Chapter Text
After a few years on Kashyyyk, Sev dies. He dies fighting off the Imperial occupation alongside the Wookies who had found him and saved his life. Sev really didn’t mind dying to protect them and their home. It was a good death.
Then, he blinks awake in an unfamiliar starship’s medbay feeling like he’d been stepped on by an AT-AT. He inhales sharply on reflex, then—forces himself to be very still—evens his breathing back out in hopes whoever had taken him off Kashyyyk wouldn’t yet notice that he was awake. But, he isn’t that lucky. A voice next to his bed asks, “awake, ad’ika?”
And—what? Sev opens his eyes, squinting against the bright lights of the medbay to peer at his—captor? rescuer?—current guard. (Guarding a stranger in your medbay seems logical.) But, Sev has never been called ‘ad’ika’. Skirata’s boys might have, but Vau had never given Sev any illusions about their relationship. A stranger’s face is watching him—intent but not nearly as cautious as they should be with a rogue clone commando. They’re wearing beskar’gam, which brings up several questions, but not any beskar’gam he recalls from any of the Cuy’val Dar or the few other Mando’ade he’d crossed paths with before. Confusingly, they’re not even Human or Near. (Aside from Trainer Tervho, he hasn’t met that many Mando’ade who aren’t Human or Near Human.) This Mando’ad is a Pantoran with bright golden eyes, the typical blue skin, and sort of pale pink-white hair pulled up into tight buns against their skull (to fit their buy’ce, Sev guesses).
“I’m not an ad.” He argues reflexively. Except, his voice sounds like it had when he was still a cadet. Slightly alarmed by that, he sits up—or tries to—before surprisingly careful but firm hands push him back down into the bed. Sev settles for lifting a hand to his face and has to pause when he sees how small and unscarred they look. His blaster callouses are still there, but these are his hands how they were until midway through his fourth year when Vau put them through the first round of training for resisting torture and interrogation. After that training, he’d had little, precise lines of scars on all of his fingers. The urge to panic is muffled by his awareness that he isn’t alone. That natborn is still watching him.
“No? You look like an ad to me, verd’ika.” Says the Pantoran Mando’ad. They keep their voice deliberately light. Sev hates them for it a little bit.
He bites back the juvenile urge to pout and just scowls at them instead. “Where am I?” If he’s a cadet again… the Kaminiise will no doubt be furious that a clone is off Kamino where they’re not supposed to be. Maybe if he gets back quickly Vau won’t make his punishment truly miserable, just deeply uncomfortable. Prime being sent after him would just be a nightmare. He’d probably end up in a bodybag if it was Prime.
“You’re on The Legacy, but we picked you up in the middle of a forest on Yavin IV. We were hoping you could tell us how you got there and, if you have family, where we can find them to reunite you.”
Yavin IV? That’s the wrong sector of the galaxy entirely from both Kamino and Kashyyyk. What was he doing on that weird jetii planet? Something isn’t right here. But, maybe he shouldn’t tell this Mando’ad that. Erring on the side of caution, he just shrugs. “If you contact the Cuy’val Dar they’ll know where to take me.”
The Pantoran’s brow furrows. “I’m not familiar with any coverts by that name.” Then, they sigh. “Well, since you’re awake, the Mand’alor would like to speak to you if you’re up for it.”
Again, he decides to just shrug. Sev is pretty sure there isn’t a Mand’alor but he suspects saying so might offend whoever is trying to claim the title. It won’t be helpful to upset his temporary hosts that soon.
“Okay.” They stand up and grab a datapad from a small table by his bed. When they turn to move further away, Sev glimpses a symbol for a baar’ur. Well, it makes sense for the baar’ur to be watching him closely if they think they just found some lost, confused ad. Something about his situation—and not just the not being dead thing—feels off to him.
When the doors into the medbay slide open, three more Mando’ade enter the room. None of them have familiar beskar’gam either. Two of them are clearly adults, one of them Human or Near while the other is a Togruta, when they remove their buy’cese. The third is younger, and Sev almost thinks they’re a Human or Near natborn, except under their buy’ce they have the face of a vod. Not a vod he can recognize on sight though. No familiar scars or marks. Though the disgruntled expression on the vod’s face is familiar. He’s seen it on plenty of vode. But there’s still nothing recognizable as a vod he knows. They’re around their 6th or 7th year of growth probably. Something about him itches at Sev’s brain uncomfortably.
The first Mando’ad, Sev decides, must be the contender for the title of Mand’alor. He’s wearing mostly black beskar’gam with red accents and a red cape. He comes to sit in the chair the baar’ur just vacated. That not?-vod pulls up a second chair to sit next to the Mand’alor. And the third leans against the wall by the medbay door. A sentry, maybe? It’s not an unreasonable precaution.
“Hello, ad’ika,” says the Mand’alor. And, despite his scars and crooked nose—like it had been broken too many times to fix—he has an oddly kind face.
Leery, Sev reminds himself that these natborns might not know what he is yet. They have the one not?-vod with them, but a lone vod could probably pass themselves off as normal until their accelerated aging was noticed. What Sev is certain of is that once they do know, the kindness will go away. Natborns aren’t exactly the best at hiding their distaste for clones. “Hi.”
Patiently, the Mand’alor studies his face like he’s trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle. “I’m Jaster Mereel, the Mand’alor of the Haat’mando’ade. This is my son and that’s Akshae Tervho by the door. I assume you’ve met Baar’ur Kisma Tenau.”
Haat’mando’ade? They were supposed to be mostly dead. (Aside from the few survivors currently among the Cuy’val Dar.) How is this man rallying people to his cause when there aren’t many people to rally in the first place? He knows they’re trying to fish for a name but… he doesn’t trust the situation at all and his designation would create more problems for him. It’s how he’s supposed to respond under interrogation, but it’ll be too obvious. A clear indicator that he’s a clone, with no rights at all. Then, they’ll know they can do anything they want to him without repercussions.
When he doesn’t offer up a name after a few minutes the Mand’alor’s lips twist wryly. “I’m guessing you’ve been through a lot. Do you have anyone we can reunite you with? Family?”
“If you contact the Cuy’val Dar, they’ll come get me. Probably.”
Just like his baar’ur, the Mand’alor furrows his brow and then, folding his arms over his chest a little too casually to not be deliberate, he starts tapping in dadita to his verd across the room. The start of a question—but before he can say anything concrete, Sev snaps at him. “Stop that. I know dadita, sir.” He puts a fair amount of sharp disdain on his use of ‘sir’.
“Ah.” A briefly awkward expression crosses the Mand’alor’s face. “I should not have assumed. N’eparavu takisit. But, I’ve never heard of the Cuy’val Dar.” He glances over at his verd, who shakes their head in reply. “Where might we find them to get in contact? Surely, if they’re your covert they’ll be worried about you.”
Worried, yes, but not in the way these natborns are thinking. Well… Sev won’t get back to Kamino alive if he doesn’t get the natborns to help him at least a little bit. And he highly doubts they’ll just give him a ship when they all think he’s an ad. So, he’s honest. “Kamino.”
The not-vod is confused, but the Mand’alor looks disturbed. “The planet of cloners near the Rishi Maze?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s where you’re from?” Baar’ur Tenau asks, expression growing concerned.
Sev grimaces, because he’d liked being treated like a sentient by natborns, even if it was only for a little while. “Yes, sir. It’s where I was decanted, sir. I’ll be in a lot of trouble if someone realizes I’m gone.”
“A clone?” Mand’alor Mereel’s expression is dark and hard to read.
“Yes?” Sev replies, letting the word carry the tone of a ‘no, duh’ as he watches the Mand’alor and not-vod exchange a glance. It prickles. “What? Offended you’ve wasted supplies on a meat-droid, alor?” He sneers.
Confusingly, that makes all four Mando’ade (including the not-vod) blanch and recoil. “Meat-droid?” repeats the Mand’alor, voice soft but carrying a thread of potential danger.
“Yeah?” He meets the Mand’alor’s gaze with one of pure defiance.
The man breathes hard for a moment, one hand clenching and unclenching into a fist in his lap. “Ad’ika,” his tone is uncomfortably gentle. “I don’t know what you’ve experienced before we found you, but you’re not-...” He struggles for words.
“You’re a person.” The not-vod says flatly, expression too complicated for Sev to really parse.
“Oh.” Sev sighs, suddenly enlightened. “You have one of those trainers.” He lets his disdain bleed into his voice.
“What?” Suddenly, the not-vod looks both confused and uncomfortable. “What trainer? Jaster is my buir. I’m not-...” He stops, opening and closing his mouth a few times before trying again, clearly trying to keep the next words from sounding wrong. “I’m not a clone.”
He just stares at this weird not-vod then deadpans. “Well, you’re not the Prime either, vod. You’re too young.”
“Prime?” The not-vod echoes, more confused.
“Yeah?” Sev drawls out, unimpressed. “The Prime. The Mando’ad who sold his genome and genetic material, made it property of the Kaminiise? Kark, you’re worse than one of Skirata’s.”
“Property?” Demands the not-vod.
But the Mand’alor’s gaze has sharpened. “You know a Skirata?”
“Kal Skirata. His boys are soft.” Sev sneers again. “He lets them pretend they’re real people, it’s sad.”
There’s a choked sound from the baar’ur. The Mand’alor studies him closely. “And, who, verd’ika, is your trainer?”
“Sergeant Walon Vau.”
Next to the Mand’alor, the not-vod has jerked around to look at his ‘buir’ with shock written across his face. “But, buir-...”
Then, the baar’ur is on the other side of Sev’s bed, unexpectedly, and reaches for him with a medical tool Sev knows well. His next move is all trained reflexes—enhanced by bone-deep terror—as he rolls sideways off the bed, steals a blaster off the Mand’alor’s belt and comes back up to his feet with both the bed and the Mand’alor between him and the baar’ur. He levels the blaster at the baar’ur—ignoring the startled shouts of everyone in the room. “I’m not going to let you experiment on me, natborn!” Sev snarls, trying to keep his hands from shaking with fear and adrenaline.
Baar’ur Tenau lifts both hands in surrender, clearly uncertain about what to do in the face of an angry, blaster wielding ad. “I just wanted a blood sample to compare to Jango’s.”
“No. No blood samples.” He grits out.
“Kisma.” Mereel catches the baar’ur’s gaze and shakes his head minutely. Obviously unhappy, the baar’ur complies and backs away from the bed, keeping their hands where Sev can see them. Then, too gentle, the Mand’alor turns to Sev. “Sorry, verd’ika. We’re not going to do anything to you that you don’t want us to.”
There’s a drawn out moment where Sev can’t decide if he trusts it or not. His eyes dart from Mereel, to the retreating baar’ur, and back again. He wants to trust Mereel. If only because he’s too young and alone and scared. “Swear it?” Sev asks, letting the blaster lower a hair.
“Haat, ijaat, haa’it. Nobody here is going to do anything you don’t want and we won’t force you to do anything—unless it’s for your own safety.”
And, Sev believes him. Lowering the blaster further, he still keeps his carefully clutched in both hands. “Okay.” Then, without the sharp edge of panic holding him up, he realizes he doesn’t feel well at all. Vau trained him to push through anything, but… that was in another time. This version of his body is too young to have that endurance yet. Everything aches. He’s tired and lightheaded and there’s no stopping the way he wobbles on his feet. “‘M gonna pass out, sir,” is all he manages for a warning before the world tilts sideways.
A voice cries out and then, arms catch him before he hits the floor. The blaster is gone, lost from nerveless fingers, but someone is holding him and Sev can’t help but shudder in silent relief and turn into it because no one has held him in such a long time and it feels nice. His vision is still going fuzzy and he can’t seem to move his limbs, but he feels the relieved stuttering of breath from whoever caught him against his forehead. Their chest rumbles a little as they speak, answering someone… then they’re moving him carefully. He feels bed sheets… a warm body settling next to him, an arm over him, then… he sleeps.
When Sev wakes up again, he wakes up warm and comfortable, with something vibrating rhythmically by his head. On instinct, he curls his head closer to that nice patterned sensation. It’s good. As he opens his eyes, blinking slowly, Sev processes that it’s purring. But too big for a tooka. He lifts his head slightly and finds a face close to his own, but still peacefully asleep. It’s… the Mand’alor’s son. That’s a little confusing, but… something about the purr from his chest makes it hard to care. Sev doesn’t understand it, but the sound makes his body feel extra loose-limbed and safe. Like his body knows that sound means safety.
He considers, briefly, trying to get up, but… he doesn’t want to. With a small snuffle, Sev presses his head back against the source of the purring. The other boy’s chest and throat are just vibrating steadily. The arm draped over him tightens minutely, not to hurt but to protect. There are strange feelings getting all tangled up inside him but he's so comfortable.
As he starts to feel like he’ll drift back to sleep, a new sound startles him into opening his eyes. The new sound cuts off.
Strange.
Sev closes his eyes again, listens to the purring that’s vibrating against his cheek and resettles. Then, it’s there again. Curious, this time he doesn’t jolt or move. Sev just listens intently.
It’s… scratchy and unsteady, like an unused thing coming awake for the first time. His chest and throat are vibrating with the new noise. Sev… for the first time he can remember, is purring. The purring next to him gets louder, in a response to Sev’s own steadily growing comfort. He can feel the strain of his body wanting to match it. But it is an unused instinct that his body is fumbling to remember… or learn to use it at all.
Still, he feels peaceful. Content. In a way that’s all animal instinct and bone-deep.
Falling back asleep again is easy.
The next time Sev wakes up, it’s to the sound of hushed voices somewhere close by. Against his cheek, the purring hasn’t stopped, but it’s quieter and somehow more deliberate, like it’s being done intentionally instead of reflexively. Irritatingly—or it would be irritating if Sev wasn’t so comfortable—the sound seems to rather effectively influence his body to feel safe and relaxed. He sighs a little and turns his face into the chest next to him. He’s almost never been held like this, by someone larger than him who’s curled around him protectively. He thinks he likes it—maybe a little too much.
Something shifts against the sheets and then there’s the sensation of short fingernails gently scratching his scalp as a hand smooths through his curls—they grew a bit unkempt in his years on Kashyyyk and that seems to have carried over to this version of his body. Sev just melts into the feeling and feels his own little choppy purr start up again. There’s a quiet, pleased sound from the body next to him. They sound like a vod, so… it must be okay for him to stay like this. Just a little longer.
Eventually though, he tunes into the conversation happening nearby.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, but the ad has clearly been through a lot. If we push, he might just retreat further.” Says Mereel.
“He was snappish, but… it seemed defensive.” Another voice adds.
“Like he doesn’t know what to do with any sort of kindness.” That is the baar’ur, Sev thinks. They sound sad for some reason that Sev doesn’t understand.
“You said he knew both me and Vau by name?” Kal Skirata’s voice asks. “I’ve never seen the ad before, alor.”
Mereel’s next reply is careful. “I think it’s more complicated than that, Kal. Some of the things he said… I don’t think he’s just lost.”
“Alor?”
There’s a long silence. “He talked about a group of trainers called the Cuy’val Dar, but the name itself…”
“Implies a lot.” Agrees Skirata. “There’s something you’re not saying, Jaster.”
“He didn’t think Jango could be anything other than another clone, but… he said Jango was too young to be the original.”
“But we knew the Fetts.”
Mereel replies. “Saw Desla pregnant with Jango and everything. But, if our verd’ika was displaced in time. It could explain why you’ve never seen him but he knows who you are. And, why he thinks Jango can’t be the same Mando’ad who sold rights to his DNA to the cloners. Not that it sounds like something my ad would do, but…”
“That’s… a big jump, alor. Time travel?” The unfamiliar voice says, clearly uneasy. That idea settles uncomfortably in Sev’s mind. He’d accepted that he was younger again and therefore had to be back in time… but was he in the right place in time?
“Do you have a better explanation?”
“He’s an ad with a lot of trauma, from what you’ve said… he might be confused.”
There’s a displeased sound from the baar’ur. “No. It’s too detailed and specific. And the way he reacts to some things… He looked at me funny when I told him the Mand’alor wanted to speak with him. Like, he knew what the title meant but was confused by there being someone using it.”
“He moved like a trained soldier when he felt threatened, and his trigger discipline for an ad that young was very good.”
Mumbling, Sev speaks up. “... been doing live fire training since I was four.”
A silence falls over the room and the purring next to him cuts off. Reluctantly, Sev cracks his eyes open to squint at the not-vod—Jango?—who is still curled protectively around him. His expression is all wide-eyed horror. “Why?”
“The Republic paid a lot of credits for their army so we were learning to fight and survive as soon as we could walk.” He notices that the fingers of one of his hands are curled into the fabric of the tunic on the boy holding him. Sev can’t quite convince himself to let go.
“Why would they want a Mando’ad to make an army for the Republic?” Vau’s voice cuts through the uneasy silence and years of brutal training dig into him like knives under his skin. He can’t ignore them. Quick, efficient, he slips out of the arms of the Mand’alor’s son and off the bed to come to perfect, stiff attention. Aside from the three adult Mando’ade from before, there’s now Skirata and Vau.
“Sir!” Sev notices immediately that everyone in the room is now looking at him in startled dismay.
Vau just looks uncomfortable. But there’s not a single flicker of recognition in his eyes. He’s also, Sev realizes, a lot younger looking than Trainer Vau was. “At ease.” The man who would be his trainer someday tells him, awkward in a way that seems unfamiliar to Sev when it’s Vau.
Obediently, Sev settles into parade rest. Several of the Mando’ade cringe at that. He feels small and out of place and anxious under their gazes. “Did… did I do something wrong?” It’s not something he would have ever needed to ask his Vau. Vau always made it clear when he was dissatisfied with Sev’s performance. This Vau… seems like he wants to do anything other than be here.
“No, verd’ika. You just… surprised us.” Says Kal Skirata—who is also much too young.
Unsettled, Sev glances between Vau, Skirata, and Mereel. “Sorry.” A hand settles on his back and Sev startles before looking back at Jango Fett—maybe?—who is looking at him like he wants to pull Sev back into the bed. Like he wants to hold him protectively and never let go. It’s not something Sev knows how to react to. Instead, he swallows hard and turns back to the adult Mando’ade in the room. “I-... think the Mand’alor might be right… about the time travel.” He hates the idea. That he might have been flung into the past alone. So similar to being left behind again, but so much worse.
Mand’alor Mereel cocks his head in surprise. “Oh?”
“Skirata and Vau… my Skirata and Vau. They’re older. A lot older.” Then, Sev curls in on himself. “And… I remember how I died… after. After the war was over.”
Every face in the room goes through a range of emotions. Shock, denial, anger, discomfort, and grief.
“After?” Repeats Vau carefully.
“My… I got left behind so I don’t know everything but… something changed with the vode—my brothers. They turned on the Jetiise… or the Jetiise tried to overthrow the Republic? I don’t-...” he shakes his head a little. “All I know is, the Republic turned into an empire and the vode I ran into after that… they were different. Wrong.”
It’s Akshae Tervho who mutters, “what the kriff kind of future is that?”
“And Mandalore? Where was Mandalore?” Mereel asks, something dawning in his expression.
Sev winces. “There weren’t really any Haat’mando’ade by the time I was decanted—some of them joined the Cuy’val Dar—and-... I only know what the Nulls repeated from Skirata. He-...” His eyes dart towards this Skirata who is watching him intently. Uneasy, he swallows hard and continues. “The New Mandalorians were running things mostly until a darjetii killed the Duchess and helped Kyr’tsad take over… then High General Kenobi killed the darjetii and it was…”
“A political nightmare?” Suggests the Mand’alor, tone light but expression dark.
“What are ‘the Nulls’ exactly?” Baar’ur Tenau questions quietly.
“The test batch clones. They… didn’t have as many genetic modifications as the rest of us. Especially not for temperament. They were too independent.”
“Genetic modifications?” Echoes the baar’ur. “What kind of modifications?”
This Sev knows. “Faster growth, increased lung capacity, decreased reaction times, better stamina, better immune systems, no allergies, behavioral adjustments… um, and after the Nulls, better obedience.”
Mereel looks unhappy. “What do you mean faster growth?”
“The Alphas and the Nulls were fastest, but most of us matured at twice the rate of natborns. They needed us to be ready in time for the war. I was 16? 17? by the time I died, and that was 3 or 4 years after the war ended. But, that’s only my chronological age. Physically I was like a natborn in their early thirties, probably.”
Several of the Mando’ade curse under their breath.
“I think I hate my future self.” Jango says faintly from behind Sev.
“What kind of shabla osik led to us becoming the kind of demagolka dar’manda to train an army of ikaad’verde?” Skirata mutters angrily.
That Sev knows at least part of. “What year is it?”
“684 Simir ru Dral’han.” Vau answers. Shab. He’s not supposed to be decanted for twenty-one years.
