Chapter Text
“Are you going to ask about her or not?” Korkie sighed, setting down two small meals onto the table. He slid into the seat, awkwardly using his hip to push aside his Buy’ce that he’d left to mark his place in the booth.
“How is she?” Obi-Wan finally begged the answer, even as his conflicting emotions and the orders from Yoda to detach himself to protect Luke warred with the desire to know that the woman he loved was safe. Obi-Wan stared at the food Korkie had pushed in front of him. “She’s not in harm’s way, is she?”
“No, no,” Korkie shook his head, “She’s alive.”
Obi-Wan turned his head, looking up at the boy. Korkie appeared to be better than he was before, and he now carried himself with an underlying confidence that made Obi-Wan wonder what had changed. When they parted mere weeks ago, Korkie had been a determined yet traumatized teenager. But now he seemed focused and aware, with an assurance about him that seemed backed by experience, not ego. Either he’d stepped up somehow, or he had a vendetta to meet. Obi-Wan bit the inside of his mouth. “I take it she didn’t take it well, then,” He lamented.
Both men sat in the bar they’d wordlessly slipped into from the street. Neither had spoken about the circumstances of their separation, although Obi-Wan had hesitated addressing the Bantha in the bar until Korkie had volunteered the information at his expense. Their corner was secluded, quieter than the rest of the establishment, and they sat opposite each other at a table that only smelled a little bit -much better than the rest of the Bar.
“No, she did not take it well,” Korkie deadpanned, lifting the meat pie off the plate in both hands to his mouth, taking the largest bite he could manage. He chewed, relief on his face as the heavy spices reminded him of home. When he swallowed, he added, “But she wants you to come home.”
“Home?” Obi-Wan echoed. “I don’t have a home,” he stared at Satine’s son, with blonde tipped auburn hair that was still growing back out after the buzzcut. He had patchy parts on the sides of his jaw and chin where the beginnings of a youthful beard was coming in. Force, Satine must hate that, Obi-Wan thought. She had certainly hated it when they were on the run years ago, and he’d had no access to a razor.
Obi-Wan had wondered before, in a moment of selfishness, if the boy Satine doted on could be theirs. Back on that freighter, when Satine had been in such turmoil, her emotions longing for something out of reach that he could not place, Obi-Wan had wished. He’d tried to ask, but looking at the youth now, he couldn’t deny the resemblance. The coincidence was far too aligned.
Korkie was rolling his eyes at his words, “That’s stupid.” He took another bite, and Obi-Wan succumbed to his own hunger, trying to not be bothered by the lack of eating utensils. Not that he wasn't accustomed to eating with his hands, but it certainly wasn’t his preference.
Across from him, Korkie coughed lightly with the effort of swallowing too soon, and Obi-Wan’s attempt at redirecting his thoughts failed. He could not process this well enough to control his thoughts. He had to be certain. He would certainly make a massive fool of himself if the boy wasn’t theirs, but some cruel trick of nature to remind him of what he had given up. “How old are you?” Obi-Wan asked when the panic returned.
“Old enough,” Korkie huffed, giving him a side-eyeing glance.
“Humour me,” Obi-Wan leaned forward, his hands folding again over the table.
“Old enough that the answer might make you uncomfortable,” Korkie snorted. He looked up from his food, which was somehow already almost halfway gone. “I’m seventeen, almost eighteen.”
Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat. The timelines certainly matched, with enough overlap that either Korkie was born early or Satine might have known already when they said goodbye. That thought hit him harder, that she might have made the choice for him back when they had a chance together. Kriff, she had made the choice for him. She had decided for him that he would not be a father. Satine had never reached out, never even called to tell him. An anger and betrayal he was not accustomed to feeling rose within him.
Satine, his dear Satine, had hid this from him. For years.
