees Bandomeer's surface. And he also sees multiple messages from Ema, all along the lines of, as soon as you drop out of hyperspace, dumbass, check the news. And, how kind, Ema even did him the favor of writing up a report. 

An Analysis by Ema. (I even cited my sources) 

Mace grumbles a little, but still clicks on it. It was one time that he was docked points for improperly citing his sources, and yet Ema still nags. Nevertheless, Mace can recognize and appreciate Ema's brilliance in intergalactic affairs and history. 

Her paper begins with an annotation at the top, addressed to him. Sometimes, Mace thinks that Ema forgets that information used for missions is to be recorded in the Archives, however helpful and thorough her reports are. 

If your memory has not yet failed you (although I would not be surprised if it did), you should recall that there are currently three sects, or groups, of Mandalorians. The first are called the True Mandalorians, or the Haat Mando'ade in Mando'a. Their beliefs revolve around the Supercommando Codex [1], written by the current Mand'alor, Jaster Mereel. The Codex draws heavily from the Resol'nare, the six central tenets of Mandalorian culture. Should you have the mental capacity and sufficient time, I would suggest reading through the Codex. It is truly fascinating. 

The second sect is comprised of the New Mandalorians, or the Evaar'ade. They are  a pacifist movement, valuing pacifism and nonviolence. Some denounce the violence of Mandalorian history, although some simply advocate for an emphasis on nonviolence and secular education in place of martial strength. They are not particularly involved in Bandomeer, although there are reputable reports that they have sworn loyalty to Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, and that the Haat Mando'ade and Evaar'ade have formed a united government. I might even venture to say that they get along better than we do. 

Death Watch, or Kyr'tsad are the third, and seem to be primarily responsible for this whole debacle. Their previous leader was Tor Vizsla before he was killed by Mereel on Korda VI. Their leadership is unknown now, but most likely passed to a kinsman named Pre Vizsla. They idolize the old imperialist Mandalorian ideals, wishing to return Mandalore to its former warrior culture. 

As you should know, the True Mandalorians and Death Watch recently fought on Concordia. Mand'alor Mereel has declared that Death Watch has been kidnapping children and training them as child soldiers, which is anathema to their culture. Slavery is also vehemently denounced, and when requesting clearance to enter Bandomeer, they have asserted that Xanatos' Offworld Corporation and Death Watch have been colluding. Offworld provides them supplies, particularly weaponry, and Death Watch provides Offworld with slaves for labor, and have worked as mercenaries for Xanatos' operations. Death Watch's presence on Bandomeer is sufficient motivation for them to have launched an assault. However, that there were slaves involved is also a significant factor. A day ago, just after you left Coruscant (I have never met anyone with worse timing than you, Mace) Offworld's ionite mining rig on Bandomeer was evacuated by the True Mandalorians. Some slaves left in starships, and others have returned to Mandalore with the True Mandalorians. Xanatos was supposedly on the rig at the time, but he has not been seen since. I think it is more than likely that he is in custody with the True Mandalorians. He's incapable of keeping a low profile, an unfortunate product of his teachings. 

Initiate Kenobi's location is unknown, but I would guess that he is on Mandalore. If he landed on Bandomeer it would have been easy enough to find a transport to Mandalore.

I would recommend going to Mandalore. Should you find Initiate Kenobi there, you must be as courteous and charming as possible. If reports are accurate, Mandalore is nearly united, and initiating good relations with Mand'alor Mereel are paramount. It would not be wise to take either Initiate Kenobi or Xanatos back with force, and if Mand'alor Mereel is as my reports say he is, if you prove your trustworthiness, we will have Initiate Kenobi back in no time. Should Kyr'tsad be an issue, I would recommend aggressive negotiations. 

Don't be an asshole, Mace. And remember not to bow. They'll think you're more braindead than you already are. 

Mace sighs, but comms Ema back. Thank you for the information, Ema. 

Setting Mandalore into the navicomputer, Mace sits back to read the Codex as stars blur into streaks of light, the margins filled with Ema's annotations in bright red, elegant handwriting. 