“From what the Nulls told the rest of us—Skirata adopted them to stop the Kaminiise from decommissioning them so he was their buir—I have some idea?”
“Decommissioning?” Jango asks quietly, like he’s afraid of the answer.
Sev glances back at him and steps back to press his spine against Jango’s knees. He isn’t a vod, but… he’s the closest thing Sev can get over twenty years before the first of the vode would be decanted. “We were products to the Kaminiise, and Prime, and most of the trainers. What would you do with a faulty product?”
Understanding appears across the faces in the room. “For being too independent?” Jango’s voice is barely audible and he’s pale like he might get sick.
“Wrong hair color, wrong gender, not able to keep up in training, too defiant, anything they didn’t like, really.”
“Shab.” Mutters the baar’ur who look like they might break the datapad in their hands from how white their knuckles are.
He can feel Jango shift, like he wants to retreat and shoves his spine against the older boy’s knees hard and insistent. Silent forgiveness for wrongs this Jango hasn’t yet committed. “What I know is… Mereel’s second—Montross, I think?—is working for Kyr’tsad. He’ll lead you into a trap next year on Korda VI. In my future, Mereel dies on Korda VI and Jango becomes the next Mand’alor. Eight years later, Kyr’tsad lays another trap for the Haat’ade and the Jetiise. Only two Mando’ade on that battlefield survived. Jango Fett killed six Jetii with his bare hands that day, according to the stories, but the Jetiise subdued him and handed him over to the governor of that planet—Galidraan—not knowing his role in the deception. After that, Jango Fett was sold into slavery, then became a bounty hunter at some point… eventually, he was hired to be the army template. He brought in one hundred Mando’ade and bounty hunters to be the Cuy’val Dar. The trainers for the army.” Sev shrugs. “A decade later, the Republic splinters into two factions. The Sith come back out of hiding, and… war.”
“Kark.” Mutters Vau.
“Can we kill Montross?” Akshae Tervho asks, a tight smile with a few too many teeth pulling at her lips.
Mereel is quiet, troubled as he considers the information. “The Sith.” He murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard. “Haran.”
“Verd’ika?” Skirata’s voice is careful, it makes Sev deeply uncomfortable. “Is there something we can call you?”
“My designation is RC-1207. Sir.”
Jango’s forehead lands on Sev’s shoulder before he says grumpily, “a number isn’t a name, vod’ika.”
The endearment makes something in Sev’s chest feel like it’s been tied up in knots—but it’s warm, too. “My vode call me Sev.”
“Well, Sev. I believe you have given us a lot to think about.” Says the Mand’alor slowly, clearly still partially lost in thought. “But, you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you want.”
He blinks. “I don’t exactly have anywhere to go, alor.”
“Still.” Mereel stays firm. “If you want to be here, you’re welcome to stay.”
“You’re basically my vod since we share DNA, right?” There’s something in Jango’s tone that makes Sev think of Scorch before he does something inadvisable—usually thinking it’ll be fun—and ends up getting himself into a disaster.
“I… guess? You never really cared about us, except the one unaltered clone that was part of your payment.”
Forcefully, Jango sighs. “Sev. Please stab me if I ever go seriously considering being cloned in this reality.”
“Uh. Okay?” He tries not to think about a galaxy where his vode will never exist.
Jango nods, mostly to himself. “Buir could adopt you, if you want.”
Sev blinks, looking from Jango’s earnest, hopeful expression to Mereel who offers him a warm smile when he sees Sev looking. “I don’t know how to have a buir?”
But… if the GAR won’t exist for nearly twenty or thirty years—if it exists at all—then, Sev doesn’t have to be a soldier, he considers. Jango has an arm around him again and that’s nice. He remembers waking up to Jango purring next to him and being warm. This Jango isn’t Prime as Sev remembers him. He’s an ad almost as much as Sev is. Probably barely past his verd’goten. He clearly loves his buir and the Mand’alor seems trustworthy.
“Okay… maybe.”
The grin on Jango’s face makes Sev feel kind of weird inside again, but… he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing.
Notes:
Sev: *threatens the medic with a blaster*
Jango: Oh. He's very vod'ika shaped. Can we keep him, buir?
Jaster: I don't know who hurt this child but I will be taking him home with me as soon as he agrees to it.Medic Kisma: I have so many concerns about the possible consequences of genetically modifying children. But first there is a LOT of trauma for us to address.
Vau: I have never seen this child before in my life and the way he looks at me is deeply unsettling.
The Mandalorian OCs in this chapter are largely borrowed from another fic I'm working on and when I started writing this, I decided to be lazy and use mostly OCs I already had notes for:
Kisma Tenau, who is a medic, slightly Force Sensitive, and a ba'vodu to Myles the Mandalorian.
Akshae Tervho, who is the head of House Tervho and a buir to Vhonte Tervho.
Desla Fett (mentioned) who was the buir/mother of Arla and Jango Fett, as well as someone who was acquainted with some of the True Mandalorians by virtue of them being former Journeyman Protectors.
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child
ad'ika = little one
alor = leader, chief, "officer", boss
baar'ur = medic
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
Cuy'val Dar = "those who no longer exist", the Mandalorian instructors recruited for training the clone army
dadita = tapping code used by Mandalorians, like Morse code
darjetii = Sith or darksider
dar'manda = No longer a Mandalorian, someone who has lost their heritage and with it their identity and soul
demagolka = someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal (Demagol was a Mandalorian scientist known for his experiments on children, a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche)
Haat, ijaat, haa’it = "truth, honor, vision", words used to seal a pact
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade)
Haran = hell (lit. destruction, cosmic annihilation)
ik'aad = baby, child under three
ik'aad'verde = roughly, baby soldiers/child soldiers
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
Kaminiise = Kaminoans
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Mando'ad = Mandalorian (Mando'ade is plural)
N’eparavu takisit = Sorry (lit. I eat my insult)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
shabla = screwed up (impolite)
Simir ru Dral'han = Year after Dralhan/the Annihilation (Mandalorian term for the Mandalorian Excision)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
verd'ika = affectionate term when used for a child "little soldier"
verd'goten = Mandalorian coming of age tradition, taken around the age of 13 (lit. birth of the warrior)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment)
Chapter 2: Jaster & Dogma | 51 BBY / 686 SrD (Part 1)
Summary:
Torrent Company are here to join the party. After they find their way to civilization.
Notes:
When I say that this part of the story went from maybe 500 words to several thousand and counting when Dogma decided it was his turn with the narrative... I am not joking. It was only supposed to be the first scene with Mij, Jaster, and Jango!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Alor.” There’s a frazzled looking Baar’ur Gilamar on the holo table, calling in from the latest mercenary job that a group of the Haat’ade had taken on. “You’re never going to believe what we’ve found.”
“I am afraid to ask, Mij.” Jaster sighs.
Behind him, Jango muffles a snicker.
Gilamar glances past Jaster, in the direction of Jango. “Oh, this is going to be your problem, Jan’ika. Turns out the manda isn’t done spitting out your clones—as if one isn’t enough.”
(They love Sev, they really do… but it’s been a process to convince the ad that he’s allowed to be an actual child for once. And he was very feral when they got him — half feral from apparently being stuck on Kashyyyk for three or four years without any other Humans or Near… Half feral because it turned out that Vau in the future was terrible at childrearing. Jaster thinks he would really, really like to kill that other version of Vau.)
“What?” Jango’s eyes go wide.
“Here…” the baar’ur turns the receiver of his comm to show them a bed with one boy around the physical age of 10 (comparable to Sev’s current age—and thank the Ka’ra that the accelerated aging from the clones seems to no longer apply due to whatever strange phenomenon had brought him nearly forty years back in time.) with a scar curling around one of his eyes. Curled up with him is a blond boy, who appears to be closer to 8, and between the two, there are two more boys that are not much older than 5 or 6, practically wrapped around each other like little limpets. Then, deliberately, Gilamar turns the receiver to another bed with two more boys who look to be around 8 and, with them, two more even smaller boys who are probably around 4 or 5 physically. Every last one of them has the same face as Jango and Sev.
“Oh.” Jaster says, realization hitting. “Well… shab. Bring them home with you, Mij. I’ll-... figure something out.”
“Sev might like this?” Jango offers, trying to not look as alarmed as he is. But his eyes are just a little too wide when he looks at Jaster.
“What are the chances he’ll even recognize any of them, alor?” Gilamar asks, voice carefully quiet to avoid disrupting the sleeping ade—though they’re clearly all deeply asleep and exhausted from the look of them. “He said there were over 3 million of them at the start of the war.”
Glancing back at the second bed of ade still visible in the holo, Jaster’s heart aches for everything these boys have probably been through. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever they’ve experienced… they deserve to be ade this time.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way Jango’s face has gone soft just looking at his little duplicates. Yes, Jaster is certain he can figure something out. Even though going from 2 ade to 10 ade overnight is a terrifying prospect.
For the ade, Jaster will make it work.
(A Couple Days Prior)
Waking up as a cadet all over again is indisputably the single-most confusing experience of Dogma’s life. He’d been caught in the middle of a firefight, he’s sure. But, then he opens his eyes and sees an expansive sky overhead that isn’t Coruscant’s churning metropolis of lights that blot out the stars. Startled, he lays still, staring at the sky for a long, long moment. It’s strangely peaceful. They didn’t have nearly enough peaceful moments in the 501st and prison on Coruscant had been a far cry from anything good. And, after…
“What the KRIFF?” A voice nearby shouts, one that Dogma knows immediately is another vod cadet, because he’d know a vod’s voice anywhere. “Why am I small?!”
There’s rustling of the plants along the ground and footsteps. “Vod? Hey. Are you alive?” Another cadet’s voice asks, somewhere off to the side.
“Wh-... where are we?” There’s a third cadet’s voice, much younger than the first two, and maybe Dogma should be a little bit concerned.
The cadences of their voices are strangely familiar, like they belong to vode he used to know. It’s hard to be sure when he can’t remember the last time he saw another vod who wasn’t under the chips. The only advantage to being in prison at the end of the war was that he wasn’t part of the GAR’s authorized communications systems. He didn’t get the Order. But he had heard about what happened to Fives (some of the Corries were kind enough to share bits and pieces of news about the 501st and Torrent Company, it made him feel a little less lonely) about there being chips in their brains. So, he took advantage of the chaos when a prison break gave him the chance and disappeared himself into the deep underbelly of Coruscant where he could find a thoroughly unethical enough being with sufficient medical experience to get his chip out.
“Why are we cadets again?” The first cadet voice demands, still clearly stuck on that part of their situation.
More rustling and footsteps, possibly more than three cadets’ worth of footsteps. “Oh.” A face appears above Dogma, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
Dogma doesn’t feel like moving. He’s tired. Almost every part of his body aches in a way that’s overwhelming. He just closes his eyes again and hopes they won’t recognize him. Vode don’t usually like him. Not saying anything feels the safest.
“Kark. He’s so tiny.” Another of the vode says from uncomfortably close by. The first voice, Dogma thinks. “He looks like he’s 2.”
That makes Dogma’s eyes snap back open because what? It’s obvious to him his body is smaller and less mature, just by his overall sense of his limbs. And against the fauna around them, he knows he’s not yet very big. Plus, the clothing he’s wearing feels too much like the cadets' blues that had always made his skin itch a little bit. He squints up at the vod leaning over him. Definitely a familiar face, but lacking any scars or tattoos to distinguish him immediately. Dogma really has been away from his vode for too long if he can’t tell them apart like this.
“Vod, hey.” The cadet leaning over him speaks more gently, like a medic trying to coax a brother out of battle shock after a really bad engagement. “Can you move?” A hand hovers close to him and Dogma can’t help the full body flinch that goes through him. Their hand stops, and the concern on their face deepens.
“Uhhh… that’s not normal, right?” A fourth voice asks. Again, it’s familiar in a way that prickles in Dogma’s brain.
“No.” The medic? answers. “Can you sit up?” He asks Dogma, no longer reaching to touch him but just watching him very closely. Looking back, Dogma observes that he appears to be in his 4th year of development. And he is definitely bigger than Dogma.
Reluctantly, Dogma huffs. “Hurts.”
This makes the medic—Dogma would bet all his extra rations this vod is a medic, if gambling weren’t against the regs… and if he was actually wanted around by other vode—look even more worried. “Where does it hurt, vod’ika?”
He feels his eyes start to sting because it makes his chest ache to have any vod look at him so kindly after Umbara where Krell used him against his brothers and prison where all he saw of the Corries were identical helmets. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny and the churning emotions, Dogma lifts his hands to press them to his eyes in hopes he won’t start crying. “All of it. Just hurts.” Then, he curls away from the medic on the ground, trying to make himself a tight ball in the way he learned to during his time in prison—it made the lack of touch a tiny bit more bearable.
But, there’s another cadet standing there, looking at him with bright but concerned eyes. “Hi.” He says, crouching down a little. This vod is younger than the medic, but still bigger than Dogma. And his face is so familiar it makes Dogma tense up. There’s something missing about the face—a tattoo?—but the expression and the eyes are unnervingly familiar, like there should be a name on the tip of his tongue. But, he bites back the instinct to say anything.
Some bushes nearby rustle loudly and then two more vode step into the small clearing. Both of these brothers, Dogma knows immediately. And so do the others. “Captain! Commander!” The source of the fourth voice runs up to them and practically throws his arms around the Captain of the 501st.
“Hi, vod.” Rex just catches him and hangs on, eyes scanning over the rest of the group. “That’s seven of us, Kote. This is really strange.” His blond hair is longer than Dogma ever saw it, a nest of curls on the top of his head. Just a little too long to be regulation.
Marshal Commander Cody—Kote?—hums in agreement. It’s obvious that he’s the biggest of all of them. He looks like he’s in his 5th year of development, possibly pushing towards his 6th. “They’re all your boys, too.”
Startled, Rex looks back at his ori’vod. “How do you know that?”
Kote gives Rex a disappointed look that Dogma remembers seeing aimed at irresponsible Shinies more than a few times when the 212th and 501st had joint campaigns. “How do you not? I know they don’t have tattoos anymore, but come on, vod’ika.”
“I-... haven’t seen any of Torrent Company in years.” Rex admits, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Actually, he looks like he might cry. That’s incredibly out of character for their Captain. Though, Dogma knows Rex lived past the Order and the war. Selfishly, after everything, Dogma had still tried to keep tabs on Captain Rex. He’d known his presence would be unwanted, so he’d done what he could to supply bits of intel anonymously to the clone underground. Staying in the depths of Coruscant had given him good sources. When the underground was gone… Rex had vanished and Dogma had been left adrift again. All he’d hoped then was that his Captain was still alive out in the galaxy.
“Captain?” The youngest voice asks, and Dogma tilts his head slightly to see… Tup. Oh. His hair isn’t quite as long as it was in the war, but it’s long for a vod.
A shuffle of feet and plants reveals one more vod, who looks extremely disoriented, but also deeply irritable. “Rex and I made it pretty long past the rise of the Empire, Commander. I’m guessing that aside from me, Clone Force 99, Wolffe, and Gregor, he hasn’t seen other vode in, at least, a decade. Not a lot of us left by the time the Imperial machine started intentionally getting rid of clones.”
“Captain!” The vod in Rex’s arms goes pale, as if suddenly remembering something. He looks up at the Captain wide-eyed. “I tried to kill you and Commander Tano! I’m sorry!”
Running a soothing hand over the vod’s hair, Rex shakes his head. “Jesse, no, it wasn’t your fault. Fives was right. I should have listened. There were chips in our brains. We had no choice.” His expression is clouded with a heavy grief.
The medic—Kix, Dogma realizes—sighs sadly. Tup looks lost. Commander Cody’s expression has turned grim and uncomfortable. “That makes eight.” Says the Commander, but there’s nothing but careful flatness behind the words.
A pained noise comes from the vod who is still crouched next to Dogma. Dogma peers up at him and sees a twisted expression of grief and regret. Part of him wants to reach out, to help somehow, but he can’t help but feel unsure if it will be welcome. Still, he doesn’t like that look in their eyes, so he finds himself reaching out and putting his hand on their knee. He tries to not flinch when they look down at him. It’s a close thing, considering he’s also startled by just how small his hand actually is.
“Vod’ika?” He asks quietly. And somehow, looking back at him, Dogma knows.
“You did your best, Fives.” Awkwardly, he pats Fives’ knee. He’s never been good with people, but Fives gave his life to try to save their vode. It hadn’t saved all of them, but… it had saved a few.
Fives looks down at him and offers a crooked attempt at a smile. “Thanks.”
“Fives?” Two voices chorus, and Dogma twitches and curls back in on himself. Rex and the last vod to join them are suddenly very close. When the last vod grabs Fives’ shoulders, pulls him upright, and looks him over with wide and disbelieving eyes, recognition settles for Dogma. Seeing them side by side, of course it’s Echo. He’s happy for them.
Rex looks between the two Dominoes with clear wonder. “I never thought-...” Then, he pauses and looks around at the vode, studying each of them in turn—aside from Commander Cody—and mutters to himself. “Echo and Fives, Tup, Jesse and Kix…” His eyes land on Dogma and he furrows his brow. Dogma looks away, curling tighter into himself.
“Where are we?” Tup asks quietly, briefly distracting Rex from scrutinizing Dogma.
Kix is the one to answer though. “Saleucami, I think. It looks similar, at least.”
“We might be able to find Cut and his family, if it is Saleucami.” Jesse suggests.
“We definitely can’t stay here. We don’t have any equipment for surviving by ourselves in the wilderness… and we’re all much younger than we remember being.” Commander Cody says before he kneels down next to Fives to talk to Dogma. “Can you get up, trooper?” Dogma just shrinks under the gaze of the Marshal Commander.
“He says his body hurts.” Kix tells the Commander. “And… he flinched when I went to touch him and try to figure out what’s wrong. I can’t tell how or if he’s injured if he won’t let me touch him.”
That makes the Commander’s brow furrow and Dogma wants to disappear because now he feels like he’s being a burden. But his body really does hurt. Like he was thrown through a wall and then dragged over duracrete. Carefully, Kote extends a hand, telegraphing his intent to touch Dogma on the shoulder. It doesn’t help. Dogma still flinches like he’s been struck and reflexively pulls his arms up to protect his head from a blow. Air hisses between the Commander’s teeth, but he’s pulled his hand away by the time Dogma dares to peek around his arm.
“What the kriff did they do to you?” Kote asks, but it isn’t really directed at Dogma. His eyes have gone slightly distant, though his expression is still worried.
Dogma is vaguely aware that the rest of the vode in the clearing are all more or less gathered around him now. It makes him deeply uncomfortable to be the center of so much attention. Nothing good happened the last time so many of his vode were paying attention to him. Fives drops down into a crouch again, staring at him with something like calculation in his gaze. “How far did the rest of you survive, anyway? I know what happened to Tup and Echo…”
“Actually…” Echo’s voice is strained. “I didn’t die in the Citadel. But… that’s a long story, and the Commander is right, we can’t really stay here. We should try to at least find somewhere sheltered to sleep, even if we can’t find some sort of civilization.”
The look on Fives’ face is so devastated that Dogma has to hide his face again to avoid seeing it. “You-... you were alive? But-...” His voice is strangled with grief and horror.
“Later, Fives.” Commander Cody says soft, but firm. Then, he leans a little closer to Dogma—he can almost feel the body heat coming from the older vod. “Dogma. I’m going to pick you up, okay? I know you probably don’t want it, but we can’t stay here and I’m not leaving a vod behind.”
Several of the vode around them make choked noises. “Dogma-...” He can’t tell what that tone in Rex’s voice means, but it makes his stomach tie up in knots.
Dogma opens his mouth to say—he doesn’t know what—then closes it again. Carefully, he peeks around his arm at the Commander, who is watching him steadily. He wants to tell him to forget about Dogma because he knows, he knows he’s a bad vod. But the Commander’s eyes are full of an intense certainty that tells Dogma he won’t win that argument with the Marshal Commander. None of the other vode speak. They all wait.
“Okay.” He whispers finally, afraid to look at anyone other than Kote. He’s certain he won’t survive it if they look at him like they did on Umbara. It would hurt too much.
Kote nods, and then, even when Dogma instinctively flinches away from the touch of his hands, the older vod pulls him up into his arms. It takes effort to grit his teeth and not let out any sound from the pain of being picked up and moved. Dogma ends up with his chest against Kote’s, little legs and arms desperately clinging to the Commander for stability. He has Kote’s arms under his thighs keeping him securely in place and, gently, Kote encourages Dogma to tuck his face up against his collarbone, sheltering him from his former squadmates. Once he feels the heat of the older boy’s body wrapped around him, he can’t help the ragged sound that escapes him. Pain and relief mixed together because he hasn’t had anyone touch him kindly in a long time, but his body feels raw. No one touched him in prison. And after had been a waking nightmare of realizing his brothers were gone and he had nothing except a horribly misplaced will to live.