Obi-Wan almost shook his head. No, she wouldn't have. She couldn't have betrayed him like that. They had their disagreements for sure, but a betrayal like this was out of the picture. They had talked about kids long ago, to the point of joking about names. She knew how much he loved children. She wouldn't keep this sort of thing from him. Of course, the only other option was that Korkie wasn't even theirs, or he was born of someone else… if Satine had been with someone else within the same month of her coronation, when they’d also said goodbye -quite passionately.
No, Korkie was either theirs, or not at all. When he instinctively reached out in the Force, he found it to be true. Korkie’s signature was deeply layered, but under all the scars of life, it flickered with a familiarity that Obi-Wan could only liken to home. When he had watched him from the ridge top, Obi-Wan had been impressed with the skill by which Korkie had seemingly effortlessly dodged the ion blasts of the Jawas, and snuck past the dangers inside. Now he knew it was more than talent. The Force was in his blood.
Korkie was most definitely Force-Sensitive, enough that he could have been brought into the Order and become a Jedi. But life had worn him down, taught him to deny his instincts and hide the thing that made him special. Oh, but he had never needed Force Sensitivity to be special, Obi-Wan knew that. He wondered if Korkie had struggled as he had, trying to understand why he was different, striving for the approval of those around him. That was a habit not easily broken, and when Obi-Wan looked at his son, he knew it to be true.
He was a father.
Obi-Wan felt something heavy form in his throat, “And your…”
“-Father?” Korkie finished with a jabbing snort of laughter. “Don't know-” His eyes flicked up to stare straight into Obi-Wan’s, accusation flashing through them, “-Dont care.”
Obi-Wan’s heart fell at those words, hurt he didn't know he had the leverage against him to feel ripping at a place he’d shut away long ago. He had no idea what to do.
Korkie continued, “Whoever it was, he left my Mum to do it all on her own,” The auburn haired boy dropped the food to his plate, his hand shaking briefly, “-and I will never forgive him for that.” Obi-Wan sensed the boy’s convoluted anger, the flow of it swirling until it corrected itself and focused directly at him. So Korkie knew.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had a son. A son.
A son with Satine Kryze.
Satine Kryze, who had hidden it from him.
A tear slipped free down his face, and instead of wiping it, Obi-Wan let it fall. No one seemed to pay any attention to the tumultuous reunion happening in the corner of the bar. Obi-Wan stared at the boy he had unknowingly abandoned. His appetite was gone.
“Satine,” Ayma hissed, “Get your ass up before I drag you.” Ayma Hurr growled into her ear. Satine’s collapsed legs were folded under her as she sat in the volcanic sand, back slumped to curl in on herself. Nearby, the Witch was cackling to herself, mumbling under her breath about how entertaining the situation was.
“I’m…” Satine couldn't force out the word. Her arms wrapped around herself, down around where something rested that changed everything. “I can’t be..”
“I heard,” Ayma’s face scrunched with suspicion to the Witch, glaring through her dark lashes to keep an eye on the woman. “Come on. It’s time to go.” Ayma lowered a hand, offering it to Satine to help her up.
Satine’s walls were collapsing as denial set in. No, she couldn't be…
“I hope you find what you are looking for, duchess,” The Witch purred from where she stood near the corner, a hand on her hip and the other flourishing through the air. Her hood was redonned, and she squinted as she watched the other women with disinterested amusement.
“Let’s get you to the Emdee, then we will know for sure,” Ayma offered in a whisper, pulling Satine up to her feet. They both retrieved their weapons from the Altar, and Ayma handed her the Darksabre once more. She clipped it back to her girdle, disbelief setting in. No wonder people were thinking she was sick. Satine took back the heavy blade with newfound disgust, her stomach lurching.
“Please rid her of my premises before she makes a mess of my floors,” The Witch rolled her eyes. It was the kindest farewell Satine felt the woman was capable of, and let Ayma lead her from the cave. Through the crevice and back into the maze of black spires, they returned to their ship. Outside was loud, with a tearing wind and that rumble she still couldn't escape. Satine’s hair whipped around her face where whisps had been pulled free from her braid, but she didn't bother to fix it. Her boots in the pebbled sand were unsteady as they walked, quiet while Satine’s thoughts raced. She wanted to just shut them down, to take this the way she took most unexpected challenges; with a stern gaze and a tight lip. But everything was in turmoil, with her mouth becoming dry and her hands shaking. This really was the worst timing for her.