—————————————

Jango is so, so tired. Fighting is exhausting, but so is organizing food, housing, and transport for hundreds of Freed, not to mention making arrangements with other planetary leaders to accommodate those Freed that did not wish to come back to Manda'yaim and– he's just so tired . Jas'buir's tired as well; Jango can see it in the stiffness of his neck, the way he slumps a little when he is finished with acting as Mand'alor . But despite their exhaustion and the distress at finding hundreds of slaves, all because of some dar'jetti , Jango is elated. He has two vod'ike. They may both be feral tookas, but Jango loves them so much. If buir does not say the adoption vows soon, Jango will make him. There is no chance that he will be losing his newest vod'ika to someone else. 

They have left Concordia to return to Manda'yaim by the time they have finished doing those things which must be done. Chieftain Kryze is probably scrambling to organize everything for the newly Freed, and so Jango and Jas'buir can relax a little, and Jango desperately needs to sleep. 

But first! Jango turns to Jas'buir, pleading to see his new vod'ika . Buir only smiles fondly, leads Jango into the private rooms. Jango barely holds back a coo when he sees Cot'ika and little Obi-Wan curled around each other on the bunk. Jaster's already whipped out his holo-recorder to take photos of the two. Ob'ika's head is nestled into Cody's chest, obscured by the fluff of the knitted blanket. Cot'ika's got an arm curled around Obi'ika, and the blankets are piled high. 

Jango already adores his vod'ike more than anything. If they come to harm, Jango will slaughter those responsible, and he doesn't doubt that Jas'buir will be right beside him. 

They stand there watching a little longer before Buir tugs him from the room, pushes him towards the sonic and a bed. Before Jango goes to take a much needed sonic, however, Buir opens his arms in a clear invitation for a hug.

Jango accepts it gladly, curls into the warmth and safety of hard beskar'gam . " Jate bora, ner ad, " Buir murmurs gently. "I'm very proud of you, Jango."

Jango hugs his buir so hard that he thinks he must be able to feel it through his beskar'gam . 

Jas'buir chuckles fondly, ruffles Jango's hair before shoving him towards the sonic. "I love you too, Jan'ika." 

—————————————

When sleep falls from Cody's mind, his first thought is that he's incredibly comfortable. He's warm, and everything is so soft. His second thought is that he should try to fall back asleep, to take advantage of this lovely feeling of contentment. He very nearly succumbs to this urge, before he realizes that the warmth comes from a combination of the lovingly made blankets that surround them, and from his miniaturized general. His general , who Cody is holding. 

Cody very nearly shoves himself away from his gen - Obi-Wan, but stops himself. After his ordeal, Cody will not allow himself to wake him. Indeed, this would not be the first time they'd slept in the same bed. Assuming everything that Obi-Wan had said from last night still applied, Cody decided that it would be better to allow Obi-Wan to slumber on. 

And Cody was so, so , selfish. He wanted to hold Obi-Wan, to relish in the feeling of his presence, that he had not killed his general. He wanted to hold him and perhaps, while in the gentle lull of sleep, Obi-Wan would not hate him for it. Cody let Obi-Wan curl into him, held him all the while, relishing in the feel of the pulse against his fingertips, in the breath that tickled his neck. A life, Cody knew, was the most precious thing he could ever hold.

Cody did not know how much time passed before Obi-Wan began to stir. He loosened his grip, opening his arms so that Obi-Wan could remove himself from his grip. He did not, however, and instead nuzzled further into Cody's arms. 

Cody could feel the blood rushing to his face, and had never felt so grateful for the darkness. 

"Missed you," Obi-Wan began without any preamble. "You're very warm."

Cody giggled. "I suppose the only worth I have then is as a heater?" 

"Nope." Cody had forgotten how much Obi-Wan liked hugs. He adored it. "On the contrary, Cody, you're worth many more things. It's simply that this warmth is the most pressing matter at present." 

Cody hid his smile in the fluff of Obi-Wan's hair. They were both in need of a sonic. "Ever the negotiator, I see." 

Obi-Wan sniffed indignantly. "Not negotiating, only speaking truths."

"Then it's a truth that we both need a sonic, if not a water shower?" 