His face buried against the Commander, Dogma closes his eyes. The tiredness dragging at him feels heavy again. Kote presses his cheek down onto the top of Dogma’s head for a moment. “I’ve got you, vod’ika.” Then, the Commander straightens himself up a bit, taking care to not disrupt Dogma. “Alright, boys. Let’s get moving. Keep your eyes peeled for any signs of civilization. None of us will last very long out here without weapons or rations.”
Held by the older vod, Dogma just listens to the sounds of their footsteps and the snatches of conversation being had. At some point, Tup ends up being carried alternately between Jesse and Kix because, like Dogma, he’s physically somewhere in their 2nd year of development. In the end, being carried probably would have been inevitable even if Dogma’s body didn’t ache and sting. Their legs are simply too small to keep up with the other vode for long. Dogma knows that some of his vode are watching him, can feel their eyes on him. He hates it. All he can do is keep his face in Kote’s chest and not open his eyes. Focus on the heartbeat in the Marshal Commander’s chest.
Without a chrono, it’s hard to tell exactly how long they walk before there’s an excited yell from Fives. “That looks like a path!”
“You’re right.” Rex agrees, thoughtful. “The question is which direction will lead us to people.”
“Not like we can spin a blaster since we don’t have one.” Jesse jokes.
Dogma turns his head to peek out in the direction they’re talking about. He can see Fives bouncing on his toes next to a narrow—but unmistakable—dirt path. Tup has somehow migrated to sit on top of Jesse’s shoulders, little fingers hanging onto his hair for dear life. (Seeing Jesse with hair and without his tattoo just feels weird. It is Jesse, but… not the way Dogma remembers him.) He catches Kix sneaking a glance at him, with that perpetually worried medic look on his face. Quickly, he turns his own face back into Kote’s chest.
Kote hums thoughtfully, the sound vibrating against Dogma’s forehead. “This would be a helpful time to have a jetii around.” It’s clearly meant to be a joke, but there’s a note of melancholy to his voice.
“There are animal tracks. Livestock, maybe?” Echo says consideringly. “A lot of them are heading that way. It seems probable to me that they’d want to move livestock into town more than out… that’s where they’d go to sell them. Right?”
“It’s worth a shot.” Rex replies. “We don’t have much else to go on.”
“I’m pretty sure this is Saleucami. But… I don’t know if it’s the right area to find Cut and his family.” Says Kix.
Suddenly, Jesse asks in a more troubled tone of voice. “Would Cut and his family even be here, though?”
“What do you mean?”
Dogma sneaks a glance from the corner of his eye to see Jesse chewing on his lip, an uneasy expression. “I’m just saying… we’re all cadets again. And… we don’t exactly have a calendar on hand. Are we forward in time after we all died? Or are we back in time to when we were all actual cadets?”
That question makes all of them fall quiet for a long moment. “We won’t know until we find other sentients.” The Commander says, keeping his voice calm and controlled. “So, we just have to start with that and once we’ve got more intel, we can figure out our next steps.”
“Yes, sir.” Rex sounds like he’s trying to suppress a laugh and Dogma can feel the way Kote turns his head to glare at the Captain. “Sorry, ori’vod. It’s just a little funny to see you using your Marshal Commander face and voice when you’re in a cadet body.”
Kote snorts, amused. “Right. Let’s try Echo’s direction and see where that gets us.” He adjusts his arms slightly to hike Dogma a little higher up on his chest again. Dogma swallows the sound his body tries to make in response to the movement. “Anything is better than standing around and crossing our fingers that someone will trip over us.”
So, they follow the path as it winds loosely through the terrain. For the most part, all of them stick close to each other. Dogma thinks he’d do the same if he was walking. They’re all suddenly small and vulnerable. The only protection they have is that, in a group, they might be able to work together to get away from any threats without anyone dying. It’s a dark thought. He decides to shove it deep down and forget about it. They just woke up, it wouldn’t be fair for his vode to die again so soon.
Notes:
The Force: Here you go, 8 more vode with information from the future. Use it wisely.
Jaster: *frantically drawing up adoption papers*Dogma: I'm sure my brothers must hate me :(
Torrent Company: We are never letting Dogma out of our sight again. Look what happened the first time we did! He's got trauma!
Cody: I am going to fist-fight the entire Republic for traumatizing my baby brothers
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
alor = leader, chief, "officer", boss
baar'ur = medic
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade)
'ika = diminutive suffix, used as a signal of familiarity or endearment when attached to names
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
Ka'ra = stars, as in the ruling council of past Mand'alore
kote = glory
manda = the collective soul or heaven; the state of being a Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit; etc.
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people (Mand'alore is plural)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment)
Chapter 3: Dogma | 51 BBY / 686 SrD (Part 2)
Summary:
There's a proper Tup and Dogma reunion, a vod pile, and Dogma has a conversation with his Captain.
Notes:
Dogma has single-handedly almost doubled the word count for this story. It was done until I let him take the wheel thinking he'd just need a couple of paragraphs!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After another immeasurable span of time—beyond the slow progression of the planet’s lone sun in the sky—it begins to grow darker as evening falls on them. They’re all hungry and increasingly tired and stressed. For a bunch of trained soldiers, being back in the bodies of cadets is a huge disadvantage. All their endurance and survival training came much later. Dogma’s hands don’t even have the callouses for his blaster anymore.
Eventually, the Commander stops moving and sighs heavily. “We’re going to have to stop. None of us are going to be able to march through the night. I don’t like it… but we need to find somewhere off the path to sleep. Maybe use the remaining light to forage for food and water. Without those, we won’t survive long.”
“There’s a partially fallen tree over there, Commander. It might at least give us some cover from anyone moving on the path while we’re resting.” Echo suggests. “From what we’ve seen so far, I’m not exactly optimistic about finding any caves or overhanging rocks.”
Rex grunts, then replies. “Let’s at least look. There’s enough bushes and things around here that we might be able to find edible plants.”
Dogma lifts his head briefly as Kote starts walking again, following the rest of their vode towards the trunk of the tree that’s clearly fallen over from old age more than anything else. It won’t exactly protect them from the elements. He wrinkles his nose at the thought of it raining on them out in the open like this. “Do you think the weather will hold, sir?” Keeping his voice as quiet as possible, he looks up towards the Commander.
Immediately, Kote’s expression shifts from tired grimness to something much softer as he looks down at Dogma. “I have no idea. But I’m going to hope so. It’s at least been mostly temperate so far… so we’ll see.”
“Yes!” There’s a victorious shout as two slightly dirt covered ARC troopers come scrambling back around the tree trunk. Fives jogs across the distance to get back to Kote’s side. “There’s a burrow of some kind under the tree. It should be big enough for all of us if we pack in tight.” His eyes flit briefly towards Dogma before jumping back up to the Commander. “It’ll at least keep us out of the worst of the elements.”
“Good work, Fives, Echo. For tonight, we’ll make the best of it. We should probably get Dogma and Tup settled while some of us try to forage for food.” With a little more speed and confidence in his steps, Kote carries Dogma the rest of the way over and around the tree until the burrow under it is visible. It’s not clean, but the dirt is tightly packed enough that they won’t be entirely covered in it by the end of the night. And there is enough space for a group of vode to curl up together. Especially since they’re not adults anymore.
Kix is already moving to examine some of the local fauna, giving Jesse and Echo pointers on what kinds of things to look for that might be safe for Humans or Near Humans to eat. Rex is scowling down into the burrow while holding Tup in his arms. The Captain looks exhausted. “Kote, I’m thinking it might be a good idea for the biggest of us to take off the tunics from over the top of our reds for the night. Lay them on the bottom of the burrow. It’ll keep us all a bit cleaner and put a barrier between our bodies and the ground if it gets cold.”
The Commander nods. “Good idea.” Carefully, he sets Dogma down on the top of the fallen trunk. He keeps one eye on Dogma to be sure he’s stable before fully taking his hands away and pulling off the blue overtunic of his reds. Leaning down into the burrow, he lays the fabric over the center of the space. “You, Jesse, and Kix can put yours around the sides. Let Echo, Fives, Dogma, and Tup keep theirs. They’re smaller and won’t be as good at retaining body heat.”
Rex nods in agreement and lets Tup down to stand at his side as he pulls his own tunic off and settles it next to Kote’s. Tup, without any complaint, drops down into the burrow to sit on the makeshift ground covering. “Any luck on food, Kix?” The Captain asks as he turns to walk in the direction that the others have started to drift off in.
Kote turns back to Dogma, a patient expression on his face. “Are you okay to sit with Tup for a little while?”
Reluctantly, Dogma nods. He knows—of all the vode from Torrent Company—Tup was always the nicest to him. His only friend. When the Commander picks him back up he goes without complaint, only flinching a little before there are even hands on him again. Even though he knows, rationally, that Kote isn’t going to hurt him intentionally after going through the trouble of carrying him all day… the years of being separate from his vode and being a ghost to the Empire won’t vanish in one day.
The ground in the burrow isn’t necessarily comfortable, but it’s less hard than Dogma might have expected. As soon as he’s put down, he lets himself lay down stiffly, body still aching. Tup just smiles at him, like they’d never been apart. “Hi.” His vod says, keeping both hands politely folded in his lap.
“Hi.” Dogma murmurs back, rolling to his side to look at Tup. It also feels slightly better, because his back seems like one of the most painful parts of his body. Fives has decided to linger outside the burrow as a sentry while the Commander walks off to join the others in their quest for anything they can use.
“I missed you.” Tup tells him softly. His eyes are entirely honest and warm. It makes Dogma’s heart kick in his chest because he missed Tup, too. When he’d gotten the news that Tup was dead, and so was Fives, he’d cried off and on for at least one or two days. For both of them. Fives didn’t have to like Dogma for Dogma to care whether he lived or not.
“Me too.” He admits quietly. Then, carefully, he reaches out to grab one of Tup’s hands and tug on him gently. “You’re tired, too. Lay down.”
Tup’s gaze is searching. “Is that okay? You’ve been… flinching.”
Dogma closes his eyes for a moment and breathes through the grief that’s become so familiar to him after so many years. “Haven’t really touched anyone since Umbara. It was… I didn’t like being in solitary but it was the only way I could be safe.”
He can hear the almost agonized sound that Fives makes from his spot outside the burrow. “You’re touch-starved.” Fives says, keeping his voice low enough that it won’t carry to the other vode.
Unhappy, he nods. “Even after I got out… I was a clone that wasn’t part of the Empire. Letting people close… it wasn’t safe.” Carefully, he tugs on Tup’s hand again. “I’ll… figure it out. I have to if we’re all going to sleep together tonight.”
His vod takes a deep breath, and briefly glances over where Fives is. Whatever passes between the two of them, Dogma doesn’t know. But, finally, with deliberately slow movements, Tup shifts until his side touches Dogma’s arms. With effort, Dogma manages to contain his response to barely a twitch before he rolls onto his back to make it easier for Tup to settle in next to him. Kindly, Tup lays himself down just so only their shoulders are touching. “Is this okay?” Tup asks.
“Yeah.” Dogma closes his eyes and allows himself to focus on the slow warmth of Tup’s shoulder against his. Both Fives and Tup are kind enough to be quiet and let him lie still. His back throbs slightly, but he can ignore it for the moment. With his eyes closed, it’s easy to drift on the edge of sleep. He can’t entirely fall asleep—he’s spent too long always looking over his shoulder to ever really sleep deeply—but time slips by more easily, and he knows he loses minutes at a time to not-quite-naps.
The sound of several pairs of approaching footsteps drags him back to awareness and he opens his eyes to see the rest of their vode returning, expressions all exhausted triumph. He lets Tup sit up next to him without complaining, though the idea of trying to sit up himself seems impossible. Why is he in pain when the others all seem relatively fine? Jesse sets down his blue tunic, which he removed at some point, and reveals a pile of nuts and fruits that are all entirely unfamiliar to Dogma, but that doesn’t make them any less appealing when he’s hungry.
Kix’s eyes are on Dogma even as he spills his own armful of food onto what’s on Jesse’s tunic. “Dogma… can I please have a look at you after we eat? I would feel better having some idea of what’s hurting you.”
He knows he must look unhappy from the way Kix’s expression falls slightly. But, Dogma isn’t a di’kut. If he is hurt, it’ll be better to have a medic look and let him know if there’s anything to be concerned about. “I-... we can try.” Dogma allows.
“Can you sit up?” Fives asks. The Domino has scooted himself just inside the burrow, and is now leaning in closer to Dogma to try to keep his voice relatively quiet. Still, he’s clearly trying to be careful to not get into Dogma’s immediate personal space. It’s kind of him.
Dogma grimaces and tries to get an arm under himself, but there’s an awful sensation in his arm and back just from the attempt to push himself up a little. He gives up and flops slightly. “No. It really hurts.” Tears sting his eyes from the brief moment of pain and he tries to blink them away before everyone notices.
“Do you want help?” Fives is watching him carefully, still not getting too close.
He nods. “It’s hard to eat laying down.” Dogma says, even though it’s obvious and even he knows it.
None of the vode react though, beyond a tiny twitch of Tup’s lips that might have been a smile. With more caution than Dogma would have expected, Fives slides his arm under Dogma’s back—he pauses when Dogma hisses in pain, but Dogma gives him a look to tell him to get it over with—and levers Dogma into sitting upright. “Okay?” Fives asks then, studying Dogma’s face.
Gritting his teeth through the fresh pain, Dogma nods. It’s not as hard to stay sitting upright, once he is sitting, than it is to try to move between sitting and laying down or vice versa. He’s grateful when Tup and Fives take turns handing him things—keeping him from having to stretch to reach the food—as the group eats, mostly quiet. They’re all exhausted. But the shadow of everything they’ve been through, and all the things they haven’t yet talked about with each other, sit heavily over all of them, making the quiet feel more oppressive.
After they’ve eaten, Kote gently lifts Dogma up and out of the burrow into the rapidly fading light. When Dogma struggles to even lift the top tunic of his blues off, he can’t help but feel frustrated and has to take a minute to press his hands over his eyes before he submits to allowing Kote and Kix to take off the top half of his uniform. He knows it’s bad when he hears the way Kote sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Karking hells, Dogma, what happened?” Jesse asks, voice suddenly too loud against the quiet of the rest of them.
Weakly, Dogma shrugs one shoulder and tries to ignore the way that even that movement pulls at whatever is wrong with his back. Kix is gentle as he doesn’t touch beyond the lightest brushes when he wants Dogma to adjust a limb for him to see something better, but he thoroughly examines Dogma’s back, his arms, his chest and stomach. There’s obvious bruising scattered across all of him, even Dogma can see that. But when he catches a glimpse of the back of his arms, he feels immediately nauseous. That feeling like he’d been dragged over duracrete was… very probably exactly what had happened. “Is that… does my whole back look like that?” He asks Kix quietly.
“Yeah.” Kix nods, expression pinched with worry. “I wish I had bacta or… something. Sorry, Dogma. At least it’s not bleeding.” He picks up the inner layer of Dogma’s blues and flips them inside out. Grimacing, he turns them back right away before Dogma can get a good look. But from the speckled discoloration on the back, he can guess that just because he isn’t bleeding now doesn’t mean he wasn’t bleeding earlier. “We’ll have to do what we can to make sure you don’t move your back too much or re-injure it until we can get somewhere with a medi-center. And keep it as clean as possible. I won’t be able to do anything if you get an infection.”
Obediently, Dogma nods in understanding. “Why did I come back with injuries but the rest of you are fine?” He asks Kix and Kote in a hushed voice. It just seems really unfair.
Kote glances around at the other vode, grimacing. “Well… at least a few of us didn’t necessarily die with the same number of injuries that you’re sporting, vod’ika. I wish I had a better answer.”
“I have some bruises… but nothing like that.” Jesse says.
“Force osik.” Echo offers, though there’s not much humor in his voice.
With care, Kix helps Dogma get the top half of his blues back on. “We should all try to sleep. Whatever is happening, we walked for a long time and we’re all tired.” When he finishes smoothing Dogma’s overtunic so it doesn’t get bunched up, Kix reaches to touch Dogma’s shoulder and—to both of their surprise—there isn’t a flinch this time. Slowly, Kix moves his hand around to cradle the nape of Dogma’s neck and guide Dogma’s head just a bit forward as he leans down to brush their foreheads together briefly. “I’m glad you’re here, Dogma.” The medic tells him so softly that Dogma knows the words are only for him. “Umbara wasn’t fair to any of us. And I don’t blame you for what happened.”
Tears well up in Dogma’s eyes again and he can’t help but to briefly think that he’s really sick of crying. He lets himself nod silently and grabs onto the sleeve of Kix’s reds for comfort. Words don’t come, so he merely sits there hanging onto Kix’s sleeve. Thankfully, no one presses him.
There’s some quiet conversation between the four eldest vode—something about watches and plans for the next day—that he doesn’t try to listen to, even as Kix lifts him gently, similarly to how Kote had earlier, hands under Dogma’s thighs with Dogma’s arms around his neck so he can avoid touching the raw parts of Dogma’s back. He lets himself be held as the other vode sort out sleeping arrangements. Rex ends up being pushed into the center of the burrow to lie on his back. Then, Kix carefully lays Dogma on top of Rex’s chest so that he’s on his stomach and won’t put any pressure on his back. To Dogma’s surprise, Rex puts one hand on the nape of Dogma’s neck in a way that feels protective.
With Dogma settled, Jesse and Kix lay on either side of Rex, with Tup and Fives crammed together on top of Jesse. Echo shoves his way into the barely there gap between Rex and Kix—to the amusement of both older vode. Finally, Kote settles himself next to Jesse, reasoning that if either Tup or Fives ends up sprawling out of their messy pile of limbs, he’ll be there to catch them before they hit the ground. It’s comfortable and warm lying there, eight vode all pressed close enough together to conserve body heat—as the air outside the burrow starts to cool with each of the three moons that slip up over the horizon. Dogma turns his head so he can listen to the steady beat of Rex’s heart under his ear. Rex shifts his hand slightly to cover the side of Dogma’s neck, still protective.
For the first few hours of darkness, Dogma feels himself slide in and out of a light doze. The body beneath him is warm and comforting, but every strange sound outside of the burrow brings him back to wakefulness long enough to make eye contact with Kote, who elected himself to take the first watch. When he catches Dogma looking, the Commander only smiles tiredly at him before turning his gaze back out towards the nighttime. Then, Kote nudges Jesse awake and gently pulls Fives and Tup over onto his own chest when Jesse grumbles about not being able to breathe. Jesse props himself up on his elbows to take his watch and Kote goes to sleep.
Dogma turns his head so he’s facing away from Jesse. (He can’t quite look at him in the dark without remembering what it had looked like when Jesse had been on the opposite side of his blaster.) Deep sleep remains elusive, but he listens to Jesse humming snatches of Vode An under his breath and the distant sound of a wild creature calling in the moonlight. A few more hours later, Jesse prods Rex into wakefulness and settles himself back down to sleep.
With the Captain alert underneath him, Dogma does his best to feign sleep and hide his jerks into awareness when there’s any unfamiliar sound beyond their shelter. Rex lets him have it for the first hour or so. Finally, when some kind of flying animal calls from nearly directly overhead and makes Dogma flinch against Rex, the Captain shifts his hand up into Dogma’s curls to stroke through them. “Is it the pain, Dogma?”
It takes him a moment to understand what Rex’s asking. Then, he sighs. “No.” He pauses and considers. “Not entirely, at least.”
The Captain hums quietly and whispers. “Fives said you survived the Order?” It’s a leading question and Dogma briefly has an impulsive desire to attempt to flip himself around on Rex so he can try to kick Fives, even with Jesse and Tup sleeping between them.
“I wasn’t part of the official GAR communications network in prison.” Dogma starts as softly as he can. “But there was a prison break… I hid in the lower levels. The Corries brought me news about the 501st sometimes, so I’d heard about Fives and him talking about chips. Nobody really believed it, but I didn’t forget. I got someone to take mine out. Seeing everyone go blank like that…” He shudders and feels Rex curl his fingers a little more tightly into his hair.
“I’ve got you.” Rex murmurs comfortingly.
Swallowing hard, Dogma tries to adjust his head to look at the face of his Captain. “I thought-... I didn’t think you’d want me around, but when I heard about your underground… I was glad you were alive.”
The Captain freezes underneath him. “Dogma.” His voice is pained. “Dogma, of course, I would have wanted you around. You’re my vod.”
“No… I- I helped Krell hurt our vode. I can’t be a vod anymore.” Dogma whimpers, trying to not let himself start crying again.