She had managed to do this once before, with Korkie. But a second time? This would be messy.
Ayma pulled down the ramp, the two of them boarding the ship and Satine was unsure what to do. She took her place in the co-pilot’s chair, folding her legs and crossing her ankles. She wanted to feel small, like she might hide away from the confirmation. “Shall we do this now, or back home?” Ayma asked gently, her demeanour softer now that they were out of that witch’s presence. Ayma busied herself with prepping the ship and closing the ramp, letting the ship fall back into silence.
“I… I don’t know,” Satine answered. She didn't like not knowing for certain, though the confirmation or denial seemed more terrifying than the limbo beforehand. But Satine realized she knew. She knew it was true. If it wasn’t, this would just be a freak scare and she could go back to her ruling of Mandalore and her search for Obi-Wan.
Oh, Obi-Wan.
How could she forget him? It was his. She knew that. There was no one else. But the question was when, and how? Satine reached for her arm, checking where her implant was supposed to be located. Her thumb rubbed across her skin, and found the lump. It was still there. Her implant was still there. How had it failed?
They had been together several times since her rescue, and Satine wondered how far along she was. There had also been a few stolen nights in the months before her dethronement, but it had to have been sometime after. Otherwise the Temple medical droids would have caught it. She reached down, finally splaying her hands across her stomach. How long has she been pregnant? How could she have missed this?
Satine had been pregnant during the conclave, she realized. A surge of panic rushed through her, terror that she had somehow hurt them. She had had bruising all over her middle from that fight, from being thrown to the ground and all the kicks and jabs Saxon had struck her with. She was still sore in some places where her ribs ached and her bad hip still protested prolonged usage. She’d caught herself over that tree root in a way that could have injured them. Satine had even had a drink or two at her coronation.
“Kriff,” she swore, curling in on herself, hands folded as if she could cradle them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” She whispered downwards, the tears that had collected in her waterline finally spilling over down her cheeks. Satine was stricken with horror and dread that she may have caused irreparable damage. “I’m so sorry,” She mumbled again. She had put them in danger. She had been in battle, taken unsafe hyperspace routes with faulty ship engines, drank caf, and drank alcohol… Her brain kept listing things off. She’d even taken some pretty hot showers. Even if that was on the lower end of risks, Satine considered it. Her potential child was in the one place they were supposed to be safest, and she’d been so careless.
“Hey, hey.” Ayma appeared, “You’re panicking,” She reached out and hovered a hand over Satine’s shoulder. “Let's get the medical droid, okay?”
Satine could barely nod, and she stared into space. She needed to tell Obi-Wan. Surely this would bring him home. There was no reason to hide it from him this time around. This time around... He would have to know sooner than later the truth about Korkie.
Korkie.
He was going to be an older brother, she realized. He would have a brother or sister. Satine had wondered on many occasions how he would take to the role. He would have a sibling, she told herself. A real sibling.
That was, if this didn't end terribly, if there were no complications that she would be forced to suffer from, then she could see them become the family she used to imagine and pretend she had. Beside her, Ayma had rolled out the medical droid, and flicked the switch to turn it on. The droid blinked awake, looking around and immediately asking if the blood Ayma had taken from its files had been useful. Ayma spoke quickly with the droid, giving its directive over to patient care.
“Here, shall I ask or do you want to?” Ayma was walking on eggshells, trying to keep her calm even as tears were slipping down Satine’s face. This wasn't how a woman was supposed to feel when she discovered something like this, right? She was supposed to feel elated. This was something she should have wanted. In many ways, she felt no different, and she knew nothing but the fear in her heart and the worry that this would all go terribly wrong.