Obi-Wan huffed indignantly, but pulled himself off of Cody all the same. "You're quite right, Commander." Without delay, Cody shoved him towards the shower. There was still a distinct coating of dust all over him. Cody was a little better, but there was no doubt that Obi-Wan needed that shower more than him. 

As soon as they were both cleaned up, and maybe had some food, Cody would apologize to Obi-Wan. For everything. 

—————————————

The descent to Manda'yaim began before Cody could acquire breakfast for them. Indeed, it began before Buir and Jango woke again, and so it was no wonder he and Obi-Wan were so well-rested. They had slept far too much. There had not been any time to figure out the situation, but then, Cody had figured out by now that this body was so utterly incompetent and needed far more coddling than usual. Alas, it could not be helped. 

Cody pulled Obi-Wan to the side to avoid the ori'ramikade that were bustling about. Baar'ur Naasuke smiled gently at them, offering a friendly wave to Obi-Wan. It was a pity that they all still viewed Cody and Obi-Wan as children. 

"Your buir and ori'vod should be out soon. They were sleeping rather soundly."

Cody snarled internally. He would not have anyone disparage his aliit . "They had a lot to do, and it was appropriate to rest during transit." 

Baar'ur Naasuke's eyes sharpened. "I am also glad they were able to rest well. As well as you two. Ka'ra knows you deserve it." With another assessing glance, they went away to check on some of the more stubborn ramikade . 

Cody berated himself. He knew none of the Mando'ade here were like the trainers, or like those natborns who despised the vode so. He needed to get control of himself, stop acting like such an immature adiik with temper problems.

But the feeling of Obi-Wan's gentle hold on his hand distracted him. "You are alright, Cody?" Obi-Wan's eyes watched him thoughtfully, without any judgment. 

"I'm alright, General." Cody offered a slight smile, and was rewarded tenfold by the blossoming smile he received in turn. 

No matter what happened, this life would not be so bad with Obi-Wan at his side. 

—————————————

Mace snapped awake to the sound of loud, obnoxious moans. 

Damn it, Ema . 

He viciously slapped the alarm until it shut off, cursing himself. He had known Ema would do something cruel and wicked when he had let her in for their lineage dinner, and could only be grateful that no one else was around to witness this terribly embarrassing incident. 

If he was lucky, he could fix his alarm before this mission ended. If not, he could go to Master Cyslin and beg her to force Ema to change his alarm back. 

Mace loved his younger padawan-sister. He just wished she would stop trying to drive him into madness. But there were other things to worry about than his alarm. 

Mand'alor Mereel's Supercommando Codex had been a fascinating read. If Obi-Wan weren't Mace's first priority now,  he would've been sorely tempted to try and speak to the Mand'alor. The man was obviously a brilliant leader. Indeed, if not for those pesky ancestral feuds, Mace saw no reason to continue such antagonism. Mace knew that Jocasta in particular was itching to extend their painfully limited collection on Mandalore. 

If searching for Obi-Wan happened to bring him to the Mand'alor, this could indeed become a second objective, Mace decided as his ship touched down on Keldabe's landing platform. 

Mace swept his cloak over his shoulders, relishing in the warm comfort and familiarity it brought him, and ran a hand over his lightsaber. Perhaps he could trust them not to shoot Initiate Kenobi, but he had no certainty that they would not be tempted to fire a few shots at him. If he was lucky, this would not take so long, and knowing that it would likely be the opposite, he stepped from the ramp of his ship, hoping to feel that familiar signature of warm-summer-rain that had become so endearing. 

Mace was far too mature to groan when he could feel only the dimmed lights of beings with beskar, and none of the distinct light of a young Force-sensitive youngling. If Ema was correct (and she usually was, however much Mace resented this), they were unlikely to kill him for searching for a youngling under his care. 

There was nothing else for it, Mace decided as he headed up to the citadel. Perhaps there was some agency for child protections here, and they would have Obi-Wan documented already. 

—————————————

Obi-Wan gaped at the suite that Jango was ushering him into. 

Cody seemed similarly surprised. "When did you even get this put together?" 

Jango's self satisfaction was palpable. "Since Jas'buir adopted you, we figured you might want a separate room. We just had them put in a larger bed when we picked up Ob'ika." 