Rex shifts underneath him, his other hand coming up with a clear intent to hold Dogma, then stops before actually touching and stills in the air. He breathes raggedly, also struggling against his emotions. His hand above Dogma’s torso clenches briefly, then he finally drops it down to hold onto the back of Dogma’s thigh, where Dogma is less injured. “No. Krell tricked you and used you. That’s not your fault, vod’ika. And-... you did what I couldn’t do. You killed him. You made it so he couldn’t hurt any of our vode again.”
“The 501st needed you.” He replies. Then, after breathing for a moment, he admits. “I kept track of the underground. Sent your men anything I overheard on Coruscant that I thought might help. I figured if it was anonymous that would be okay. After the underground was gone, I just… really hoped you were still alive somewhere.”
Tears shine in Rex’s eyes as he looks down at Dogma. “Vod. The anonymous intel we got saved lives. If I had known it was you…” For a moment, Rex fights to steady his breathing. “I would have come looking for you, if I knew. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
Dogma does his best to shake his head. “I didn’t want you to know.”
There’s a shift next to them and then a hand covers Dogma’s where it’s clinging to Rex’s shirt. Blinking, he looks down to find Echo watching him with bright eyes in the dark, reflecting just enough moonlight to be visible. “Thank you. For helping us.” Echo whispers.
“You don’t have to thank me.” Dogma answers, but he shifts his hand so he can tangle his fingers with Echo’s.
“You were alone for so long, Dogma.” Echo says, fingers squeezing around Dogma’s. “I’m sorry you were alone.”
He swallows hard to avoid any embarrassing sounds he might make. Then, tips his head back towards Rex. “It’s why I can’t sleep. I-... I got used to having to wake fast to avoid being noticed around Coruscant when I didn’t have the credits for a place to sleep or if I thought I was drawing too much Imperial attention. Worked a lot of odd jobs, too, so my sleeping hours were a mess.” Dogma glances back down towards Echo. “I sleep lightly now… whether I want to or not.”
Rex lets out a heavy breath, stroking his fingers through Dogma’s hair more deliberately again. “We’re going to watch your 6 this time, Dogma.”
“I know.”
A hush falls over the three of them. Three survivors of the 501st, each with their own painful memories. But, here they are, some of their lost vode returned to them by some miracle. It’s hard to not think it might be nothing more than a dream, that they’ll wake up in the morning to find themselves once more scattered across the galaxy.
Whether it’s the comfort of Rex and Echo, or sheer exhaustion, Dogma isn’t sure. Somehow though, he finally slips into the deepest of sleeps he’s had in years. Probably since Umbara, if he’s honest. And he feels completely safe in the knowledge that if anything does happen, his vode will protect him.
Notes:
Cody: I've only had Dogma for one day, but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone on this planet and then myself.
Tup: I just want my best friend to be okay :(
Fives: Oh. Oh no there is more trauma here than I know how to deal with. We need someone more qualified.
Fives: *tells Rex about Dogma surviving the moment Dogma is busy with Cody and Kix*Kix: *internally screaming as a medic with no medical supplies*
Dogma: *immediately considering violence upon learning Fives ratted him out*
Dogma: I knew where you were, I just thought you wouldn't want to see me.
Rex: *deeply horrified that one of his Torrent vod'ikase was alone in the middle of Imperial space and he had no clue*
Translations from Mando'a
di'kut = idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
kote = glory
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode An = lit. Brothers/Siblings All (A Mandalorian war chant in Mando'a)
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 4: Dogma | 51 BBY / 686 SrD (Part 3)
Summary:
Cody & Torrent find their way to civilization and some Mandalorians. Kal Skirata didn't sign up for this and Mij wants to know how Kal managed to find eight identical Jango-clones after he was out of Mij's sight for ten minutes.
A/N: Please note the rating change.
Notes:
"I'm almost done with the Torrent chapters, I can move on to the Corrie chapters" I said... and then Dogma, Jaster, and Torrent weren't willing to hand the narrative back over yet. After this, there are at least two more chapters of Torrent-centric content.
Rating Change Note: The change in rating for this fic is not because there will be more focus on themes like graphic violence or sexual situations. But, as I've continued to write and edit, it's gotten clearer that the consequences of the experiences of the Vode are often heavy and make for some very serious discussion between characters and within internal narratives. Especially when Jaster starts looking at the Vode and coming to unhappy realizations about how they were raised.
For this particular chapter... CW: for brief discussion of consequences of non-consensual body modification and the disappearance of those modifications, further discussion of Echo and Fives' loss of each other, the fate of the 501st, and some discussion of medical care around Dogma's injuries and past food deprivation for the vode.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morning arrives with nothing more than some bird song and sunlight, which is a relief. Kix gently bullies all of them into eating what’s left of their foraged food, insisting that he might not have a medkit—or a rank in the GAR anymore—but he’s still Torrent’s medic and he isn’t afraid to do what he has to if they won’t take care of themselves. None of them really want to argue with him about it. Dogma tries to hide his smile when he sees how pleased Kix is to actually be listened to for once. He catches Fives' eye by accident and Fives smirks at him in shared amusement.
It’s slightly warmer out than the day before once they fully emerge from their temporary shelter and the older vode sort out putting their overtunics back on atop their reds. The sky looks relatively clear though, so Dogma takes that as a good sign. When Jesse offers to carry Dogma for the first part of the morning, Dogma can’t quite hide his surprise. Jesse just waits, letting him decide without pushing one way or another. After staring up at Jesse for a long moment, he simply holds his arms out to the other vod in silent acceptance. He tucks his face into Jesse’s shoulder so nobody will see the way he’s tearing up—as soon as he’d reached up for Jesse, the older boy had lit up in an open delight that Dogma wasn’t sure what to do with. It isn’t bad though.
Fives takes up a position near Jesse’s shoulder where he can both watch their surroundings and occasionally make passing comments directed at Dogma. The shape of a cloud, the color of a flower, what kind of food he wants to eat when they find a place with real food. All of it’s relatively simple, but Dogma appreciates it. It’s a good distraction from the way his body hurts. Eventually, he spots an animal far enough off in the distance that their passing doesn’t seem to disrupt it. It takes him a second of hand flapping to manage to touch Fives' shoulder without leaning too far and risking throwing Jesse’s balance off. Once he has Fives' attention, he points silently and enjoys the way Fives' eyes brighten as he watches it until it’s out of sight.
After what they estimate to be a couple of hours, Dogma is traded off to be carried by Kix so Jesse’s arms can take a break. Unsurprisingly, Fives—with Echo on his tail, now—changes to walking close enough to Kix to keep Dogma company. At some point, this turns into Echo reluctantly recounting some of his stranger adventures during his time with Clone Force 99. From what Echo tells them, they're an odd bunch of vode, but they all accept that they’re odd. He thinks he can understand why Echo would’ve felt more comfortable with them after he was rescued. It wasn’t something Dogma got to see, but the bits and pieces that the Corries could tell him were all stomach-turning.
Echo eventually admits, “it’s still disorienting… having flesh legs and two arms again. Plus… I don’t have any brain implants or other cybernetics anymore. I… got used to them though. So… it’s not bad.” He sighs uncomfortably. “My brain just keeps expecting my body to be different or not able to do certain things that I can do again. Maybe I’ll miss the computer in my brain a bit, since it was nice to be able to store so much data and run calculations faster than most other sentients that aren’t droids.” There’s a wry smile on his face when he says that.
Dogma nods quietly.
Fives bumps shoulders with Echo, walking even closer to his side. They’re all quiet for a while. None of them want to talk about the fact that Fives died believing Echo was dead, then Echo was rescued and came back to a 501st without his closest vod. It wasn’t fair. Dogma didn’t want to let himself wonder what could have gone differently if he’d been able to stay with the 501st. He’s certain he would have gone with Fives and Tup after Tup’s chip activated. Imagining being there for that and not fighting tooth and nail to go along is-... No, Dogma shoves it aside because they can’t change what already happened.
Finally, he tells the Dominoes. “I’m glad we’re all back now.”
That makes both of them smile at him and it eases some of the heavy cloud of grief and regret that talking about the war carries for all of them. He does think—just to himself—that Tup was lucky to not live until the Order. It’s not right, but he hates thinking about how Tup would have handled knowing he’d tried to kill Commander Tano. Tup isn’t fragile, but he cares and it would have broken his heart. Dying before the end of the war was something of a mercy. Everything that came after had been pure haran.
Hours slip past and, eventually, Dogma gets rotated into Rex’s arms while Tup is given a chance to walk on his own two feet between Jesse and Kix, so they can help him if he starts to lag behind or get too tired. Dogma is tired again and rests his head on Rex’s collarbone, listening to his steady heartbeat. He doesn’t try to pay as much attention to his vode, instead drifting on the edge of sleep. Not that it’s easy. Right when he thinks he might doze off, Echo shouts.
“Buildings!” The relief in his voice is palpable, and all of them probably feel the same.
The hope that they’ll be in civilization again is enough to make Dogma lift his head and blink the sleep from his eyes. Sure enough, after a short while longer, they’re crossing into the edge of a small town. It’s sometime in the afternoon, so there are plenty of beings moving around between their daily routines. Obviously, a group of eight identical children walking into the town means they’re being stared at and watched. That makes all of them walk a little closer together and Jesse is quick to help Kix lift Tup up to ride on Kix’s back. Dogma tries to not think about it like the moments before a battle, the way the tension curls in the air before the first blaster shots.
“So… how are we going to get stuff when we don't have any credits?” Fives asks in a carefully neutral tone as they continue to make their way along the apparent central—and possibly only—paved road in the town.
The Commander grins sharply. “We have five ARC Troopers, between the eight of us. And a medic and two of the best rookies from the 501st. I think we'll figure it out. Plus, we're kids to these natborns and Dogma is small and injured. I think, if he just looks at a sufficiently soft-hearted adult they'll crack pretty quickly.” He can’t believe he forgot for even a second how kriffing scary the Marshal Commander could be when he set his mind to something.
Dogma isn't sure how he feels about leveraging his apparent age and injuries, but his back has been getting increasingly more uncomfortable over the course of the day and he might be willing to reconsider his morals if it means they can get bacta for the worst of his injuries and real food for all of them. He squirms a little in Rex's arms before propping his chin on the Captain's shoulder and allowing himself to stop trying actively to hide how miserable he feels. It must be worth something because both Echo and Jesse are walking behind Rex and immediately look uneasy at the sight of whatever expression he has on his face. They both look away to watch the locals moving through the town around them.
Kix looks at Dogma and then grimaces. “Well… that would work on me.” He says, keeping Tup carefully balanced on his back.
“Sir, are you encouraging emotional manipulation?” He looks at Kote with wide eyes.
Kote glances over at him, then laughs. “I'm trained in advanced interrogation tactics, this is just applying the skill in an unconventional way. Besides, the 501st were known for being unconventional, you served with Skywalker.”
Rex stiffens at the mention of their General. Echo visibly cringes. Dogma swallows hard because he caught glimpses of the footage of the march on the Temple over the years—of their chipped vode following their General to commit an act so horrible it’s almost unthinkable. His fingers dig into his own wrists from how tightly he's holding onto Rex. Kote catches their reactions and his steps stutter for a beat.
“Please don't joke about him casually like that, ori’vod.” The Captain says quietly.
“Okay.” He's still confused though so, when Dogma catches his gaze long enough to make eye contact, Dogma shakes his head a tiny bit. Kote's brow furrows slightly as he likely tries to parse out what the three Torrent members who survived past the Order aren't saying.
Dogma whispers. “Not here, sir.”
With a dissatisfied tilt to his mouth, the Commander nods in acceptance.
Their conversation has so thoroughly distracted them that they don't realize they've drawn attention until Tup says. “Hi, sir.”
Collectively, his vode’s heads snap in the direction of the figure in beskar’gam who is oddly familiar—though Dogma can't put his finger on why. Dogma has to twist around in Rex's arms the best he can, which isn't much. It's Kote who speaks before the Mandalorian can. “Trainer Skirata?”
“Osik.” The Mandalorian says. “I am not qualified for this situation.”
A matter of minutes later, they're being practically herded onto a starship they've never seen before and the Mandalorian with them is being incredibly cagey, beyond telling them they're about twenty years too early to exist. And that, apparently, one of their vode is already with the Mandalorians. But not on Saleucami. As collectively leery as they're all feeling, it's the promise of food and a medic that lures them into accepting the invitation to come on the ship the Mandalorians are using. They can’t afford to turn down what sounds like free medical care. And, Kote points out very quietly when Skirata isn’t paying as close of attention to them—of all the trainers—this one at least had a reputation for being decent. Skirata leads the way through the ship to the medbay where he shoves the door open when it doesn’t open fast enough for him and announces, “Gilamar, we have a tiny problem.”
The medic, Gilamar, looks up from his datapad briefly with an irritated expression before he does a double-take and gapes at the group of them. “What the actual kriff, Skirata? Where did you even find them?”
“Walking through the middle of town.” Skirata answers bluntly. “They need medical care and food and then we need to tell Jaster about them.”
Gilamar just sighs wearily and mutters, “why me?” Then, he sets down his datapad and looks over them more carefully. “First things first, who needs medical attention?”
“Dogma.” All seven of his vode reply before Rex steps over to one of the medical beds, glancing at Gilamar for approval before setting Dogma down.
“What's the problem exactly?” In full medic mode, he steps over to join them by the bed.
Kix moves to join them while rattling off a reply. “Moderate to severe abrasions on his back and the back of both of his arms, they’re at risk for getting infected since we didn't have anything to treat it. Significant bruising from what I've seen. There might be more but he can barely move on his own with the state of his back so I didn't want to make him more uncomfortable when I didn't have the supplies to treat anything beyond monitoring for any complications.”
Both of the Mandalorians in the room look at Kix with startled expressions. “A proper baar’ur'ika.” Skirata laughs through his vocoder.
Gilamar shoots him a flat look before returning his attention to Dogma. “Well, we'll need to start with getting as much clothing off as we can so I can get a look at things and start putting bacta on.”
Immediately, Kix’s shoulders sag in obvious relief. “Thank you.”
“No debt. The minute he knows you're all here, Mand’alor Mereel is going to be calling us back to Mandalore and trying to adopt the lot of you, I imagine.” Pulling out a pair of medical scissors he looks at Dogma, “you're not attached to these clothes are you?”
With a shake of his head Dogma answers, “no. They itch. I hate them. I miss my blacks.”
Skirata laughs aloud again and Gilamar glares at him. “Why don't you make yourself useful instead of standing in my medbay and being a distraction? Get the ade some rations or something.” He waves a hand dismissively before turning back to Dogma with a patient expression. “Can you hold still for me?”
Dogma nods. “Yes, sir.”
The medic makes an approving sound and gets to work cutting the blues off Dogma. Skirata does take the hint and leave. As the overtunic comes off, Gilamar tells the rest of the vode to get comfortable around the medbay. He also promises full physical work ups for all of them to make sure there's no concerns that aren't immediately visible. Kote settles on a chair between two of the medical beds and gets himself comfortable.
Rex sits on the same bed as Dogma but on the far end to avoid being in the way. He watches closely, tracking the medic's every move just as closely as Kix is from right next to them. There's some arguing about that, but Kix wins because he's a vod medic and knows more about the physical needs of the vode. (Although, strangely, Gilamar doesn't seem completely unfamiliar with their unique biology.) Echo, Fives, Tup, and Jesse pile onto the next medical bed over and get comfortable. Fives steadily braids and unbraids Tup’s hair to keep his hands busy.
“Why would the Mand’alor want to adopt us, sir?” Echo asks after a stretch of quiet while Gilamar gets most of Dogma's clothing off and immediately sets Kix to work with some bacta so he can grab a scanner to check Dogma further. It's only a quick hypo for the pain that keeps Dogma from twitching every time Kix touches his back with fingers sticky from cold bacta. The relief is slow, but enough for Dogma to peer curiously up at the medic along with his vode.
“The Haat’ade found one of your vode about two years ago on the moon of Yavin IV. Since he's a clone of the Mand’alor's son, Jaster adopted him pretty quickly. Considering the way he is about Sev'ika, I would be shocked if he didn't adopt the lot of you as soon as you let him.” The medic tells them, studying the results of his scanner calmly. “When did you last eat?”
“This morning, we foraged a little. I know it's risky to eat unfamiliar plants, but starvation would have made it harder for us to keep moving until we found help.” Kix replies.
Kote has a troubled expression. “Prime? You're telling me Prime's buir adopted one of us? And Prime is… okay with that?”
“Jan'ika was the one who wanted to adopt Sev. The verd'ika, I'm told, seemed about ready to fight every last one of our verde to the death to protect himself until he realized the Jango that exists now is not the Jango he remembered from the future and that our Jango would be the first to fight if something did happen to Sev.” He's so casual about it, like Jango Fett being a big brother to one of his clones is hardly a surprise to him.
Serious, the Marshal Commander studies Gilamar. “You'll have to excuse us if we find that hard to believe.”
Unbothered, Gilamar starts pulling out other supplies from a cabinet on one side of the room. “Can I put you on an IV, Dogma? I want to get antibiotics in your system to prevent an infection and it'll help you rehydrate, too, something I imagine all of you could use. Thankfully, you don't seem to have an infection, yet, but I'd rather be proactive, especially with the state your back is in. And considering Kix mentioned you all slept outside last night.”
“Okay.” Dogma agrees. He feels Kix shift behind him and watches Gilamar hand a container of various bandages and wound coverings to Kix before returning to pulling out supplies for his own task. Kix’s hands are very light as he covers as much of Dogma’s back with soft bandaging as he can. Between the bacta and having only his underthings on, Dogma shivers a bit in the cool air.
“How old is Prime if we're in the past?” Fives wonders.
As he sets up the IV, the medic replies. “Jango turned 15 about a month ago. It's only 686 SrD, and according to Sev the first generation of your vode didn't exist until…”
“705 SrD.” Rex cuts in. “We're nineteen years before even the Nulls and Alphas existed.”
“Kriff.” Jesse says loudly, succinctly voicing what they're probably all thinking.
“Will our vode even exist in the future? If Fett knows about us…” Rex trails off, falling quiet. Dogma reaches for him with the arm that Gilamar isn't getting an IV set up on and is pleased when the Captain shuffles closer on the bed to hold Dogma's hand.
Kote's eyes narrow. “You said Mand’alor Mereel. Mereel shouldn't still be alive.”
“Your vod told us what he knew about the future and we dealt with the aruetii in our midst.” Skirata’s voice makes several of them jump, including Dogma—thankfully after Gilamar has the IV in place.
The medic sighs in exasperation. “Skirata.”
Skirata is clearly unapologetic but sets down a small crate and opens it. “I brought rations and hydration packs. It's a good thing this job is mostly wrapped up so we'll be fine until we're back to Manda'yaim to resupply. I was going to bring them uj'alayi but Tenau looked at me like I had kicked a striil pup when I mentioned it.”
“I'm glad Tern has some of his sibling's common sense.” Gilamar gripes under his breath. “They've not eaten much in the last 24 to 48 hours if Dogma’s readings are anything to go by, and it doesn’t look like he had consistent access to food before that. Something like uj'alayi would more likely just make them sick.”
Kix nods. “Cake is a bad idea after minimal nutrition for a few days.”
“You really are a baar’ur'ika.” Chuckles Skirata.
“I'm a trained medic, di'kut. If you know what we are then you know we're not as young as we look.” Kix tells the Mandalorian flatly as he moves to start distributing the hydration packs and rations among the rest of them.
There's the edge of a smirk on Gilamar's face before he straightens up and exhales. “Do you want something to wear, verd'ika?” He asks Dogma.
Nodding, Dogma takes the hydration pack from Kix—who opens it before handing it to him—and takes quiet sips while he watches Gilamar bustle around the medbay. Rex gets up to help Kix sort out rations, but only after he catches Jesse's eye so the other vod switches from the bed with the two Dominoes and Tup to sit near Dogma. It helps Dogma feel a little less vulnerable about being around unfamiliar natborns who are much bigger than them and heavily armed. There's a brief flicker of movement from Rex—near Skirata and the crate of rations—that catches his attention from the corner of his eye, but he pretends not to see it. Then, the Mandalorian medic hands him a medical gown and moves off to get his scanner and start checking the rest of the vode.
Jesse sorts out the medical gown for Dogma, taking care to not tie the back too tightly. And then they’re all quiet while they eat and drink. It lets them watch Skirata continually irritate Gilamar, who eventually kicks him back out of the medbay telling him to go deal with finishing up their job on Saleucami ‘instead of being a pest where he isn’t needed’. Dogma has to stuff his ration bar in his mouth to stop himself from giggling. In his mind’s eye, he can see the way Jesse used to do the exact same thing to Kix—except Kix didn’t really mind Jesse being around the medbay on the Resolute. He only pretended he minded. This is something Dogma is certain about, because he saw the way Kix would smile to himself when Jesse wasn’t looking. For them, it was fun. From what he can tell here, Gilamar is genuinely irritated by Skirata on some level.