When Satine finally spoke, she looked at the Emdee and ordered, “Please run a diagnostic… general health.” She watched the droid look her over, performing some quick scans and it asked her to sit properly or find a place to lie down to get a proper look. So they went to the small room behind the cockpit opposite the emergency closet, the three of them squeezing into the small space. Ayma pushed a panel on the wall, a small platform folding out. She hit a button and the thin cot inflated immediately. Satine leaned back and hopped up onto the small fold out pilot’s bed. She removed the armour pieces she wore decoratively over the skirted flight suit she wore. She let Ayma unzip her back for her. Setting everything beside her, Satine unclipped the Darksabre with shaking hands, setting it atop the pile of clothing. Remaining in her compression undergarments, Satine wrapped her arms around herself. The droid puttered around her, mumbling about the bruising still healing on her ribs and her bad hip that was still inflamed.
“Do you want me to stay?” Ayma asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Satine replied. Part of her wanted her friend here just in case, but she also wanted to be able to feel whatever came her way without the need to perform. Not that she had to save face in front of Ayma, but long habits were not easily broken. During her first pregnancy -‘first pregnancy’… that would be strange to reconsider- she had barely anyone around her who knew what she was going through. Just like Padmé, she didn’t have her own mother to call upon or a close friend to confide in. Certainly no one else who had actually birthed a child of their own before, and certainly no one who knew who the father was.
“Subject still has significant bruising and inflammation of the Elbow and Hip,” the Emdee reported. It held up one of its mechanical arms, pointing in the air theatrically to make a point, “I can recommend a mild painkiller.”
“Is that even safe?” Satine mumbled.
“Safe for what?” The droid waited for her to elaborate. Its cam-eyes were expanding and minimizing its lenses while it watched her, analysing its patient for whatever queues it had been programmed to recognise.
“Safe for…” She felt her voice falter, then she said, “Please run a scan,” Satine ordered, “for… for pregnancy.”
Ayma watched carefully, eyes flicking between the droid and Satine. She stood with her back to the wall, waiting for a crack in Satine’s emotional facade that might call for her presence. Satine felt cold, the artificial lights of the room too bright as she waited. The droid tilted its head, and blinked, “Scan commencing.”
Satine’s heart pounded, her hands clenched at her sides in a soldier-like fashion. By the Manda, if this was just a scare, she wasn't prepared for how she would feel. Relieved? Disappointed? But if it was a positive result, how would she proceed? What would she do if she’d unknowingly caused them to suffer with her careless lack of self-preservation and negligence of her health? The nightmare scenario of losing this baby due to her own stupidity made her stomach drop in fear.
It was that moment that she realized that if it was true and the witch was right, she desperately wanted this. She wanted this baby.
A Baby.
“Scan complete,” The Droid nodded.
“What are the results?” Ayma gently whispered when Satine was unable to. The Droid wheeled backwards a little bit, its arms folding in front of itself.
“The subject is far enough in gestation that a blood test is not required,” The Emdee confirmed. “The scan places the pregnancy at approximately fourteen weeks,” The Medical droid’s voice was neither sympathetic nor congratulatory, and Satine was too focused on forcing herself to breathe to attempt to backwork precisely when that placed the date of conception. Her mind was in a frenzy, emotional survival mode kicking in as it searched for the first familiarity: a problem to solve.
Satine throat closed and she gulped. Blinking rapidly, Satine felt her eyes become fuzzy with tears, her hand flying from her side to touch her bare skin. Choking, she begged, “And the health?”
The Droid tilted its head up to imitate a caring expression. “The heartbeat is steady,”
Satine let out a huge breath with a broken exhale, the relief washing over her. Her mouth couldn't help but pull into a tight smile. Her eyes blinked to avoid the fall of tears, but they failed. She watched the drops stain the compression pants she wore, and Satine wished to the Manda Obi-Wan had been here to find out with her.
The Droid retrieved a small data pad from its included supplies and continued, “The health of the Embryo is good. There appear to be no signs of placental abruption or umbilical complications, despite the subject’s injuries.”