"There's a second bedroom if you want, but we figured that it might be more reassuring for you both to share a room." 

Wandering through the rooms, Obi-Wan was still a little stunned at the diligence with which they put the room together. The room was large, as might be expected, but the furnishings were cozy and the rugs were soft underfoot. It was just as good, if not better, than some of the living spaces Obi-Wan had seen as a diplomat. There was nothing else to it, and so he sank into the Force to check for the familiar and unwelcome buzz of electronics. 

Cody's familiar sunset-fireplace-warmth just behind him was the last reassurance, and Obi-Wan finally felt at ease, relaxing to the newness and growing familiarity of Jango's signature, cozy unyielding loyalty and an underlying current of biting wind. It was remarkably different from the biting-blank-chill that Obi-Wan had grown to know in his past life, and he knew that he would do his best to prevent it from becoming so. 

Jango smiled at him with a fondness Obi-Wan had seen only in the smiles of his crèche siblings. "Security has been implemented in your rooms according to usual citadel standards-" Cody muttered something about incompetency under his breath, and Obi-Wan suppressed a snicker, "but we intend these rooms to be for you, as long as possible. Feel free to make any modifications," with a kind and uncomfortably knowing lilt to his voice, "and we'll have some clothing out for you in your size soon, Ob'ika. Cody, there is a dresser with clothing to your measurements in the corner." 

Jango smiled at them fondly. "I'll give you some time to get settled in, then. Jaster's stuck in council, sorting Kyr'tsad out, and I might join him, if only to yell at those di'kute for him and to make sure we can have supper together." 

Cody darted forward, hugging him tightly around the waist. Obi-Wan offered a little wave, and laughed at Cody's evident excitement. 

"We have all of these rooms, just for the two of us!"

Obi-Wan giggled a little, letting Cody grab his hand in his overwhelming enthusiasm as he pulled them through each room. 

There was the bedroom, of course, and a second, smaller bedroom. A little kitchenette, completed with appliances and an oven, which Cody enthused over. He had told Obi-Wan during the war, that he'd seen those holo-movies with people with kitchens, and had always desperately wanted one. A living room with lots of soft things (pillows, and rugs, and blankets) and when they completed the circuit of their rooms. Cody turned to him, eyes brimming with tears. 

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in concern, and he pulled Cody into a fierce embrace. Cody's grief was intolerable, and he did not know how to make it better. What is wrong, what hurts? 

Cody brought his arms up around Obi-Wan, and he could feel the warm wetness of tears soaking into the thin tunic he'd been given on the ship. Obi-Wan just hugged him harder. 

" I – I'm just glad that you're not dead." Obi-Wan felt his heart shatter at the reminder of the awful blankness of Cody's signature that day. Indeed, of the bright lights of each of his men. 

Obi-Wan pressed his face into Cody's shoulder. " As am I. " Letting the Force wash over him, he soothed the sharpness of Cody's presence over with all the love he held for him, no matter whether it was acknowledged, letting the jagged edges of his grief settle into something more manageable.

Cody laughed a little into Obi-Wan's tunic. "I'm a little tired."

Obi-Wan pushed him sideways into the couch. "We still have a few hours until supper, and I bet Jas'buir and Jango will be caught up in governing minutiae for a very long time." 

"You're so right," and a little smile spread across Cody's face, lessening the grief in his eyes a little. 

"I'll take the watch. Sleep ," and Cody curled into the cushions and pillows of the sofa. Obi-Wan snagged one of the thick blankets lying across the back of the couch and spread it over Cody, deeply grateful for the effort put into their rooms. Obi-Wan threaded a gentle hand into Cody's curls, letting himself feel the peace of Cody's presence. 

Obi-Wan had only danced around Cody, during the war. With this second chance– Obi-Wan did not know how he would handle this, but Obi-Wan could feel the kindness of Cody's Force signature. Obi-Wan could not love him any less than he did in his past life, and would not try. 

The Force was so warm around him, and the sound of Cody's breaths so comforting, that as much as Obi-Wan fought to stay awake (how could he fall asleep, he'd taken so many watches before, how irresponsible ) he could not stop his eyes from falling closed, and eventually let himself lean against Cody on the plush cushions of the sofa. The Force would surely be there for them, warning them of any incursions.