Once they’ve eaten, Fives lets out a yawn that is mirrored by Tup and Jesse. Dogma can’t stop his own yawn a minute or so later. After Kote yawns—and doesn’t quite succeed in hiding it—Gilamar looks at all of them sympathetically.
“You can all sleep for a while if you need to. I don’t know what you’ve experienced, either in the last few days… or before you all arrived in the past. But, I don’t have any patients right now, so feel free to use the beds and take a nap. I’ll even lock the door so no one can get in here except for me. That way you won’t be disturbed.”
Rex and Kote both try to push back against the offer. It’s not very successful though when the Captain cracks a yawn in the middle of trying to argue that he’s not tired, they took watches in the night cycle so they all got enough sleep. Briefly, Gilamar just looks at him with an unimpressed expression. Kix finally chimes in about stress on the body and traumatic experiences—how they’ll probably all feel better if they get some sleep in real beds instead of on the ground somewhere. He gets one mildly resentful look from Rex before Kote concedes the point and starts shuffling them around to sleep.
Kix climbs up onto Dogma’s bed to be near Jesse and—after Fives grumbles about Tup kicking in his sleep, which Dogma does remember his best friend doing on the occasions when they shared a bunk—Tup ends up next to Dogma, safely in-between the two older vode. He lets Tup hold onto his hand once they’re mostly settled in. Sure enough, after Tup dozes off—being the smallest has its drawbacks when it comes to overall stamina—Dogma can see his little foot start bumping against Jesse’s shin. Dogma buries his face in the sheets to muffle his snicker before he allows himself to succumb to his own exhaustion.
He falls asleep listening to the steady rhythm of Kix’s breathing near his back. The sleep he gets in that medbay isn’t quite as deep as the sleep he got in the burrow after talking to Rex and Echo, but it is good sleep.
Notes:
Dogma: Look Fives a space-deer!
Fives: I am NAILING this bonding with Dogma thing.Cody & Torrent: *walking in the middle of town minding their own business*
Kal: Oh no. No no no. Why me?!Kal: *leads 8 cadets into the medbay*
Mij: Wh- You’ve been gone for TEN MINUTES. Where did you find a bunch of mini-Jango’s in TEN MINUTES?
Kal: Walking in the street… just… by themselves.
Mij: Ka’ra help me.Mij: This kid. Why is he hovering while I take care of his little brother? Why does he know so much about medicine?
Kix: Hmmm, yeah, this is about standard for what Gilamar taught us the first time. Though, clearly he refined some of his techniques in the twenty years between now and Kamino. I’ll have to give him some notes later on how to best improve.
Mij: *staring a several pages of flimsi explaining in detail how he could have done his job better and they’re all correct* What. The. Kriff.
Kix: *sasses Kal after being called “baby medic”*
Mij: Actually, I like this one. This one can stay.Kal: *making fun of Kix*
Rex: ... this action will have consequences later.
The Mandalorian OC mentioned by Kal and Mij in this chapter, Tern Tenau, is the biological sibling of Kisma Tenau and one of Myles' buire.
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
aruetii = traitor, outsider, foreigner
baar'ur = medic
baar’ur’ika = diminutive for a medic, basically calling Kix a "baby medic"
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
di'kut = idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on) (di’kute is plural)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade)
Haran = hell (lit. destruction, cosmic annihilation)
'ika = diminutive suffix, used as a signal of familiarity or endearment when attached to names
Ka'ra = stars, as in the ruling council of past Mand'alore
kote = glory
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Manda’yaim = the planet Mandalore
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend
striil = strill (a highly intelligent six-legged hunting carnivore, capable of gliding and flight)
uj'alayi = uj cake (“dense, very sweet flat cake made of ground nuts, syrup, pureed dried fruit and spice”)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
verd'ika = affectionate term when used for a child "little soldier"
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Chapter 5: Jaster | 51 BBY / 686 SrD (Part 4)
Summary:
The Marshal Commander and Torrent arrive in Mandalorian space. Sev is not surprised that it was the Vode from Kenobi and Skywalker that ended up back in time. Jaster starts figuring out just what he might need to expect from the eight new Vode in his yaim. Kal's missing a knife and Rex tells him exactly how lethal his boys can be before giving it back.
Notes:
Jaster's back!
The next chapter will probably be a little longer, because I really am ready to get the Corries on the field... and Torrent dominating the narrative wasn't really the point?
CW: discussions of recovery from trauma, some of the identity issues unique to being a clone, allusions to a lot of Torrent's specific traumas, threats of violence or murder in response to Kal opening his big mouth the chapter before.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jaster can honestly say, he has never seen Sev’ika act like this.
His second son is a lot of things. Sev’ika is very intelligent and has an ability to focus on whatever task is set for him so well that Jaster can see exactly why he was a sniper before. He has a sense of humor that often slants into grim territory, but he also enjoys snarking back and forth with Jan’ika and some of the other young verde-in-training. Normally, Jaster would never consider letting a ten year old spar with the teens who already passed their verd’goten, but Sev’ika is unrelenting in a spar and has beaten more than his fair share of teens closer to Jan’ika’s age than his own. Fortunately, Sev’ika’s ability to beat much larger opponents has simply made him a popular sparring partner and earned him the respect of most of Jan’ika’s peers. Every step of his progress makes Jaster proud. In the past two years, he’s started to learn to trust and has worked through some of the harder things he’d experienced in his other time.
(Sev’ika’s mir’baar’ur is a far more patient and capable being than Jaster when it comes to unraveling the many ways Sev’ika’s previous upbringing left deep wounds. When Jaster sits in on the mir’baar’ur sessions—as he is semi-regularly asked to do as Sev’ika’s buir—he often walks away needing to go spar with some of his ori’ramikade to work out his own anger around what had been done to Jan’ika’s clones. Vau learned the hard way that it’s better if he isn’t one of Jaster’s sparring partners on those occasions. Even though Jaster knows the verd he trusts is not whatever version of himself that he had become to agree to his part in the training of clone soldiers… It's hard to always keep that distinction in the middle of a fight where Jaster’s emotions are already running high.
The hardest fear of Sev’ika’s to address has been the constant anxiety that Jaster, or other members of the Haat’ade, will see him as just another Jango, not as his own person. Jaster didn’t have to be around Sev’ika for more than a matter of minutes to know that Sev’ika isn’t Jan’ika and he never will be. There’s a vicious edge to him that sets him apart. Sev’ika has more patience and restraint than Jango does, his strong emotions tend to simmer constantly on the surface rather than boil near imperceptibly until they explode the way Jan’ika’s do. Jan’ika likes to move and do, but Sev’ika knows the art of waiting. He certainly complains less about sitting with Jaster in the karyai while Jaster reads on his datapad.)
But, standing on one of the private landing pads near the Haat’ade’s current base (Kyr’tsad had fumbled a little after the loss of Montross, but they weren’t gone and, until they were, the Haat’ade rotated between compounds and hidden bases owned by various Clans and Houses who had sworn themselves to Jaster’s vision for Mandalore.) Sev’ika is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for the ship Skirata and Gilamar’s teams had taken to Saleucami to land. Ever since Jaster told him they’d found more Vode, the boy has been just a bit lighter. It was nice to see.
(Jaster and Jan’ika both have accepted that they can never replace the connection Sev’ika had to his Vode. That kind of shared experience and unique existence was something neither of them could understand. It doesn’t mean Sev’ika cares for them any less, but somewhere deep down Jaster knew that Sev’ika would always feel like something was missing without his Vode.)
Right up until the ramp finally comes down, Sev’ika can’t seem to stay completely still. Jaster suspects he would have started pacing if it weren’t for years of training as a sniper teaching him to stay in one place for long periods of time. The bouncing on his feet though, is absolutely a childish thing that Sev’ika is allowing himself and it makes Jaster’s chest ache with the love he has for both of his sons. He hasn’t had the chance to talk with the boys Skirata and Gilamar found, but he suspects he’ll be hard pressed to not love them immediately.
(Whoever they are, they’re all just ade who have experienced things no being should ever experience. If they’ll let him, Jaster wants to give them a chance to be children instead.)
When the cluster of small bodies emerges from the underbelly of the ship, Jaster can’t help but start cataloging every little tick of their body language and personalities—things he couldn’t gather from a few minutes of watching them sleep over a holo-call.
The tallest—the boy with the curling facial scar—is steady and confident. He carries himself with a certainty that Jaster is used to seeing in seasoned ori'ramikade, not boys who are barely old enough for their training armor or advanced blaster training. There’s also something to the way that he moves that reminds Jaster of a predator.
One of the two smallest boys is riding on his shoulders, hanging onto his short hair with tiny fingers. His hair is certainly the longest of the boys, pulled up into a bun on the back of his head. Someone only giving a cursory glance might assume that the lightness to him is a sign of innocence, but seeing how he glances at his ori’vode? No, that’s kindness. Heart. Something that was apparently impossible to train out of him.
A pace or two behind, the only blond of the group walks a step to the side and back from the first boy. Jaster would bet good credits that those two had fought and trained together, maybe even were raised together. (Which is odd because Sev’ika had said previously that most training squads tended to spawn from batches of Vode who had been decanted in a group. They would have to be the same age to be in the same batch, but these two aren’t.) Like his ori’vod, the blond moves with confidence, though more subtly.
In the arms of the blond is the boy that Mij had sent some troubling medical notes about. (Some of the boys had turned up with bruises or small scrapes from their short stint in the wilderness of Saleucami. This little boy had looked, according to Mij, like he had been in a vicious fight somewhere urban before turning up alongside his brothers on Saleucami. But, all of the boys were understandably leery of their temporary guardians and hadn’t offered much in the way of explanation.) He is being carried chest to chest by the blond, and is wearing what clearly has to be the top half of someone’s kute instead of the same matching uniforms as the others. Both of these, Jaster knows, have to do with the injuries on his back. This boy has his face tucked into the shoulder of the older boy carrying him and doesn’t show much sign of interest in their surroundings. But his tight grip on his older vod suggests that he’s seeking comfort desperately in the face of their new situation. (Jaster can sympathize with the likely shock of waking up back in a body that’s barely beyond being a toddler, vulnerable and injured.)
Behind that pair comes a boy whose expression is all concern and watchfulness as he tracks the boy in the blond’s arms, but he also seems to glance around to check on the rest of his Vode. (Possibly the young medic Mij mentioned—in equal parts frustration and amusement. Mij would probably offer to take the ad on as an apprentice and assistant as soon as he was past his verd’goten.) Briefly, his eyes catch on Jaster and Jan’ika, and flicker between the pair of them like he doesn’t know what to think of either of them. Then, his attention moves back to his vod’ika, his lips moving as he speaks.
The last three come down the ramp all together. In the middle is the third boy who is close in age to the blond and the medic. (Seeing him, Jaster can immediately eliminate him from being the medic, it isn’t a fit.) He moves like he’s comfortable in his own body, confident, but not with the same certainty as the eldest vod of their group. Despite the new and unfamiliar situation, he’s bright-eyed, and even smiling, as he looks around the landing pad before he sees Sev’ika and tilts his head in consideration.
On either side of their ori’vod are the two boys couldn’t be any older than 6. Each of them is holding a hand of their older brother, though, from the way they carry themselves, Jaster suspects it’s their older brother holding onto them. The one on left is going to be all trouble, he’s sure of it. He’s wide-eyed and looking around at everything there is to see with bright curiosity. But there’s a calculation there, too. Clever and capable of using it for chaos, Jaster guesses.
His twin (Jaster doesn’t know if the Vode can have twins.) on the right seems a bit more restrained, but his eyes are sharp with an observant attention to every detail. What makes him stand out to Jaster, though, is the fact that he moves entirely differently from all of the others. He isn’t clumsy, but—the way his legs move, and his right arm—something about his body isn’t familiar to him the way it should be. Why is a question that Jaster can’t figure out just by watching. (He doesn’t think he’s going to like what he finds though.)
Finally, Sev’ika starts moving across the landing pad, not running but taking long, quick strides to reach them. Only once, he glances back at Jaster and Jan’ika, the expression on his face asking—what are you waiting for? And, Jaster can’t help but follow, Jan’ika a handful of paces further behind.
(They both know that many of the older generations of Vode, from what they’ve learned from Sev’ika, have firsthand and negative experience with the Jango Fett of their time. If they’re going to distrust anyone immediately, it’s going to be Jan’ika. Jaster can’t say he likes that, but he can understand it. The challenge will be getting Jan’ika to remember to approach them carefully, but not withdraw from them entirely, until they’ve had a chance to recognize that he isn’t the same person as their progenitor.)
As they draw close enough to talk without shouting across the space of the landing pad, Sev’ika speaks first, a wry humor to his voice. “Well, Marshal Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps and Captain Rex of the 501st? I don’t know why I would have expected anyone else considering who your jetiise were. I’m Sev, from Delta Squad in the Special Operations Brigade.”
The eldest boy shakes his head slightly but smiles at Sev’ika. “Ah, Delta Squad, pain in my vod’s shebs from everything he’s told me about you.” But, the blond twitches, expression going blank at the mention of their jetiise. (There’s a story there.) Even the boy with the scar clocks the twitch and studies his brother for a second, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.
Sev’ika tips his head in the way that Jaster knows means he’s rolling his eyes. “Commander Fox just couldn’t handle having Vode outside of his chain of command on Triple Zero for too long.”
“If it was you and your squad, I don’t blame him. Thank the manda I got assigned different SpecOps teams than yours.” There’s a huffed breath of a laugh and he carefully removes a hand from the vod’ika on his shoulders’ legs to hold it out to Sev’ika.
With ease, Sev’ika clasps forearms. “Cody, we both know the reason Delta and Omega couldn’t be within a stone’s throw of the 7th Sky was because no one could guarantee that Skirata and Kenobi wouldn’t either try to kill each other or kriff each other.”
That makes Cody scowl. “I’d prefer if you didn’t talk about my General’s private life. And I’d also like to think he had better taste than Skirata.”
Sev’ika nods. “Fair. I won’t ask if the rumors circulating about the pair of you were true then.”
“Besides, if Kenobi did kriff a Mando, I would have put my rations on Prime.” The blond—Rex?—cuts in with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Do not.” Cody groans, releasing Sev’ika’s arm so he can go back to holding onto his vod’ika securely with both hands. “He’s right there, Rex’ika.” He jerks his head in the direction of Jaster and Jango, surprising the both of them. Then, he turns the fullness of his penetrating gaze on Jaster and—well, Jaster can see why this particular vod was a Marshal Commander—says with a careful politeness. “Mand’alor. Fett.”
“Technically,” Sev’ika starts, and Jaster knows the smirk on his face is a touch vicious even though he can’t see it from this angle. “I’m also a Fett now, so you might want to be a little more specific, Marshal Commander.”
Cody grimaces at him, before refocusing on Jaster. “I’m Marshal Commander Cody. This,” he tips his head towards the blond, “is my pain in the shebs vod’ika Captain Rex. And the rest of them are all Rex’s problem children.”
“Hey.” Rex doesn’t look all that offended, even when he narrows his eyes at his ori’vod over the top of the head of the vod’ika he’s carrying.
Either way, Cody ignores him to lift the boy on his shoulders up and over to set him down on the landing pad. “Tup.” He gestures to him, and then to the boy in Rex’s arms. “Dogma.” Briefly, he glances back at the rest of the group, sighs to himself, and then points each of the rest of them out. “CMO of the 501st, Kix,”—the medic, like Jaster suspected—“Lieutenant Jesse,”—the boy in the middle of the other two younger boys—“and the Domino twins, don’t let them fool you, they’re utter menaces. ARC Corporal Echo”—the boy who seems uncertain of his own limbs—“and ARC Lieutenant Fives.”—trouble on two-legs—“We pulled them off a remote base because Rex liked them too much to leave them behind and now I can’t seem to get them to leave, even when we all die.” There’s a clear amused fondness about the way he says that. Then, he adds something truly confusing. “Echo is the only one of us who has previous experience with coming back from the dead though, unfortunately.”
“Commander.” Echo doesn’t look nearly as amused as Cody does, if anything his face is a touch aggrieved, and something in Rex’s expression goes dark for a second. Fives glances uneasily from Echo, to Rex, to Cody, before averting his gaze to look off to the side of the landing pad.
It’s Dogma who breaks the strange moment of silence between all of them. “Can we go inside, please? It’s cold.” He’s tactful enough to not point out that aside from underwear and his borrowed kute top, he isn’t wearing pants, so the cold is going to bother him more than anyone else.
Sev’ika nods. “I can show you around inside.” There’s a lightness to his posture that hasn’t been there in the entire time Jaster has known him. “Here, I’ll even take one of the smallest cadets.” He holds out his hands, and finds them quickly filled with Dogma. Both Rex and Kix fuss for a moment to make sure he’s comfortable against Sev’ika’s chest before really letting him go. Once settled, Dogma slumps into Sev’ika as easily as he did Rex. Even though, from context, most of these Vode have never met Sev’ika before today. Though, the Commander and Sev’ika are at least aware of each other by some combination of reputation and mutual acquaintances.
(Privately, Jaster is beginning to understand the depth of the connection Sev’ika has been missing. It’s in all the subtle touches and innate trust all of them share, even if they served in different postings. And Sev’ika had lost that even before he was flung back into the past. He files it away to consider later.)
Before they can actually move to head back into the compound, Kal comes down the ramp of the ship looking mildly irritated. He’s mostly looking at the rest of Jaster’s verde who are still unloading cargo from the ship onto the landing pad. “Have any of you seen a vibroknife? I seem to have misplaced one of mine. Somewhere between Saleucami and here.”
There’s a subtle ripple through the Vode. Rex smirks and produces a vibroknife from somewhere in his tunic. “This vibroknife, Skirata?”
Kal stops, stares at the knife, then at Rex. “When did-?”
“Your situational awareness is lacking.” The Captain tells him casually, flipping the knife with one hand and catching it with practiced ease. “I stole it off you in Gilamar’s medbay on the first afternoon you found us. Wondered when you’d notice.”
Behind Jaster, Jan’ika claps a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the laugh he lets out. But, the brief instant of bright laughter is enough to make all of the Vode, except Sev’ika, look at him with wide eyes, as if they don’t know what to do with a version of Jango who laughs like Jan’ika does. Cody scrutinizes Jan’ika for a moment, clearly trying to figure something out, before shaking his head and seemingly deciding to leave it for now. Fives’ eyes stay on Jan’ika for a few more minutes, even as the conversation moves on around him.
“Give the man his knife back, Rex’ika. You don’t need to start making problems this soon.” Cody says, entirely calm about the situation.
Rex rolls his eyes at his ori’vod, but then steps past the rest of his Vode to hold out the knife, hilt first, to Kal. When Kal goes to take it, the boy jerks it back towards himself easily before extending it again to make Kal look him in the eye. “Let me be clear. Of the eight of us, Skirata, five of us are trained ARC troopers. That means, each one of us is capable of being a one-man army. No one can keep up with a jetii like the Vode can. We aren’t just good, we’re the best.” He says this in a low, sharp tone of voice that promises danger to any being dini’la enough to ignore it.
“Kote had the highest rank available to a clone in the Grand Army of the Republic and was one of the most decorated Commanders in the whole army. Both Kote and I were hand trained by Fett. I fought my way up from being a common trooper to being a Captain, and then a Commander. And that was as a mutie who shouldn’t have been allowed to live in the first place, by the standards of the longnecks. I only was demoted from Commander because, after my jetii’ad al’verde took my control chip out during a capital ship-wide manhunt to kill her, I helped her escape with her life at the cost of the lives of every single one of my Vode on that ship. She was seventeen.”
(And, well, Jaster isn’t sure what the point of this is yet, but his heart aches for the man who had to choose between hundreds or thousands of his own brothers and one innocent jetii’ad. He was rescued from some sort of mind control—and doesn’t that fill some of the gaps in Sev’ika’s version of events?—only to be forced to face a galaxy where most of his brothers were still captives in an army none of them signed up to be a part of. Rex spent his developing years with the threat of death over his head if he so much as misstepped, if he was less than perfect. It’s all so deeply wrong.
Also, Jaster isn’t quite certain what Kal did to specifically make the Captain this a’denla, but he doesn’t think he’s willing to step into the middle of this one. Not with an armed, seething boy who looks fully capable of murdering the adult man in front of him. A boy who has every right to be angry at the galaxy after what he’s survived, from Jaster’s perspective.)