“Tough little guy.” Ayma smirked.
“However, I would recommend immediate removal of the hormone regulator from the Subjects arm to prevent any future risk.” The droid reached up its arm, reverencing towards Satine's left one. “If possible, I would like to do so now.”
Satine was nodding before she could think. “Oh! Of course,” She clenched her jaw, and followed the droid’s direction, leaning back down onto the fold out cot. Satine pulled her braid around so it wouldn't irritate her neck, laying her head back. She laid down so that the droid had access to her left side, her right hand remaining pressed over her stomach, thumb brushing just under her belly button. She stared upwards at the ceiling. Fourteen weeks. She was already fourteen weeks and she had missed that much?
From what she remembered from all the frantic research she’d done before Korkie’s birth, the first eight weeks were a proverbial ‘red zone’ where loss was more likely. She was past that, or she should be. This was happening.
Oh Stars, what was she thinking?
The droid located the implant still in her arm, disinfecting the area of her skin. It began laying down plastic to create a sterile field, rubbing and wiping and applying a mild concoction of general anesthesia.
“Is this a procedure we can do in the air?” Ayma asked, “My scanners are picking up another storm and I’d rather not be stranded here.”
“I require a steady work space,” The droid answered, and Satine turned her head on the cot, looking at her friend with a nod, telling her she would be okay in here.
Ayma gave a curt smile, and left, leaving the door to the room open and making her way out to the cockpit. “I’ll keep the ride boring, don't worry!” She called over her shoulder. “I think this morning has been eventful enough.”
Satine looked back up the ceiling, resisting crossing her ankles, knowing from experience that the Emdee would just ask her to uncross them to better regulate her blood pressure. The Emdee rolled around, a tray of supplies in its grasp. Setting it beside her, it said, “The Subject is only a week or so out of qualifying for the second trimester. With a proper date of the last menstrual cycle, I can calculate that estimate to the day.”
“My cycle was always irregular and very light with the implant,” Satine swallowed nervously. The loss of her cycle had been a significant perk to the contraception she’d selected, other than the fact that there was supposed to be little to no upkeep. No appointments to miss or pills to forget. Clearly something had gone wrong.
Or something had gone right. She was supposed to be panicking. She was supposed to be thinking about the future and how this would seriously complicate things. Months ago, this sort of situation could have ruined her. She would have had to approach this differently. Satine was supposed to be considering…
The Droid worked quickly, its arms making little noises as its gears whirred and the tiny incision was made. Within a few moments, a small clatter was heard, and the droid began cleanup and closure procedures. Luckily with an incision that small, a bit of Bacta and a bandage would do the trick. The ship rumbled, a few noises and vibrations the only telling that Ayma was piloting them out of this place.
Satine took deep breaths, trying to plan how she would string this baby’s story to her people. A message that rebuilding was possible, maybe? That Mandalore’s future was secure in her hands, stable enough to consider children?
So long as she kept the paternal intrigue off public interest, it could work. She wouldn’t be the first pregnant Mand’Alor, either. There were stories of a Mand’Alor centuries ago who rode a Mythosaur into battle late into her pregnancy. Perhaps Satine would not be that dramatic, but she could find another angle.
People would ask, though. And when they did, she would laugh it off and redirect just as she did to her handmaidens and guards with Korben.
“All done,” The Emdee said, “I would like to do a hormonal regulation check every couple days until everything is orderly,” It told her. “And I would like to run a diagnostic as to how this implant failed.”
Satine nodded, and the Droid removed all the plastic, leaving her with a bandage wrapped around her arm and instructions to keep an eye on it, and remove the bandage four days from now, then reapply another if needed. The droid picked up the small metal rod out of the tray to place it in another, and inserted it into an analytic port. Satine was handed a small tube of Bacta, and Satine thanked the droid. Leaning forward, Satine sat up, swinging her feet off the cot and finally crossing her ankles. She reached for the cloak she’d left with her clothing, pulling it over her shoulders when the chill of being mostly undressed finally got to her.