Safe, Obi-Wan felt. Sleep here , and a better being could not have resisted the enticing pull of sleep.  

—————————————

I could be sleeping right now, Jaster thought resentfully as chieftains threw insults across the council room. 

Poor Corvus was stuck in an argument with one of the chieftains of a smaller Evaar'ade clan in a land dispute, and Jaster just wanted to go see his ade and sleep after that fiasco on Bandomeer. Unfortunately, this was genuinely rather important. The land in dispute was found to be fertile enough for cultivation: with effort, it could be used as a farm. 

"Both Clan Rook and Piij will contribute equally to rehabilitation efforts in the territory. Distribution of whatever crops are cultivated there will be decided in a future meeting, according to population, contribution to the rehabilitation, and need." Procrastination had never sounded so responsible. 

Corvus shot him a grateful look, and Chieftain Ryk nodded grudgingly, before Myles moved to the next issue on the docket. 

"Armor and weapon permits for homicidal buzzard hunting in the Northwestern regions." 

Jaster could have cried. 

—————————————

Jango had let this go on too long. He quietly murmured his intent to Myles, who waved him off immediately. 

Myles whispered in his ear. "If you get this meeting to end, I'll take you to your favorite bakery and we'll get whatever you want, on me." Jango nodded seriously and walked, very properly, out of the council room. 

They had finished all of the important items on the docket. Housing for the Freed had been sorted out, interplanetary arrangements made. Borders established, the Judicial system had been sorted (after much pain), local government systems had been sorted (and they'd been working on it for a long time), and Jango figured that if they were on to homicidal turkey hunting and restrictions on plasti-turf in public spaces, they could all afford to stop here and take a break. 

Jas'buir was too responsible to call for a halt. It was up to Jango to make all of these di'kute realize that they were wasting their time on trivial matters when they could be having dinner with their aliit . They would have more necessary things to discuss in a few days, anyways, and Jango still figured that since the homicidal buzzards were specific to the Northwestern territories, it was the regional governor's duty to sort them out. Give them something to do, really. If they had to do everything here, why would they have spent so much time assigning clans as regional governance? 

Jango was a genius, really. When he had been smaller, younger, and much, much cuter (he was not so cute anymore) he had employed every ounce of his sad puppy eyes to convince Buir to wrap up council sessions early. Very few Mando'ade were resistant to that sort of manipulation, and Jango knew his two, very small, adorable, terrifyingly intelligent vod'ike would be up for helping their buir . Besides, Jango needed to get Jas'buir the appropriate opportunity to adopt Ob'ika. 

He'd held off on it when they had first met, because it was evident that Cody and Obi-Wan needed time alone and without the worry of accepting or rejecting adoption offers. But now, Jango knew it was only a matter of time. 

Jango knocked lightly on their door before entering. He stepped in, and was struck by the peace that permeated the space. The entry room was empty, as were the bedroom and kitchen. But in the living room, where Jango himself had acquisitioned the softest blankets and the fluffiest pillows, Cody and Obi-Wan were curled up around each other, again , and were buried in the thick blankets. 

Jango raised his vambrace to take a few holos, but they both snapped awake the moment he stepped in, and Jango registered only Ob'ika's eyes, wide with alarm, before the world blurred and he flew , slamming into the opposite wall of the bedroom where he had been thrown from the threshold of the living room. 

"I'm so sorry– so, so sorry . Oh fuck, I'm so sorry– I didn't realize it was you, I swear, 'm so sorry, I just didn't recognize your signature and you were just there and oh my god I'm so sorry ." 

Jango blinked blearily to see his newest vod'ika kneeling before him, cradling his face and looking terribly distressed and– were those tears?

His vod'ika was upset– this could not be allowed.  

Jango felt a massive headache coming on and looked up to see a person-shaped dent in the wall above him, where his armor had hit the wall. Oops . 

"Gib hgg," he giggled blearily. Hugs made everything better. Ob'ika obliged, and Jango hugged back, and faintly felt Cody grabbing his arm and typing something in- perhaps calling someone? 