He cocks his head at Kal, eyes narrowed. “After that, Echo and I formed a rebellion of just our Vode against the Empire and the only reason we failed was because trying to pry our Vode out from under the Sith and their control chips was near impossible and we still managed it for months before they found us. My jetii al’verde and I both served as commanding officers in the Alliance to Restore the Republic, and I was there when the death blow was dealt to the Empire and our rebels destroyed the second planet-killing space station the Empire built. Alderaan didn’t exist anymore in my future. And Mandalore? The Empire glassed it so thoroughly it made the Dral’han look like child’s play.” Even most of the Vode look stunned by some of the things Rex is saying about the future.
“One of the soldiers you’re looking at gave his life in an attempt to get word out about the chips in our brains that could be used to override our thoughts and freewill, even while recovering from brain surgery and drugged out of his mind.” Pointedly, he gestures with his free hand at the collection of Vode around him. “His brother? Survived a kriffing exploding shuttle and being turned into a living computer in a vat and still went back into the fight after we rescued him. Another one of them killed a jetii General after he’d already slaughtered countless men both of mine and Kote’s. We were tricked into sending our men to shoot their own brothers, and we didn’t know until it was too late. Even after realizing he’d been played by the aruetii jetii, my vod’ika did what not even I could and shot the shabuir. Knowing it would mean a court-martial and possible decommissioning because our lives were always valued as less than a natborn’s. Some people would say he was lucky that he spent the last year of the war in solitary.”
(Haran. Every time Jaster thinks Rex has already told them the worst of it, it gets worse. Space stations that can destroy entire planets. Mandalore glassed. Suffering beyond what any being should face. Insurmountable losses. Horrible, unfair deaths. All of these ade, were soldiers who gave all they had, when they didn’t even own their own lives, and still kept getting up again and trying to do the right thing. Kept sacrificing everything they had in the name of a cause none of them chose.)
“I know exactly how many Republic credits my existence was valued at.” Fiercely, he jabs the hilt of the vibroknife at Kal for him to take it. Kal fumbles to grab the hilt, eyes wide as he tries to understand the depth of the horrors Rex is telling them about. “All of us fought and were willing to give our lives for a Republic that didn’t even see us as sentient. We were pawns in a bigger scheme than anyone could have imagined and I saw what the Galaxy looks like without jetiise or the Republic in it. I lived it.”
He sneers up at Kal as if the man isn’t more than double his size. “Kix isn’t just a good man, he’s one of the best medics a commanding officer could ask for. He lost everything when he tried to investigate the chips and save our brothers. And you mocked him twice within a half an hour of meeting us. I don’t appreciate it. This is your warning. Belittle one of my vod’ikase again and no one will find your body. I won’t even need your knife to do it.”
(Ah. Jaster can understand the intensity of the Captain’s reaction now. If it has always been their experience that no one protects the Vode, naturally they will protect each other. As the Captain, he clearly considers himself responsible for the safety and wellbeing of all of his vod’ikase. When he felt like Kal wasn’t treating his vod fairly, he set out to prove how skilled the Vode can be. The Mand’alor can also imagine that some of this is a test of exactly what boundaries and rules Jaster is going to impose on them. Will he let the Vode stand up for themselves? Will he back them up against his verde? Or will he do what every other natborn in their lives has done and treat them like disposable, interchangeable objects?
The choice isn’t a hard one for Jaster.)
Before Kal can open his mouth to speak, Jaster takes a step closer and studies his verd, who looks like he might be sick after everything Rex told him. “Kal, I don’t know what you said to the Captain and his men, but it sounds to me like you owe them an apology.” He folds his arms over his chest carefully, watching Kal’s face.
(Admittedly, while Sev’ika had said some concerning things when he first spoke to Jaster and some of his verde about the future… he’d saved most of his story until it was only Jaster, Jango, or his mir’baar’ur. At no point had Jaster felt like it was necessary to tell his verde the depth of the horrors that the Vode had been subjected to. Even with the incomplete picture Sev’ika had given them. It wasn’t his story to tell, in his mind. Now, he’s wondering if that was an oversight, if it meant his verde were treating Sev’ika, and now his Vode, like hapless ade instead of fully trained and capable soldiers in the bodies of ade. For all Jaster wants Sev’ika to have a real childhood, he’s never going to treat Sev as if he hasn’t experienced much more than any child should.
Had his verde belittled Sev’ika without Jaster noticing? Without any Vode who understood, had Sev’ika just… not said anything?)
Kal glances at his Mand’alor, expression remorseful, then back at the Captain. “N’eparavu takisit, Captain Rex. I should have considered how my words would feel to you and your vode.”
Rex looks a bit surprised, both that Jaster backed him up and that Kal genuinely apologized. Cody—Rex called him Kote?—is looking at Jaster again, like he’s trying to figure out what the catch is. Sev’ika is somewhere between shell-shocked by the information Rex just threw at them and somehow relaxed in a way that tells Jaster Sev’ika had felt like he couldn’t stand up for himself when the verde saw him as just an ad. Kix and Jesse are openly staring at Jaster.
With a small sigh, Jaster shifts his focus. “Dogma said it’s cold, let’s get him inside.” Then, with practiced ease, he unclips his cape from his beskar’gam and wraps it over the ad in Sev’ika’s arms as much as he can without touching his back. Trying to maintain the outward calm required of the leader of an entire sector of space, Jaster leads the way back towards the compound with Jan’ika sticking close to his side. He’s grateful when the sound of Sev’ika’s boots following after them is quickly joined by several more sets of footsteps.
This is going to be hard, but Jaster has no choice but to try.
Notes:
Sev: Oh, it’s the Kenobi-Skywalker duo’s Vode… everything makes sense now.
Cody: One of Vau’s commandos? Fox couldn’t stand you.
Sev: Nice to meet you.
Cody: Feeling’s mutual.
Jaster: I am missing so much context here.Rex: *stealing a knife while Kal isn’t paying close enough attention because he’s still thinking of them as kids*
The Vode: We didn’t see anything.
Kal: How did he even…
Rex: You thought it was funny to mock my CMO. This is your reminder that all of us are genetically enhanced and specially trained super soldiers who can and have beaten impossible odds, been defeated, and still got back up again. Watch your step.
Kal: Can I just have my knife back?
Rex: Here. *holds out knife* Make fun of one of my brothers again and I won’t warn you, I’ll just gut you and turn you into Aiwha bait before you even know what happened. Now, say sorry to Kix and get out of my sight.
Jaster: Oh. These ones are possibly even more dangerous than Sev… because they function as a unit already.
Mij: They’re probably also more traumatized, alor.
Jango: I like this one. He’s got mandokarla.
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
a’denla = wrathful, enraged
alor = leader, chief, "officer", boss
al’verde = commander
aruetii = traitor, outsider, foreigner
beskar'gam = armor
dini’la = insane
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade)
Haran = hell (lit. destruction, cosmic annihilation)
'ika = diminutive suffix, used as a signal of familiarity or endearment when attached to names
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
jetii’ad = Padawan
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kute = underwear, bodysuit, something worn under armor
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
manda = the collective soul or heaven; the state of being a Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit; etc.
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
mandokarla = having the “right stuff”, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue
mir’baar’ur = lit. brain medic, like a psychiatrist or therapist
N’eparavu takisit = Sorry (lit. I eat my insult)
ori’ramikad = super commando (Mandalorian designation of elite special forces) (ori’ramikade is plural)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori'vode is plural)
shabuir = extreme insult, “jerk” but much stronger (probably like “asshole” or “motherf*cker”)
shebs = backside, rear, buttocks (also used for the rear of a building, etc)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
verd'goten = Mandalorian coming of age tradition, taken around the age of 13 (lit. birth of the warrior)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 6: Jaster | 51 BBY / 686 SrD (Part 5)
Summary:
Jaster tries to navigate caring for Cody and Torrent while learning new terrible things about Kaminoan ideas of child-rearing every day. The Vode find out they're not as Human as they thought. Torrent tell Jaster, Jango, and Sev about Umbara. Dogma adopts an ori’vod. Cody confronts his feelings about Jango.
Notes:
At last! We wrap up this arc of our story and next chapter, the Corries will come play.
This one is going to, um, probably hurt? But Jaster and Jango did their best to keep the comfort coming.
It's also the longest chapter so far!
CW: discussions of past child abuse, child neglect, and medical neglect, a character dealing with sensory sensitivities and emotional regulation related to neurodivergence, discussion of the consequences of neglect on child development (though, in this case it's primarily about an alien biology trait), discussion of the difference between a priority on being healthy and thriving or being a "functional soldier" and the consequences of those differences, all of the messy trauma around Umbara, discussions of solitary imprisonment, discussion of Dogma's time hiding from the empire, discussions around/references to violence, heavily implied mentions of death, and characters questionably healthy management of emotions via physical sparring/fighting instead of using their words.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first few weeks of getting eight more ade settled into the shared rooms that Jaster and his two ade have been using are… awkward.
For one thing, Cody (Kote?) seems determined to keep as much space as possible between himself and Jan’ika. He isn’t unkind about it, but tiptoes around Jan’ika like he can’t decide whether he’s afraid of him or wants to fight him. (Jaster knows that it’s making Jan’ika feel unsettled because he doesn’t know why the other boy hates him beyond that he was trained personally by the Jango of the other time, and it clearly left a strong imprint.)
Another is the way that, now that they’re somewhere safe, there’s something going on between the Commander and the Captain—and two of the Captain’s vod’ikase. (At a guess, there’s something they’re not talking about. But, it’s got all four of them on edge with each other while trying to not tread into dangerous territory and continually ending up wrong-footed with each other. Jaster isn’t sure it’s his place to mediate, they’re still deciding if they really trust him, so Jaster stepping into the middle of things might just make things worse.)
Worse, Dogma. There are several issues with Dogma and Jaster isn’t sure where to even start. The ad has a tendency to flinch away from other beings, even his vode sometimes, as if expecting to be struck. He doesn’t sleep well either. When most of the ade start to sleep out in the karyai with Jaster, Jan’ika, and Sev’ika, it takes Jaster only one or two nights to notice the way Dogma sleeps very lightly and any sound or movement brings him back to full alertness in seconds. It’s not doing him any favors, because it leaves him exhausted during the day.
(None of his vode have similar problems. They all have nightmares, but only Dogma acts like he’s trained himself out of sleeping deeply from a necessity to keep himself safe. After a few days, Jaster starts to suspect that those first two issues Dogma has are related. Rex had said something about one of the ade spending a year in solitary confinement. But, Jaster has decided to not try to guess which stories belonged to which boys. They’ll tell him when they’re ready.)
The only thing that Dogma struggles with that Jaster can solve within the first week is his issues with texture. He spends the first two or three days watching Dogma test different blankets or pillows before either pulling away, seeming visibly repulsed, or deciding they’re acceptable and adding it to a collection of items he seems to have deemed ‘safe’ for his use when they’re not in use by anyone else. For reasons that Jaster can’t fully understand, the ad seems to prefer the more slick fabric of a kute—or the softer material of Jaster’s cape—over the sorts of garments his brothers arrived wearing.
Dogma sometimes turns his nose up at food because he ‘doesn’t like how it feels’. Jaster doesn’t push, because the one time Kix tries to, it just makes Dogma gag instead of being able to swallow the food in question. (Kix’s guilty expression breaks Jaster’s heart a little bit. And, ultimately, getting something else for Dogma to eat isn’t the end of the galaxy.) None of them ask him to eat something he doesn’t want to after that.
(By day three, Jaster feels like he’s collected enough data, and pays a visit to Mij to ask questions. “Sensory issues” Mij tells him, and then advises him to figure out what kinds of textures—or consistencies of food—the ad prefers and try to provide more of those and less of the things that feel ‘bad’ to him. It’s not something Dogma can control. And the baar’ur patiently explains that helping Dogma feel more comfortable in his environment will also help him deal with things like emotional regulation. Which could make a difference in Dogma’s ability to feel safe enough to sleep properly.
Mij also points out gently that Kix is a trained combat medic, and the cloners probably didn’t care if the Vode were comfortable. Just that they were functional. Naturally, Kix and other baar’ure amongst the Vode wouldn’t have training for things not directly related to combat functionality and basic bodily processes. “It’s almost a miracle the ad managed to survive with this kind of thing without drawing the attention of the cloners. Seems like the sort of thing they’d hate from everything Sev’ika said.” The baar’ur tells him.)
Jaster goes back to collecting data for another day or two, paying attention to the blankets and pillows Dogma prefers. Then—while the ade are off being fitted for clothing of their own in another part of the compound—he takes the time to touch each item himself and make mental notes about the commonalities and differences. When he thinks he’s figured it out, he recruits Jan’ika to help him—another day or two later—with the project of shifting any of the cushions or blankets Dogma doesn’t like out of the karyai and replacing them with only cushions and blankets that feel similar to the ones Dogma prefers.
After, they shuffle off any items deemed ‘not-Dogma approved’ into the private bedrooms, in case there’s ever a need for extras—they don’t exactly have guests in their karyai very often, but Jaster sees no harm in being prepared—or give them away to other aliite in the compound who might have a more immediate use for them. It’s immensely satisfying to watch Dogma settle into the edge of the karyai that evening, watch him blink in surprise as he registers the amount of new items—and that all of them are the sorts of textures he prefers—then relax into the cushions more easily than he ever has before. (From the small pleased smile on Jan’ika’s face, Jaster thinks his eldest ad is just as relieved to have done something small to make one of the new Vode more comfortable in their yaim.)
Two nights later, when Dogma crawls further across the karyai to lay down closer to where Sev’ika sleeps—between Jaster and Jan’ika and his Vode—Jaster watches curiously from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t say anything. Another night beyond that, Jaster wakes up to a little body shoved between himself and Jan’ika in the morning and has to breathe deeply to stop himself from crying in sheer relief that he’s doing something right.
The new problem on Jaster’s mind is—now that Dogma starts to sleep quietly between either Sev’ika and Jan’ika or Jaster and Jan’ika—it strikes Jaster that he hasn’t heard any of the new Vode in their yaim purr a single time. Sev’ika hadn’t known how when he’d arrived. It had been listening to Jan’ika purr that had jump-started his own instinct to purr. (He had admitted as much after a few weeks living with them. It had seemed to surprise and confuse him that Jan’ika—and therefore Sev’ika, as well—was notably descended from the Taung who—among many other species from around the galaxy—have much different traits than many Near Humans. Because Mando’ade from longer clan lines simply are more likely to have a significant percentage of non-Human inheritance in their genomes. And the Fett clan has been around for a very long time.
“No one ever told us that.” Sev’ika had muttered, obviously bothered by the gap in his knowledge. But, once he knew there was something that had been kept from him and his Vode, he’d started asking questions and seemed fascinated by the new information about how his own body worked. There had certainly been a couple of “oh” moments as things clicked for Sev’ika.)
Jaster knows it might take them time to learn how to purr—or even realize there’s something to learn there—once they feel safe enough. Still, it makes him lay awake one night—Dogma’s body curling, warm but silent, against his own—and wonder just how the cloners managed to stop the Vode from tapping into an instinct. When Jaster had taken in Jan’ika, the ad had been purring non-stop (not because he was comfortable or felt safe… but because he desperately wanted to make himself feel safe) and that was… normal to Jaster. Purring was supposed to start when they were ik’aade. Right? Jaster doesn’t have the right mix of ancestries to purr himself, but he’s used to it from being around other Mando’ade who do.
(Again, Jaster ends up in Mij’s medbay, trying to understand what’s going on. When he finishes laying out what he knows of the situation for the baar’ur, he watches the way Mij’s expression shifts quickly from deep thought to sharp realization and then a quiet grief. Hearing “they weren’t held by people as ik’aade, Jaster,” feels like having someone drive a beskad through his chest.
“Me’ven?” He doesn’t want it to be true.
The look in Mij’s eyes is haunted then. “Ik’aade who come from ancestries who purr can figure it out on their own. But… more often, it’s being held by their buire who purr to comfort them and to help them fall asleep, which teaches them it’s a comforting sound, and ik’aade tend to mirror things from the adults around them. It’s an instinct, but one that is learned by example. Ask Sev’ika who held them when they were ade. I would bet everything, the answer is droids or no one.”)
That information haunts Jaster all the way back to the karyai. He doesn’t even think about waiting to ask about it when he steps inside and sees Sev’ika sprawled out—but awake—with Dogma and Fives curled up next to him watching something on the holo-screen. Jaster stops just inside the doorway, looking at the three ade and asks, “Were you held as ik’aade?”
All three of them look up, Sev’ika with an expression that tells Jaster he doesn’t quite understand why he’s being asked this, but that it probably means Jaster has figured another thing out about the Vode that isn’t normal for other ade. Fives simply looks puzzled. Dogma is the one who is matter of fact and answers Jaster. “Yeah. By the droids in the nursery. Why?” He seems to understand something about that answer is wrong very quickly when he sees the way Jaster’s face must drop at that information. A nervous expression takes over his little face.
“Haar’chak.” Jaster mutters, rubbing his hands over his face. “Of course. I should have guessed.”
“Why?” Fives inquires carefully after a few minutes of them all watching Jaster work his way through the stages of grief on their behalf.
“Purring. None of you purr. Jan’ika purrs, because it’s an instinct, but one that his buire would have modeled for him as an ik’aad. They would have held him and purred to let him know he was safe and secure, and he would have picked up on the use of purring as a subconscious or intentional way to signal his moods or help another being if they’re distressed. Droids don’t purr.” Even as he explains this, he can see that Fives and Dogma are only more confused.
But understanding dawns on Sev’ika’s face. “Oh.”
“We’re Human, why would we purr?” Dogma demands.
“Vod’ika, we’re not.” Sev’ika tells him, expression torn between anger and grief. “We’re Near Human with mixed ancestry. One of which is Taung. Another is Togruta. Both species purr. I didn’t learn how to purr until I was here with Jango and Jas’buir.”
“What?” Fives looks somewhere between shocked and horrified. “We’re… not just Human? But-...”
“The longnecks wouldn’t think it was important to tell us because it didn’t matter for our ability to be good soldiers.” His ad tells the two vod’ikase. “It only matters for our mental health and wellbeing. Especially because it tends to be social on some level.”
Dogma stares at Sev’ika with a determined sort of focus. Then, he crawls right up into Sev’ika’s lap and insistently prods at Sev’ika’s chest with his little hands. “Show me.”
That, at least, makes Sev’ika laugh softly before he gently curls his arms around Dogma and holds him closer to his chest. “Like this.” It settles something in Jaster just to hear Sev’ika start purring quietly, intentionally at first and then more naturally as he relaxes into cuddling with Dogma. Listening closely, Dogma’s eyes go wide in surprise and he looks over at Fives in wonder.
Fives scoots closer to hear it better. “It vibrates!” He yelps after putting a hand on Sev’ika’s back to balance himself upright while listening. “He’s vibrating!” His expression is all disbelief and innocent delight.
“I like it.” Murmurs Dogma, who starts to droop further into Sev’ika, body relaxing all on its own. And oh. (Jaster wonders if they might have just stumbled onto a solution for Dogma’s issues with sleep. His suspicion is confirmed when Dogma well and truly falls asleep, held upright against Sev’ika’s chest. Not even several of his vode returning to the karyai an hour later makes him stir from where he’s sleeping to the sound of Sev’ika purring quietly and contentedly.)
He does wake up when the last of the Vode—and Jan’ika—have returned before it’s time for latemeal, and a very excited Fives stands up on top of some cushions of the karyai and announces loudly. “We’re not Human!”
Sev’ika starts laughing and Jan’ika is close behind. Unfortunately, the laughter cuts off the purring for the moment. Dogma blinks his eyes open, a disgruntled expression on his face at having been disrupted. The rest of the Vode look just as confused as Fives and Dogma had earlier. Kix furrows his brow. “What do you mean, Fives? Of course we are?”
“No.” Jan’ika speaks up quietly. “You’re not.”
All of the Vode—except Dogma, Fives, and Sev’ika—turn to look at Jan’ika in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “But the longnecks…” Kix starts.
“Lied. Or omitted it.” Sev’ika interjects. “It isn’t something that matters unless they’re worried about our overall mental health, and we all know they weren’t, or if we were going to reproduce. And that was pretty explicitly something we were discouraged from doing.”
That makes Jaster glance up from where he is in the kitchen area. “They didn’t make you all sterile, did they?” It hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about something like that before.
“No.” Kix shakes his head. “It would have compromised our ability to be functional. We can reproduce, but like Sev said, it’s discouraged and, in our time, the Kaminiise owned the proprietary rights to Jango Fett’s genome. There was some suspicion that if we did have children… that they’d be taken as property by the Kaminiise. Nobody knows, but it was an effective deterrent for most of us.”
“Most.” Agrees Jesse with a quirk of his lips.