A beep sounded and the tray popped out. Lifting the removed implant to the light, the Emdee said, “It appears your implant was fried by a significant electrical current,” The Droid asked, “Were you at any time in the vicinity of Arc Reactors or a particularly strong stun?”
“I…” Satine thought back, before the conclave, before their escape from Coruscant. “I was, yes,” She answered. When she had first met Ayma, she had been stunned by that Assassin that Palpatine had sent after her. She had been shot in the left shoulder, and woken up hours later. She had no idea that could cause such an implant to fail. If she had known, would she have been more careful?
“That fits the damage I am detecting.” The Medical Droid said. “You appear to have experienced a Hormonal rebound within the two weeks following the failure.”
“Thats, uh,” Satine swallowed again, thinking back to the days after, if she had been a younger woman she might have blushed, “-One way to call it.”
“My scans otherwise indicate a healthy pregnancy,” The Droid told her, filing away the implant and puttering around as it cleaned up after itself. “Unless you would like to discuss any other treatment options, in which I may refer you to a more specialized facility.”
“Oh! No, no thank you,” Satine shook her head quickly. She almost thanked it for its service, then her thoughts shifted elsewhere. The droid was waiting for her cue to power down, but she waited, thinking if there was any possibility at all to test for such a thing. She could hear Ayma out in the cock pit flicking switches and plotting a course, but for now she had a moment of privacy. They could both pretend Ayma had no idea who had fathered Satine’s child, but the illusion could remain for Satine’s comfort for now. Lowering her voice, Satine asked, “Is there any way to proactively test the Midichlorian Count?” She asked.
If the droid could give her a funny look, it would have. “Miss Kryze, such tests are usually reserved for after birth.” It nodded it’s head, “If this is of concern to you, we can organize a more specialized-”
“No, no,” Satine insisted.
The droid tried again, “You needn’t worry about such things. Mandalorians are genetically incredibly unlikely to have a high count,” The Droid assured. “I will put a note in your chart to-”
“No.” Satine said firmly. “No charts. I want this off the records.” Her eyes darted towards the door, then back at the droid. “In fact, I want this whole consultation off your records. I want you to wipe your database immediately.”
“But Miss Kryze, I cannot properly administer care-”
“Do it now.”
“Maybe you should know my birth name,” Korkie said, and Obi-Wan hung onto every word, swallowing at nothing with the effort to keep his outer shell intact. His son leaned back in his seat, his meal finished, and he folded his arms. The expression on his face was neutral, but his eyes burned with satisfaction when he spoke as if taunting him, “My real name is Korben.”
Satine had named their son after him.
Obi-Wan knew of the Mandalorian traditions, how names worked and how they were passed on and created. Korkie -no, Korben, wasn't angry in the Force, he was hurt. There was remorse for the life they never had, but in a false sense of having made peace with it, Korben had let it fester until he had a direction in which to channel that pain. Obi-Wan’s instinct was to comfort the boy, like he used to comfort Anakin. But this was his son, and he had no idea what to do. His only experience to draw upon was his padawan, and look at how that turned out.
“She still wants you to come home,” Korkie folded his arms with a small barely disguised glare. The way his eyes narrowed was just like his mother, and the lines of the muscles on his forehead were just like his own. “She’s Mand’Alor now, but listen, Master Kenobi,” Korkie paused, “She’s not… well.”
Obi-Wan recoiled into himself, trying to tell himself that he was being irrational and that the heat of the suns was already getting to his head. His brain kept trying to offer other, better solutions. Should he be happy? Should he be sad? This whole reality was impossible, he couldn't imagine Satine choosing to keep their child from him.
But she had. Satine had taken his autonomy from the situation, thinking she knew better than him what he wanted. He could see it immediately, her stupid self sacrificing self, believing that she was being the better person by keeping this a secret so that he could pursue his life in the Jedi Order. She had kept his own son from him. How dare she?