Jaster's voice came over the comm, and he sounded fairly cheerful. Expectant, perhaps. " Ad? What's up? " Jango would've taken care of it, but Cody was on it, rubbing circles into Obi-Wan's back and checking Jango's pupils. 

Probably perhaps maybe perhaps a concussion? 

"Jango came in while we were sleeping and Obi-Wan accidentally threw Jango into the wall. A minor concussion, but he seems fine otherwise."

A quick promise to come over immediately, and then the comm clicked off. Jango giggled a little, even as Cody was holding up two– no, three? – fingers, demanding a number, and Cody frowned. 

"Why are you laughing, di'kut ?" 

"Mmmm… meeting end'd" 

By the time Buir arrived, Jango was still giggling hysterically. 

—————————————

Jaster didn't always love being Mand'alor. But not having to cook made his life much easier, on occasion, and after getting Jan'ika checked out and reassuring both Cody and Obi-Wan that they were not in any trouble, definitely and certainly, it was a while until they got around to eating. 

Jaster set the table with Jango, as he wouldn't allow Cody or Obi-Wan to carry things to the table. They were a little too short to reach the top. 

The chefs had pulled out all the stops for this meal. They must've known that this would be the first time Jaster was eating a proper dinner with his ade , and Jaster made a note to thank them later. 

Cody was a little frozen before the array of dishes, but Obi-Wan stood upon his seat and dumped a little bit of everything on Cody's plate, along with a healthy serving of rice and a running commentary, which Jaster and Jango gladly supplemented. 

"Some stew, I'm not sure what it's called–" 

" Gi stew ."

And, " Tiingilar. It's spicy–" 

"They probably toned it down for you two, but it'll still be delicious, " Jango grinned evilly, as he scooped a massive helping of Tiingilar onto his own plate. 

"No doubt," Obi-Wan muttered dryly. 

Obi-Wan ladled vegetable pirpaak into bowls for each of them, pushed them to each of their seats, and Jaster wondered if this was some tradition, that Obi-Wan served people before, in that other life. 

Obi-Wan smiled at Cody when he pushed his bowl to him. "This should be much lighter, and help with the spice." 

Jango snickered. "You'll need the help too, vod'ika ." 

Obi-Wan blinked a little in surprise, but a little frown came across his face, and he sat down to eat. 

Jaster went into the kitchen to pull out a carton of blue milk, just in case. He set it down next to Cody and Obi-Wan with a smile, and went to eat. The tiingilar was making his mouth water, and after a day of meetings, he surely could not hold himself much longer. It all just smelled so good . 

As he tucked into his food, he noticed that Ob'ika and Cody were surprisingly spice-tolerant. Of course, they still needed an unholy quantity of blue milk with some of the dishes, but despite Jaster and Jango's suggestions of milder dishes, they shook their heads. 

"Too tasty, buir ," Cody decided. And if it made Jaster a little warm inside to know that his ad enjoyed his people's food, it was surely understandable. How could Jaster not be proud that these recipes that had been passed down his family would be given to his ade ? 

And at last, comfortably sated, Jaster dragged himself off of his seat to do the dishes, waving Jango off on account of his concussion, and Obi-Wan and Cody off on account that they were again too small to reach the sink. 

Jaster nodded when Jango asked if he could watch holofilms with Obi-Wan and Cody, and he tugged them both to the massive, very squishy couch in the living area. Jaster might've worried about him showing them something wildly inappropriate, if he hadn't known that they were both quite old. Almost as old as him, in fact. Ah well, it hardly mattered if they were both ade now. 

Jaster smiled helplessly when he heard the opening to The Black Sword , a historically inaccurate and dramatized holofilm about Tarre Vizsla, with an excessive number of love interests and an unreasonably handsome actor portraying Vizsla, but Jaster and Jango both loved it. For a movie made by aruetii , it was remarkably true to Mandalorian culture and if one ignored the historical inaccuracies (a feat Jaster hadn't yet accomplished) and the plot holes, it felt more like a rom-com, and a reasonably well made rom-com at that. Vizsla was also, if Jaster had to admit it, quite handsome. And the special effects were excellent as well. And since they would already be suspending their disbelief, the adorable pet mythosaurs were delightful as well. 