Jan’ika sighs as the attention of the Vode moves back towards him. “I’m only really about 43% Human, I think. It’s been a while since I had to think about it. It might have been around 20% Taung and 12% Togruta? Among other things, but those are the big ones for… traits, like purring or biting. There's enough variations of other Near Humans in the mix that they don’t change much overall, at least not in a way that would be noticeable to the naked eye.”
“We’re part Togruta? Like Commander Tano?” There’s sudden interest in Echo’s eyes as he leans towards Jan’ika. “Really?”
“Yeah, vod’ika.” His eldest ad smiles slightly at Echo. “Really. Mando’ade… especially Clans as old as the Fetts… we’re not all Human, even if we look Human. And, with enough generations of having ade between different species and variants of Near Human, you get beings like me. Lots of different heritages that can sometimes cause unique traits to pop up where they may or may not be expected a few generations down.” Then, Jan’ika looks between Sev’ika and Jaster. “What brought this up again?”
“The purring.” Sev’ika answers him, voice quiet.
Instantly, Jan’ika’s expression falls slightly. “I don’t understand why you don’t purr, really.”
“I asked Mij.” Jaster tells them, shuffling some of what he’s making between pans. “He says, the issue is… purring can be picked up instinctively, but it’s usually learned. Your buire purred when you were an ik’aad and they held you, Jan’ika. The Vode were held by droids, and droids wouldn’t even know to try to teach them how to purr.”
He can see the way Jan’ika slowly begins to look further distraught by the explanation before he buries his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what was wrong with him. He’s me and I don’t understand it.”
“He’s not you, Jango.” Sev’ika disagrees immediately—a debate the boys have had back and forth since not long after Sev’ika arrived. “You have a different life and different experiences. And you don’t have to become him. I promised, remember?”
That at least earns him a snort of laughter from Jan’ika. “I’m holding you to it.”
“Promised what?” Echo asks, looking between the two of them.
“He’s supposed to stab me if I ever consider being cloned in this reality.” Jan’ika answers bluntly.
“No!” Dogma’s voice is abruptly raised, louder than Jaster has ever heard it. It makes all of the ade startle in surprise.
Kix looks worried. “Dogma?”
But Dogma is suddenly hanging onto Sev’ika’s tunic, hands clenched into fists. “You can’t! I want him to be my ori’vod, Sev. He can’t do that if he’s dead!”
Sev’ika’s expression is torn between distress—likely from seeing Dogma so upset—and something like hope or relief—that one of his Vode is starting to accept Jan’ika isn’t the same as their Prime. But, he looks at a loss for words. It’s Jan’ika who moves quickly to where they are and lifts Dogma out of Sev’ika’s lap and into his own—and Dogma’s hands immediately switch from hanging onto Sev’ika’s tunic to trying to hold onto Jan’ika’s, as if he can forcibly keep Jan’ika with him. Once he’s in Jan’ika’s arms though, the ad slumps, like his strings have been cut. (Cody and Rex both twitch with aborted reflexes to try to protect Dogma, but both of them successfully stop themselves and watch. While Rex seems to relax again slowly, Cody stays alert and wary of any change in Jan’ika’s behavior.)
“K’uur, vod’ika. It’s not going to happen. I don’t think I could live with myself if I let anyone clone me for an army. Not knowing how awful it was for you. You don’t have to think of me as your vod, but I see all of you as my vode. We share the same DNA, and that’s enough for me to call you my aliit.” His eldest runs a careful hand over Dogma’s hair, and starts purring steadily in his chest to soothe the smaller boy. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere either, Dog’ika. I’m going to be here as long as you want me to be here. You’re stuck with me.”
“Okay.” Dogma sobs in relief, still clinging to Jan’ika’s shirt. “That’s okay. I was a bad vod, and the Captain and Torrent still want me anyway. So- so they’ll keep you, too. I know they will.”
There’s a pained sound from Rex. “Dogma, I told you, you’re not a bad vod.”
“I helped him kill our Vode!” The little boy wails from his place in Jan’ika’s arms.
The words startle Jan’ika into his purr cutting off as he looks between Dogma and Rex. “Can-... can I ask what you’re talking about?”
While Dogma’s response is to break into shuddering sobs, Fives grimly looks at Rex, who is silent, and then over to Kix and Jesse. Kix grimaces and Jesse tilts his head in silent acquiescence. After another moment, Fives starts talking. “His name was Pong Krell.” Just that name sends visible shudders through more than one of the Vode… and the story that unfurls is a terrible glimpse of the lives the Vode from Torrent lived.
(There are moments where Echo’s expression twists up in shocked grief. Clearly, this isn’t a story that he knows the entirety of. Cody is simply grimly silent through the entire telling.)
“I was in charge of the firing squad.” Dogma says with a baleful look on his face. “I was so stupid.”
“No.” Rex snaps. “You were trying to be a good soldier in the only way you knew how and he used it against you.”
(Jaster hates that he can picture it, a group of soldiers whose commanding officer is throwing their lives away pointlessly. Just trying to figure out some kind of option that could keep more of them alive. The struggle between right and wrong or duty. It’s a conflict that played out for him several times even before he became the Mand’alor. But to be loyal soldiers betrayed by a commanding officer? Tricked into killing each other? Shab.)
He can tell when the story is nearing its end, as the Vode start to stumble, pausing over their words. The former Captain shakes his head. “I was going to execute him. I wanted to execute him. Krell started taunting me because I hesitated. Then…” He lifts one hand and makes a blaster motion. “Someone shot him before any of us saw it coming. It was Dogma. Stole a pistol right off Fives’ belt and killed the shabuir. Like that.”
“All of that… and they court-martialed Dogma, because the Republic didn’t give a kriff about how many of our Vode Krell had cut down in his treason. But a clone killing a Jedi? They couldn’t let that go.” Fives laughs, but it’s a hollow sound with sharp edges.
Dogma is still in Jan’ika’s arms, his face pressed hard into the older boy’s shoulder. He shudders at the sound of Fives’ laugh. Jaster can see the way Jan’ika is holding Dogma a little more tightly, as if he could protect the smaller Vod from the past. At some point, Jan’ika starts purring again, but it’s clearly an intentional and deliberate sound as he tries to offer some form of comfort to Dogma.
“They put him in solitary.” Rex says quietly, a heavy weight on his shoulders as he looks at Dogma. Still, Dogma doesn’t emerge from Jan’ika’s arms or look up. His shoulders heave occasionally, in what must be quiet sobs he’s muffling into Jan’ika’s shoulder. Seeing it makes Jaster ache. “At the end, after the Order went out and activated our chips… Dogma told us that since he was in prison, he didn’t get the Order. There was a prison break and he hid in the lower levels of Coruscant for… I’m not sure how long.”
(Jaster can’t quite decide whether Dogma is a victim, a hero, or something else entirely in the story. Either way, none of it was fair to him. None of it was right.)
There’s a muffled sound, and Jan’ika strokes Dogma’s hair before saying gently. “We can’t hear you if you talk to my shoulder, vod’ika.”
Several moments pass, before finally Dogma lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot from crying and he looks so small in that moment, cradled in Jan’ika’s arms. “A few years. Not sure. It’s harder to track time when you’re constantly trying to stay under the radar. I did send anonymous intel to Rex and Echo when they were running the clone underground. After that collapsed...” He shrugs. “I just tried to stay alive. Not that it was easy. If it wasn’t Imperials and chipped Vode trying to kill me, it was the chakaare who lived in the lower levels.” Dogma sniffles, and Jan’ika brushes fingers over his cheeks to help wipe away some of the dampness from crying. “Before I woke up on Saleucami… I think I was in a fight. But it was all happening so fast and I’m not entirely sure what happened. I guess I died? I don’t know.”
The look on Jan’ika’s face is all heartbreak. He cups one of Dogma’s cheeks in his hand, thumb trying to smooth away the strain of emotions still bearing down on the smaller boy. “That’s okay. You’re here now. You have your vode again, and me and Jas’buir if you want us.” His voice is softer than Jaster thinks he’s ever heard it, so very carefully gentle in his continued attempt to comfort Dogma.
Dogma leans into the touch—and Jaster lets the understanding settle that his suspicions were right, it had been Dogma who experienced solitary confinement, and then he had been further stranded from his vode for years. All the flinching, the issues sleeping, and the desperate need for affection from his vode… it makes Jaster sigh as he turns back to cooking.
The Vode are quieter for the rest of the night, exhausted from the emotions of one of their stories. (If this is only one, Jaster dreads what each of the others will bring up.) But, when it comes time to sleep, all of the Vode choose to sleep in the karyai for the first time since their arrival—even Cody. Fives and Echo practically sprawl on top of Sev’ika, Kix bravely takes the space between Sev’ika and Jan’ika—though he stays closer to Sev’ika than Jan’ika. Jaster is more than a little bit amused when Dogma climbs right into Jan’ika’s arms and stares at him impatiently until he starts purring.
Jan’ika’s comfortable rumble is shortly joined by Sev’ika’s quieter echo. Sleep falls over the room.
It’s when Jaster wakes briefly in the night that he has to stop and listen for a moment. While they were sleeping, the number of purrs multiplied from two to six. He can’t identify the new purrs by sound yet, but simply knowing that another small step has been taken makes it easier for Jaster to resettle and doze back off until morning.
As soon as Mij clears all of the new Vode for more strenuous physical activity (with strong warnings against attempting to replicate the intensity of the combat drills their older selves knew, in bodies too small and insufficiently developed to complete those sorts of exercises without risking long-term damage.) the Vode ask permission to use the training grounds in a private capacity. Rex looks particularly uncomfortable and embarrassed when he makes the request, but Jaster grants it easily. With everything they’ve experienced, and being suddenly in smaller and younger bodies, there’s going to be an adjustment period for all of them to feel truly comfortable again.
Sev’ika decides that spending a few hours in the training grounds should be an aliit affair and manages to get the Vode to agree to let Jaster and Jan’ika join them in the training ground.
Which is why Jaster finds himself sitting out on a bench in the training grounds, letting himself enjoy the sunlight and bursts of laughter from the smaller ade running around. Currently, Jesse and Rex are in the sparring ring they’ve elected to use. They’re both terrifyingly skilled for such young ade.
Watching the two boys moving from throwing punches to trying to grapple each other, Jan’ika has a thoughtful look on his face. “Fives?”
The younger boy glances up from where he’s stretching with Echo. “Elek?”
“I want to ask a question.” His eldest ad starts carefully. “About the Vode.”
Fives gets up and trots over to sit down on the bench next to Jan’ika. He looks up at him with bright eyes. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“How do you get your names?” Jan’ika asks, keeping his eyes on Rex and Jesse as Rex drags Jesse into a pin that Jaster doesn’t even think he’s seen before.
“Oh.” Fives leans back, putting his hands on the bench to hold himself up. He hums thoughtfully before explaining, “It depends. Some of us pick names that we like because of how they sound or what they look like when written. Some of us pick names based on things about us. Our personalities. Our interests. And… some of us are given names—usually by other Vode—but sometimes…” His eyes dart towards the sparring ring when Jesse yelps in complaint upon being wrestled to the ground again by Rex. “There were a few who got their names from the trainers. Skirata named most of his, from what I’ve heard.”
It’s interesting information. Jaster had gleaned from Sev’ika that the Vode only had designations when they were ‘decanted’, like that awful letter number string Sev had first introduced himself with. Names held more weight to them than most people understood. They weren't supposed to have names. But Vode who received names from their trainers? Who kept names from their trainers? There was a significance there.
His eyes track over each of the Vode, Echo lying on the ground to watch the clouds, since Fives abandoned their stretching. Sev’ika entertaining Dogma and Tup by teaching them some of the games Mando’ade teach their ade to prepare them for eventual combat training without being formalized training yet. Kix, next to him, watching Jesse and Rex, but suddenly more alert as he listens in on Fives and Jan’ika's conversation. Neither of the boys who are brawling seem to be paying much attention, and Cody is still facing the sparring ring—but there is a sudden tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
“So… can I ask how you got yours? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Jan’ika hedges cautiously, turning his gaze to settle on Fives—trying to not overstep but also trying to learn more about the Vode that were still newer parts of their lives.
Fives grins. “Mine’s simple. My designation was CT-5555. It’s a lot of Fives.”
At that explanation, Jan’ika laughs brightly, “Okay, I can see that.”
Kix glances over. “I know Jesse and I both picked ours because we liked them. Tup’s never said where he got his name. And the 501st…” A grimace crosses his face. “Dogma got his name because it was a nickname some of the troopers in the 501st gave him since he was so set on following the regulations. It stuck.”
“Oh.” Jan’ika grows serious again. His eyes are on Cody and the two boys sparring again, something thoughtful in his eyes. (The other Jango had trained Cody and Rex himself. Jaster could imagine the questions in Jan’ika’s mind. Had he named them? And why? Were they names Cody and Rex kept? Did it mean something to them if their names had come from that other Jango?)
With another yelp, Jesse ends up firmly pinned by Rex and, after a fruitless struggle, he finally taps out. He rolls away as soon as Rex lets go of him, and lays there in the sparring ring for a moment to catch his breath. Both of them are tired and sweating, but there's an air of satisfaction over them both from finally being able to do something as familiar to them as training. After a minute, Rex gets to his feet and reaches down to help Jesse up as well.
Cody turns then, shoulders pulled tight with silent tension, and looks at Jan’ika. “Spar with me.” It’s not even a request. Not quite a demand either though. He doesn’t budge while he waits for Jan’ika’s response.
“Okay.” Jan’ika gets up from the bench and shuffles off the partial beskar’gam he’s been wearing around the compound. (With their aliit inside the protection of closed walls, Jan’ika and Jaster both prefer to be in partial beskar’gam rather than full.)
Both boys clamber into the sparring ring as Jesse and Rex clear out. Jesse comes over to the bench to get water, but Rex stays near the ring, attentive. There’s nothing terribly different about the start of the spar from any other sparring, except that Cody is clearly tense and uncomfortable and Jan’ika is nervous—like he senses this is about more than just sparring. Despite the difference in size and age, they’re very evenly matched. Or, that’s how Cody wants it to seem. Jaster can’t help but notice after a few minutes the way that Cody prods at Jan’ika’s defense, looking for weak points, exploiting them, but never actually follows through beyond knocking Jan’ika off balance or shoving him across the sparring ring. Jan’ika can get through Cody’s defense but—Jango trained Cody and it shows—Cody is deeply familiar with most of the way Jan’ika fights in a manner that Jan’ika can’t be yet with Cody.
The spar continues, far longer than most spars would. Because Cody isn’t going to finish it and Jan’ika can’t fully work around Cody’s familiarity with his own fighting style (which is probably less refined than the Jango Fett with another twenty years of fighting experience to start with). Both of them are sweating and breathing hard. Neither of them seems anywhere near stopping though. Jan’ika is clearly determined to see this through to whatever end Cody needs from him. Slowly, the tension in Rex’s body has increased, and he’s now visibly straining to keep himself from jumping in and getting involved. Cody notices him, catches his eye, and shakes his head once. It doesn’t make Rex any less tense.
Then, Jaster sees it. Intentional and telegraphed, Cody gives Jan’ika an opening. But it’s not an opening for a fair spar. Jan’ika would have to be willing to hurt Cody to take the opening. Jan’ika sees it, too, and his eyes widen a little before he takes several bouncing steps back because he isn’t going to cross that line with one of his vod’ikase (whether they see him as their ori’vod or not.)
Whatever Cody was expecting or looking for, his gaze only sharpens as he resumes circling—forcing Jan’ika to do the same, both waiting for the other’s next move. After that, Cody starts pressing at Jan’ika’s defenses more fiercely, actually trying to take him down. It still takes him another minute or two before he gets far enough into Jan’ika’s guard that he can use Jan’ika’s size against him and catch him in a painful looking headlock. Cody keeps him there for a long moment, neither demanding that Jan’ika yield, nor punishing him any further than to keep him in place.
“He named me.” Rasps out of Cody’s mouth. “Called me Kote. Not because he was proud of me, or because he thought I deserved anything… It was a joke to him. Told me I’d bring kote to the Republic, always sneering about it. Mocking me because I was too small to do anything. Too small to protect myself or my brothers. I hated him.” Cody swallows hard, then speaks again. “You saw that opening. I know you did and you didn’t take it. Why?” His arms tremble with the strain of keeping Jan’ika in place—with the weight of his own emotions. “I want so badly to hate you, too. But you’re not him. I can’t. It’s pointless.”
Slowly, Jan’ika relaxes into the headlock, relenting but not trying to pull away. “Cody. Kote. He was wrong. I don’t-... I’ll never understand why your Jango was the way he was. I hate him. Everything Sev, and Fives, and Dogma and all your vod’ikase tell me. It just makes me hate him more. I never want to be him. I’d rather die.”
There are tears in Jan’ika’s eyes, but Jaster can tell that they’re not pain, they’re grief for Cody, for his brothers, every last one of them. It’s in the twist of his son’s face as he breathes raggedly against the feelings so he can talk again. “You deserve that name though. If you want it. Kot’ika… when I saw you come off that ship I couldn’t see you as anything other than an ori’ramikad. A super commando. I knew you’d probably hate me and-... I made my peace with that. But that doesn’t mean I want you to. I don’t care if you need more time. Just… I want to be your ori’vod, if you’ll have me.”
“Okay.” Kote says, suddenly sounding calm again. It's unnerving how much control he has over his emotions so quickly. He loosens his grip on Jan’ika, letting go with enough caution that Jan’ika doesn’t fall over the moment he’s not being held in place.
“Okay?” Jan’ika rolls out his shoulders and turns to look at Kote, eyes searching.
They stare at each other for a long, long stretch of what really can’t be more than a couple of minutes. Exhaling, Kote nods and holds out his arm to Jan’ika for the first time since he’d arrived with his vod’ikase. “I’m counting on you, ori’vod.” After a beat of surprised hesitation, Jan’ika clasps arms with Kote. Kote hangs on tight. “Now tell your buir to just say the gai bal manda, already. Dogma’s going to lose his patience if he doesn’t.”
Startled, Jan’ika starts laughing, even as he holds onto Kote’s forearm just as tightly as Kote holds onto his. “You heard Kote, buir.” He turns his eyes to Jaster and they’re full of a bright, burning delight.
Jaster can’t help the huff of a laugh he lets out before he stands up. “Maybe we take some showers first?” He suggests fondly.
Kote nods. “Okay. Fair enough.”
That night, Jaster is officially the proud buir of ten boys. He can’t regret it at all. Not when he sees the way Kote settles in to sleep that night, with his back against Jan’ika’s, trusting Jan’ika to watch his back, even in sleep. Jaster’s heart is full.
Notes:
Rex: if we don’t talk about Skywalker we can all pretend everything is fine and we weren’t utterly betrayed by one of the natborns we trusted with our lives for years.
Jaster: Mij, help me, I don’t understand why these ade are like this??
Mij: Well, Mand’alor, it’s going to take some time to unpack this one, you might want to take a seat.
Jaster: How bad are we talking?
Mij: *deadeyed stare* Based on our understanding of the Kaminoans… bad.The Vode: What do you mean we’re not just Human?
Jango: Well, when two Mandalorians love each other very much…Dogma: *discovers his ori'vode can purr* Aha. It's free good stimulation.
Jango: *jokes about being killed*
Dogma: I just got my new ori’vod, don’t take him away!
Jango: Oh. I’ve been adopted. *crying on the inside* This is good. I'm completely fine about this.Cody: Nobody ever taught me how to talk about emotions, but I am really good at hitting people. Jango, fight me.
Jango: Okay?
*one intense spar later*
Cody: Okay. I'm satisfied. Now tell Jaster to hurry up and adopt us before his verde get any ideas.
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
aliit = clan name, identity, family (aliite is plural)
baar'ur = medic
beskad = slightly curved saber of Mandalorian iron
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
chakaar = corpse robber, thief, petty criminal; general term of abuse (chakaare is plural)
elek = yes (shortened to ‘lek as “yeah”)
gai bal manda = adoption ceremony (lit. name and soul)
Haar’chak! = Damn it!
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
ik'aad = baby, child under three (ik’aade is plural)
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kote = glory
kute = underwear, bodysuit, something worn under armor
K’uur = hush
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Mando'ad = Mandalorian (Mando'ade is plural)
Me’ven? = Huh? What? Expression of bewilderment or disbelief
ori’ramikad = super commando (Mandalorian designation of elite special forces) (ori’ramikade is plural)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
shabuir = extreme insult, “jerk” but much stronger (probably like “asshole” or “motherf*cker”)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
yaim = home
Chapter 7: The Jedi High Council & Thire | 49 BBY / 688 SrD (Part 1)
Summary:
The Guard arrive on Coruscant. The Jedi did not sign up for this. Fox’s brothers are just glad he’s alive. Mand’alor Mereel wants his long overdue private conversation with the High Council. The Vode finally talk about Skywalker. We find out who was bringing Dogma gossip about the 501st in prison.