Satine shouldn’t have chosen what she thought he wanted. She didn’t have the right to decide what he needed. Obi-Wan’s breath quickened in his chest, the ideas and realizations crashing over him all at once. He had a son. He had missed everything. He had missed it all, from her pregnancy to Korkie’s birth. He’d never been there for his first steps or his first words, for his first day of school or graduations. He’d never been there to pick Korben up when he fell, to help him with schoolwork, or raise him to be a man. Perhaps he was projecting his own regrets from the tumultuous relationship with Qui-Gon onto the situation, but it changed nothing. Then a horrible thought hit him.
Did Satine think he would have been a bad father?
That quieted everything else. Of course she would have thought that. He had been raised in the Temple, without the traditional family structures. He had no reference to parenthood other than the few exposures to civilian life and the rocky relationship Obi-Wan had had with his own Master. Satine might have seen that and believed him falling short, especially now. With the way Anakin, the boy he’d raised as his own, had turned to the Dark Side, what would Satine have thought about his influence on Korben? If Anakin had fallen to the depths of cruelty only monsters wielded, what might she have feared for their son?
But that didn't change her choice. She had never asked him to leave the Order. She had never given him a chance to prove her wrong. She had never asked him to give it all up. Yet she had plenty of reason to do so. He had loved her. Obi-Wan had loved Satine in a rebellious, dangerous way. Enough that he had dipped into the Dark Side that day he’d saved her. He had betrayed every ideal he held so dear just to ensure she remained out of Death’s grip. And she still hadn't told him he had a child. Had Satine ever even planned on telling him?
His anger was justified. She had kept this from him. She had chosen to keep him out of Korben’s life. His emotions rolling, Obi-Wan felt a panic as he realized he could not control them. He could not simply release them into the Force, and every minute he sat here facing physical reality made it harder to stay solid. Any remaining Force sensitive individual was especially susceptible to detecting it; most notably Darth Sideous. He could endanger Luke with this much pain.
Obi-Wan stood quickly, abandoning his hardly touched meal and giving one last look at his son before dashing for the door. He had to get out of here. The bar was too loud. Everything smelled of alcohol and sweat. His own heart had sunk and he felt terribly unwell.
Korkie scrambled after him, but he was out the door faster than he could let himself rethink and regret. They broke out into the quiet street, and Korkie called after him, “Wait! We need to talk!” Obi-Wan kept pushing to get away, far away where he could process this on his own. His feet were no longer slipping in the sand as he rushed away. Behind him, the door slammed again. Feet pounding on the ground, Korkie raced and jumped in front of him, quick as a bird. His eyes were shocked at his outburst. The street lights were reflecting off his armour, the night winds picking up the cloak he had tied over his shoulders. “She needs you, Obi-Wan,” Korkie pleaded, panic rising in the boy’s face. Korkie looked so much like his mother at that moment. The look in his eyes was identical to the one Satine had given him as she begged him to choose her, to give each other everything. She had pleaded with him to be honest with her, even as she refused to tell him the most heavy of truths.
After the loss of the Jedi, of Padmé, and of Anakin, this was the last drop in an already overfilled bucket. Someday, he would forgive her, but it was not now.
He wanted to stay, and to make up for lost time, but Satine had broken that, and every moment he might stay in her presence, or in Korkie’s presence, brought emotions he didn't have the reserves to process. He was endangering Luke by allowing so much to crash into the Force.
Even more so, he was endangering Korben and Satine. If the Empire knew he survived, that put a huge target on their backs. He could not let them remain in danger because of his failures.
Obi-Wan pushed past the prince of Mandalore. “If she didn’t need me then, she doesn’t need me now.”
A call from Ayma Hurr was the only thing to break Korkie’s concentration. He had tracked Obi-Wan out into the wastelands, cursing his name for falling for that stupid Jedi trick.