From the indignant shouts, and the repeated insistences that, this is historically improbable and also, what the fuck? Why did they choose to do this? Jaster thought he and Obi-Wan would get on quite well. 

Chores finished, Jaster settled down onto the sofa and wrapped an arm around Jango, sinking into the much beloved cushions and blankets that made it so warm and comfortable. Obi-Wan and Cody were already curled up around a pile of blankets on the neighboring sofa. Soft things were very good, and Jaster made a mental note to thank Jango for remembering to requisition more supplies for their living quarters, despite the time he had spent assisting Jaster. 

Jango giggled a little at Obi-Wan's scathing commentary; truly, Jaster would have to scour Obi-Wan's brain for his knowledge. Surely the Jetii Archives would have a greatly differing collection of works?

Soothed by the company of his ade and the exceedingly (and embarrassingly) familiar script, Jaster let himself drift into a careful doze, feeling faint amusement when Vizsla, that handsome bastard, was subjected to an improbable number of courting requests. 

The holofilm was just finishing up– Vizsla had finished uniting the clans, and had also finally started courtship with the last two romantic interests, whom the director could not choose between and failed to kill, when Jaster's comm buzzed angrily.

Jaster roused himself just enough to answer his comm, letting a miniature and bluer Myles pop into existence above his vambrace. 

" Me'bana? " 

"I hope your nap was good, alor , you'll need it. There's a jetii who came here, asking after Obi-Wan." Cody glanced sharply at Jaster's face, wrapping an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. 

Jaster was fully awake now, and cursing the ka'ra for not allowing him more time with his new aliit . Obi-Wan was fully aware, watching him as closely as Cot'ika. " Me'ven ? Tion'ad? "

Myles' displeasure was evident through the comm. "His name is Mace Windu, one of the jetii High Councilors. He won't give us details on why he's searching for Obi-Wan yet, but he thinks Obi-Wan's on planet, and chances are he's gonna bring Obi-Wan back to their temple."

Jaster nearly snarled in anger, but calmed quickly when he saw the look on Obi-Wan's face. Hopeful, ecstatic. Happy . 

There was nothing Jaster would not do to bring his ad joy, even if it meant treating with jetii . Quickly muting his mic, Jaster turned to Obi-Wan, who nodded quickly.

"Mace was one of my friends, and he's always been kind to me." A little smile graces his face, and Jaster does not miss the way Cody pulls Obi-Wan a little closer still. "And he came looking for me, when no one else has." Obi-Wan's face stills, his decision made. " Mand'alor , if it is acceptable, I would like to meet with Master Windu."

Jaster nods easily. This is what Obi-Wan wants, after all, and so he pulls his armor on with long-bred familiarity, Jango alongside him, and he informs Myles to allow the jetii to come into the compound, to be set up in one of the guest rooms so that they may speak to him in certain privacy. 

He is hesitant, of course. The jetii are, of course, aruetii . Not only aruetii, but the jetii are also their ancient enemies, and fear is not so easily overcome, not when it is so ingrained in their minds, when it has been burned into their home. 

But then, Obi-Wan is a jetii , and Jaster loves him already. He'd be Jaster's too, if he hadn't kept being interrupted by such things like Council meetings and emotional awareness. 

There is nothing Jaster wouldn't do for them, and so their little aliit troops out into the hall, following Myle's instructions as they proceed towards the jetii's guest room, where there are ever more ramikade that are stationed along the hallway. 

They are nearly there when the door bursts open to reveal a flurry of robes, and startled ori'ramikade shout in surprised fury. 

Before Jaster can pull a blaster on the jetii , Mace Windu, he has snatched little Ob'ika up– the audacity , Jaster will have him killed with only a word – until he realizes that Cody is calm, looks up at Mace with cautious but trusting eyes, and that it's not a restraining grip that the jetii holds Obi-Wan with, it is an embrace. 

Windu has Obi-Wan in a tight hug, and Jaster recognizes the relief in his eyes, as well as the wariness that he watches Jaster and his ori'ramikade with, and so he signals for them to stand down.

"Welcome to Manda'yaim , Jetii Windu."