Korkie was outright furious. This man, the one who claimed to love his mother, sure liked to use her only for his own convenience. From Korben’s perspective, Obi-Wan had abandoned his mother twice already; Once before he was born, then again before Maul. Now, he was doing it again. He had gotten them out of Coruscant, and not made it too difficult when Korkie had threatened him. It had not been Korkie’s proudest moment, but things had worked out. And now, even with his mother’s fragile claim on Mandalore, Obi-Wan refused to come back, all for some baby.
Sure, Luke had been cute. But why the child of some senator friend of his mother’s held precedence over Satine herself, Korben did not understand.
The tracks lead east, but he felt he’d been going around in circles for the longest time before he found them, leading into a ravine much like the one he’d escaped the sandcrawler in. There were no lights to indicate dwellings, but something in Korkie’s gut told him that to risk the ravine at night with no knowledge of it’s layout was to invite friends he had no desire of making.
So he planned to wait til dawn, and find Obi-Wan then. He probably had a home or hiding place nearby, whether it be a house or some cave.
The beeping of his comlink grabbed his attention in the night, and Korkie lifted his wrist. “Commander Hurr?” He asked when the Holo connected.
“Lord Kryze,” Ayma formally addressed him, “you failed to check in earlier today.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Korkie answered, eyes wandering to look back at the shadowed cliffsides. “I found him.”
“You did?” Ayma asked with urgency. “You will need to get him back with no delay.”
“Yes, I know my mission,” Korkie replied. “But that might prove difficult.”
“Is there an issue?” Ayma said. “Do you need militaristic support?”
“That sounds like an idea not of my Mother’s,” Korkie huffed. The more he stared at the cliffs the more his tired brain tricked his eyes to see movement and strange shadows lurk in the distance. “I found him, but I think I spooked him. I don’t think Master Kenobi will be joining us any time soon.”
“He might when he gets word,” Ayma mumbled.
“Word of what?” Korkie frowned.
“It’s not my information to share,” the Mandalorian Commander stated. Ayma’s blue holo image sharpened suddenly as the connection improved, and Korkie looked closer.
“Are you flying somewhere? Is everything alright?”
“Come home, Lord Kryze.” Aymas voice insisted. “Your mother needs you if that shabuir won’t come.”
Korkie cracked a nervous smile at Ayma’s insult, but his frown deepened, “is my mother okay?”
“Just come home, Korkie.”
On Coruscant, Emperor Palpatine stared out his window, the satisfaction of his victory bringing a sick smile to his wrinkled face. Oh, he had won, and won gloriously. There would be no resistance now with the dreamers crushed and the people on his side. There would still be Jedi to hunt down and rebels to destroy, but his new lapdog would serve that purpose perfectly.
“My lord,” A voice across the room called. Sheev turned ever so slightly, permitting them to speak. “The first reports from your Health initiative have come in.”
Sheev Palpatine waited. It had been a risky declaration to make, but an intergalactic update to all Republic and Separatist Medical Droids had been made, the executive order buried under all the other hundreds that drew much more attention than one little update. Now, the Empire had access to the medical records of every citizen registered, or any person that just happened to be treated by one of the droids. These records were uploaded instantaneously to a collective database which tracked the health of the Empire’s people -or those of particular concern who had the misfortune of their ignorance of the new policy. Palpatine had placed a marker on the files of several persons of his interest, asking to have any updates of significance end up on his desk. He wished to avoid any more potential opportunities like Padme’s to not slip through his fingers again. Granted, he’d salvaged that disaster quite gracefully, though he could have done more with it.
“Bring them over,” Palpatine ordered, and the attendant quickly crossed the space, entered his code cylinder, and produced the files. Dropping the flimsi where the Emperor could see, the attendant quickly bowed out, leaving as quickly as he came.
Sheev squinted halfmindedly at the flimsi, a particular name catching his eye. Reaching down, Palpatine pushed aside the other files to look closely at the report. Reading the quick excerpt of transcript and summary, Palpatine smiled. Another player just entered his chess board. His senses confirmed, the Emperor smiled. “How perfect.”