Notes:
And here's the promised Corries! With a little surprise side offering of Force Sensitive Commander Fox.
CW: Discussions of the events of the Purge of the Jedi Temple and the results, PTSD and trauma reactions, implied consequences of prolonged exposure to Darksiders, brief mentions of medical issues resulting from the implied mistreatment of the Corries, implied/shown complex relationships between siblings, references/implications around child soldiers, referenced/implied mind control/manipulation, open discussion of Anakin's Skywalker betraying the Jedi and Clones and the likely consequences, Fox's canonical death is discussed, some discussion of solitary confinement
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The inexplicable appearance of three nearly identical boys—between the ages of 10 and 12—wearing matching uniforms in the Room of a Thousand Fountains is merely the beginning of a series of events the Jedi are entirely unequipped to deal with. All three boys are clearly not younglings or even Force Sensitives, yet the Force itself moves strangely around them. Master Saa is almost convinced the Force feels smug, pleased with the immediate shock-wave of panic caused by it dropping the trio directly into the Jedi's laps. Their initial alarm about three children just showing up in the wee hours of the morning, fast asleep in a section of the gardens with flora primarily from Naboo, only increases when the boys know some of the Jedi by name.
The smallest of the three lays eyes on Grandmaster Yoda and immediately locks on. “Hello, Master Yoda. I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”
“Know you, I do not.” Master Yoda replies, gripping his gimmer stick while trying to decide what to make of the three. “Got into the Temple, how did you?”
He cocks his head at Master Yoda and looks around at the Council Chamber where the three boys had been escorted as soon as they were noticed by the Temple Guard. “Probably the Force, I guess?”
“This can't be real.” Says the tallest of the boys. “I was there when the Temple was purged. It burned.”
“Burned?” Prompts Master Gallia, trying to not feel more alarmed.
“Purged?” Repeats Master Koon, before he can smother his own reaction. Uneasy, he releases his feelings into the Force.
“What year is it, Master Koon?” Asks the boy with bleached blond hair and dark roots.
Master Plo startles in surprise, because he hasn’t introduced himself yet. Most of the Council haven’t introduced themselves. Nothing about this situation makes any sense. But, he obliges and tells them the date.
Upon being told the exact date, the older looking boy blanches, eyes blowing wide somewhere between disbelief and horror . “No. No. But- but why?” He gasps, suddenly digging his fingers into his curly hair like he can ground himself by tugging until it hurts. Around him the Force swirls with desperate grief, that tangles against a well-worn fear, caustic loneliness, and something darker that whispers of a deep, bottomless rage.
Master Koon, almost reflexively—the same way he would try to assist a frightened or hurt youngling—reaches in the Force in an attempt to help soothe and release some of the sharp edged emotions only to be stopped. The boy’s mind has teeth and the moment the Jedi Master brushes along the edge of it, he finds himself being threatened, a vicious snap of a warning that promises pain if he pushes any further. “Get out!” There’s a fierce snarl, and inexplicably the boy’s gaze has zeroed in on Master Koon—as if he knows who touched his mind. “Don’t touch me! Stay out of my head!” He takes a step backwards, towards the doors leading back out of the Council Chamber. “Stay out!”
Master Koon withdraws quickly and, all at once, he goes from a snarling, dangerous thing that seems capable of ripping apart whoever gets too close, to curling in on himself. Both of the other boys move to him, the boy with bleached blond hair trying to soothe him, wrapping arms around him and murmuring in his ear. “We’re okay. He won’t get us here. We’ll be okay. You’re okay.” Is the barely audible mantra that he repeats in a frantic litany as if the words are a shield against something none of the Jedi can sense. Sagging into the younger boy’s arms, he simply makes a horrible wounded noise and clings on for some semblance of security.
Now, the smallest boy turns to look at the High Council with eyes that burn with a deep fury that should be too large for someone so young. “Don’t do that, again, Jetiise.” There’s ice under his voice, honed in a way that threatens to cut if his warning is ignored.
“My apologies.” Master Koon lifts both of his clawed hands, palm outwards in an attempt to appease them. “I am used to helping our younglings in the Crèches, I should not have done that without his permission.” Through the Force, though, he sends the rest of the Council the impression he got of the eldest boy’s shields. Constructed specifically to attack any Force User who tries to connect to his mind. They’re strong for a boy who, from his Force Signature, doesn’t seem like he should be able to even build shields like that. It would require at least a moderate amount of Force Sensitivity to do so. But in the Force, the boy has made himself a void, painstakingly so. As if he’s hiding.
“If you please, could we know your names, younglings? Where you came from? Your family, perhaps, so you can be returned to them?” Master Saa tries, projecting calm calm calm like a heavy blanket over the room.
All three go stiff and silent. They press closer together, not quite a huddle, but each of them trying to have some part of themselves in contact with both of the other two. None of them offer anything. Unnerved, the High Council waits. The three boys stay there, watchful and wary, entirely closed off. Time stretches slowly like syrup, and slowly the Councilors grow more unsettled, drawing on all of their years of training and restraint to not start squirming in their chairs like younglings caught stealing from the Refectories.
“Can we leave?” Rasps the eldest boy, expression nearly blank, beyond a sharp awareness in his gaze.
Several of the Masters exchange glances. These children may not be their younglings. But the Force has seemingly brought them here. And, to let three children walk out of the Temple unaccompanied, with no guardian, is not an option. They all share these uneasy thoughts through the Force between them. If the Force brought them here, surely there is a reason for it.
Sighing, Master Gallia speaks for them this time. “Perhaps, it would be wiser if you paid a visit to our Halls of Healing. From the look of you, you must be hungry and tired, and our Healers can assist with any injuries you might have.”
The eldest touches a hand to his neck, as if feeling something there no one else can. Then, he looks at the two other boys and says, “fine. But stay out of our heads.”
This, the Masters can agree to, considering none of them wish to find out whether the other two boys have similarly strange and dangerous shields around their minds. So, the three are led to the Halls of Healing—though, they don’t really seem like they need a guide. They move through the corridors of the Temple in a way that speaks of familiarity. As if they’ve walked the Temple corridors many times, over multiple months or even years. After the boys are in the Halls, it isn’t terribly long until Knight Healer Che presents herself before the High Council with a report—all three are showing concerning signs of food deprivation, battle shock befitting war veterans, and prolonged stress. Even as she presents her report the Healer looks deeply unsettled. Especially, when she mentions that one of the boys was overheard telling the other two that he remembers dying at some point on a date decades away in the future.
That comment however sparks a recollection from around two years prior in a few of the Councilors. Hadn't the Mand’alor of one of the three major factions of Mandalorians contacted them with an inquiry relating to time travel? He'd asked about whether one could time travel using the Force—an idea that is completely theoretical and highly improbable—and requested an in-person meeting between representatives of the Council and the Mand’alor himself with some advisors. While they had provided him copies of several essays and philosophical treatises on time travel and the Force, they had also told the Mand’alor and his people that such a request for Jedi intervention or diplomatic contact to a sovereign entity not connected in any way to the Republic needed to be routed through the Senate. That had made the Mand’alor dig in his heels—“No. No Senate. Not the Republic. I want to speak to only the Jedi Council and what needs to be said should not be said over open comms.” Since they weren't willing to compromise, he'd dropped off reaching out to them every so often after a year.
Now, they have to wonder if refusing him without trying to find out more had been a foolish mistake on their part. Had they blinded themselves to something more important? After some debate, they decide it's worth contacting him. It's not a long message, but they mention the abrupt arrival of three identical children and request to have some sort of call or meeting between representatives of their people. A subtle consideration of turning the children over, as one of them had used the Mandalorian term for Jedi. The speed at which the Mand’alor’s response arrives is startling, but more so is his urgency about the state of the children.
[Are they hurt? Please be careful with them. Have they mentioned which units they were with? I can be there within four standard days.]
Which. What? His answers to their confusion are even simpler, but also strange.
[A meeting with your Council would be appreciated. If you haven't already, do NOT tell your Senate about the boys.]
[As far as I'm concerned, they're my children. And what is most important to me is their wellbeing. I will come collect them personally to reunite them with the Vode.]
The Council doesn't mention this situation to the Senate, not yet, after all this is a matter of the Force and therefore exclusively under Jedi purview. (The adamance about keeping the Senate out, combined with the refusal to say much over comms makes them wonder though. What's being hidden? And from whom? Why?)
The capitalization of the Mandalorian word for Brothers sticks out to Master Nu, who finds herself digging through texts from as far back as the days of Master Tarre Vizsla to attempt to find anything of use. (She's frustrated to come up largely empty handed. For all that Master Vizsla was Jedi and Mandalorian both, nothing written by or about him had anything to do with time travel. And, an old war chant doesn’t feel like it’s connected. Not really.)
At first, the three boys don't seem to have a response to being told that the Mand’alor is coming and seems to see himself as their parent. The question of what unit they were with earns a cryptic “the Guard” but sparks some considering glances. It's when Master Nu mentions “the Vode” that she becomes the focus of their full, undivided attention. Their force signatures move from carefully contained—by those terrifying shields more befitting of Master Jedi trained to deal with Darksiders than seeming non-Force users—to a turbulent mix of agitation and uncertainty with a thread of hope beneath it.
"You're sure?” Demands the eldest, eyes sharp and suspicious.
(Belatedly, the Jedi realize they probably should have asked the Mand’alor more clarifying questions before he entered hyperspace.)
For the days that follow, there's a heavy mix of anticipation, fear, and determination hanging over all three of them that makes unsuspecting Jedi stagger when crossing their paths. It's so bad that the Master Healers have to move them out of the Halls, where there are Jedi recovering (some of whom already have compromised shields.) They settle the boys into some of the rooms for diplomatic guests to the Temple where the Mand’alor, and whoever else he brings, can use other rooms in the same corridor. Somehow, being out of the Halls makes something settle because they seem less prone to shutting up whenever anyone else walks too close, at least. Still, for children, the amount they tend to look over their shoulders and remain alert at all times is unnerving. When Master Sinube carefully asks what they're so vigilant for, the boy with his hair bleached blond had simply said they were “the Guard” and they “knew better than most how deadly Coruscant can be”. That just gave the Council more questions. The Jedi are further baffled when they realize that despite giving the three boys each their own rooms, they’ve only used one of them.
By the time the Mand’alor's ship is landing in the Temple hangars, everyone is ready for the waiting to be over. However, none of the Council had imagined the scene before their eyes once the ramp is down. Mand’alor Mereel walks out into the Temple with ten more boys, all similarly identical to the three temporarily staying with the Jedi. The oldest of the boys with the Mand’alor seems to be around 17, but the rest range between 6 or 7 years old to 12 or 13 years old. There are some differences, one boy is a natural blond and another has a facial scar, but… if it weren't for the Force, the Jedi can't be sure they'd ever be able to tell apart the boys who are around the same age.
The three boys who have been staying with the Jedi instantly hone in on their brothers and the oldest asks aloud, “Kote?”
Sharp as a knife, the boy with the facial scar's gaze cuts across all of the Jedi. Once his eyes lock onto his brother, he picks up speed—breaking away from the others to nearly launch himself across the wide open floor of the hangar. “Fox!” His voice is thick with elation. (The eldest of the Mand'alor’s sons makes an aborted motion to catch Kote, but the blond catches his arm and says something to him that makes him relax slightly before the blond also takes off across the hangar—at a brisk jog rather than an all out run.)
When his brother starts running, so does the oldest boy with the Jedi—Fox, apparently—and the two tear through the distance between them to slam into each other. It's not immediately apparent whether they intended to tumble to the floor, but there's a solid minute where both of them grapple with each other. Only the blossoming feelings of glee and relief in the Force stops Master Koon from trying to interfere.
Kote catches Fox with a headlock and then drags both of them to their feet again. Fox stops struggling, and his brother lets him go. “Kark you, Kot'ika.” The toothy grin on Fox’s face is so very unlike the reticent, sullen, and often outright hostile boy the Jedi have grown used to seeing.
Catching his brother's face in his hands, Kote looks him over more carefully. “You're okay?” Fox nods before casting a quick, uneasy glance back at the Jedi Council. One hand jumps up towards his neck again, like a strange reflex, then drops back to grab his brother’s forearm instead. It's clear the movement is noticed by his brother who doesn't seem to know what to make of that any more than the observing Jedi do.
There's a moment where it looks like Fox might start a fresh scuffle, before he looks back to his two waiting brothers and flashes some sort of hand signal to them that has them both loyally jogging forward to catch up with him.
He turns then, as the blond catches up with Kote, and stops—freezes—like he’s not sure what to do. The blond hesitates in return, visibly unsure if his presence is welcome but aching in the Force, then says, “I'm sorry, Fox. I didn't-... I don't-... I-...” Stuck, he just stares helplessly at Fox, then sniffles and bursts into tears. “I missed you.” He gasps out in the heartbeat before Fox wraps himself around his younger brother and starts murmuring in his ear—mostly inaudible to the Jedi who are maintaining a polite distance. Pressed close to each other, there's an exchange of furtive touches, as if checking the other is truly alive and safe. Around them the Force is a miasma of complex emotions. Both of them cling to the other with a desperation that goes beyond words.
The other two boys reach their siblings and Kote smiles at them. “Thorn. Thire. I'm glad to see you both alive.” They don't exchange hugs, but they do briefly clasp forearms. Everything about this family is puzzling to the Jedi.
“Marshal Commander.” Thorn, apparently, answers easily. “It seems we're late to the party?” His eyes dart over to the other eight boys who are watching and walking up at a more controlled pace along with the Mand'alor. Though one of the boys on the younger end is clearly being held back from being the next to launch himself towards their brothers. Something makes Thorn tense. “Who is…”
Kote's smile becomes a more careful thing. “He's not Prime, Thorn. He's a Jango Fett, but he isn't the one you remember. Ori'haat. He's just an annoying overprotective teenage brother, like the Alphas. Give him a chance, at least.”
Some of the tension eases and Thorn nods. “Okay.” He’s still wary, but he’s willing to trust Kote’s judgement.
(Master Gallia desperately wants to know what Kote means by "Prime" and “a Jango Fett”. It makes no sense. Moreover, why did Thorn call his supposed brother by a military title? The Mand’alor had alluded to units, but… military units? For boys so young?)
Fox and the blond finally peel apart enough that Fox can look over the other brothers and the sight of one of them makes him scoff loudly. “Of course, the manda is going to inflict a commando on me again.”
“Yeah, nice to see you, too, Fox.”
“Huh, not so much of a bastard anymore, Sev?”
“Eh, don't get your hopes up that much. I've just got a buir and ori’vod to keep me in line now.” Sev snickers. Then, he leans down and easily scoops one of the two littlest boys into his arms and balances them on his hip like he barely notices the weight. “Besides, the majority of these vod'ikase are Torrent, so I think I'm not the biggest headache to worry about.”
“Kriff, of course it would be Torrent Company.” Says Fox with an eye-roll, but no actual heat behind his words.
Finally, the boy trying to hurl himself forward is released from being kept back via firm handholding and slams himself into Fox's side. “That's basically what Sev said when we turned up two years ago.”
Startled, Fox blinks down at the younger boy. Freezes, again. And then a wave of guilt, grief, fear, and self-loathing rips through the Force like a flash flood. Several Jedi recoil from it. The emotions are so potent they sting as they lash against the Jedi's shields. “Fives. Ni ceta, vod’ika.” Fox drops down to his knees, and puts his hands on the smaller boy’s shoulders. There’s something desperate in the way he looks Fives over, as if he expects to see the child bleeding out rather than perfectly healthy and whole. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t mean to. He- he made me.” His voice shakes over the words.
Fives grabs onto Fox’s hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. “Nayc. I know it wasn’t you, Fox. I know that. I was the one who found the chips, remember?”
(Chips? Master Saa inquires of her fellow councilors through the Force. From the mirroring confusion she gets in return, it seems that none of them know what that means.)
“Still…” The older of the pair forces himself to breathe more evenly. “I am sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
Fox blinks at him in confusion. “Why?”
“Fox.” Carefully, Fives takes Fox’s face in his hands and holds onto his cheeks in a way that looks just a bit too tight to be comfortable. But the older boy allows it. “Ori’vod. You were here, with the Sith, the whole time.” Fives leans in to shove his forehead against Fox’s fiercely. “None of us saw and I’m so sorry.”
“That’s-...”
Master Dooku clears his throat before speaking in perfectly even tones. (Fox already seems agitated enough without them provoking him.) “Surely, you are mistaken. The Sith died out a thousand years ago.”
Twelve identical boys go stock still at the sound of his voice, then turn to peer at him with an open distrust and hostility that speaks of familiarity. They know him.
The blond boy who came with Mereel frowns. “That’s ironic coming from you, Count Dooku. You joined them in our future.” Even with obvious teartracks down his cheeks, his eyes burn when they see Master Dooku. It rings in the Force around him. Some of these boys knew suffering at the hands of Master Dooku, personally.
(Their future? Master Saa ponders the choice of words.)
Mereel looks visibly caught between relief over the reunion and deeply troubled—he turns his full attention to the Jedi Council members that are gathered and says, “how about that meeting?” As he says this, his expression settles into something grim.
“We are curious as to what matter you wish to discuss with us.” Master Piell admits carefully.
With a tilt of his head, the Mand’alor offers no smile or comfort. “Not here. Preferably somewhere private and with the strongest signal jammer you have.”
“Pardon?” Master Gallia blinks in surprise. “I-...”
Master Yoda taps his gimmer stick to bring everyone back to attention. (Notably, eleven of the now thirteen identical boys immediately go quiet and turn towards the Grandmaster, as if familiar with the sound of it.) “If in private the Mand’alor wishes to speak, then in private meet we shall.”
Even as some of the other Masters do their best to hide their confusion, the Mand’alor nods to Master Yoda. “The fate of the galaxy may very well hinge on the things you will learn from my ade.”
This makes the Councilors ripple with shock and disbelief. But, Master Koon silently directs them to look at the impossibility of thirteen identical boys. Whether the Council likes it or not, the Mand’alor and his sons at least deserve to be heard.
“Very well.” Master Nu says serenely. “Let us get our guests settled for the evening and then we can convene tomorrow somewhere more appropriate for this discussion then?”
Mand’alor Mereel relaxes minutely. “Please.”
(A few hours later)
By the end of the first brief meeting of the Jedi Council and Mand’alor Mereel, Thire is just tired. The entire time since he woke up in the past with both Thorn and Fox restored to him, he’s been tired. Only the arrival of other Vode and the relief of seeing them again, alive and well, is keeping him from collapsing entirely.
“They don’t believe us.” Fives complains, kicking frustratedly at the edge of a rug in the guest room that all twelve vode, plus this reality’s version of Jango Fett, have gathered in to have food delivered for latemeal so they can all have some time together (without risking finding familiar faces in the Refectories).
Kote snorts bitterly. “Of course they don’t. The Jedi didn’t believe the Sith were really back, last time, until one was running around with a red lightsaber and actively killing Jedi.”
“I hate it.” Jesse mutters.
“I know, vod’ika.” The former Marshal Commander puts an arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Trust me, I know.”
“Whether the Jedi listen or not, we have to do something.” Fives starts, catching the scowl forming on Cody’s face and returning it with his own ferocity. He argues preemptively against whatever protest is brewing from the Commander. “It’s not like we can ignore it. Even if we can keep Mandalore out of it, who says they won’t find a different template? I don’t even think taking the clone army out of the equation could prevent all of what happened. The Sith aren’t just going to roll over and accept defeat if one or two pieces of their plans fall out of place. And-... even if they won’t listen, they have a right to be told. It’s their fate on the line, more than anyone else in the galaxy.”
“They won’t.” Rex agrees very quietly. “There’s still the droid army, the decline of the jetiise, Our Gen-... Skywalker.”
Kote’s expression darkens. “What does Skywalker have to do with this? You’ve spent two years being cagey and weird every time he comes up and now you want to talk about him?”
Fox’s eyes snap open from where he’s laying comfortably against Thire’s shoulder, with Dogma settled in a loose sprawl over his lap, like a living blanket. Thire isn’t sure how but there’s this really nice sound coming from where Dogma is that makes him feel like he just wants to slump further into the cushions of the too-large chair the three of them have packed into and fall asleep. “Rex.” He stares at his little brother with something complicated in his expression (but Thire knows. He was there, too.) “You haven’t told Kote?”
“I haven’t told anyone who wasn’t already there or aware of it.” Rex answers, wrapping his arms around himself and frowning at the wall on the opposite side of the room. Though, his gaze slides over to Fox and he grimaces. “Don’t look at me like that, Fox. He was my General…”
Somehow, that provokes a response from Dogma. He lifts his head from where it was comfortably settled on Fox’s stomach, to snarl fiercely. “I hate him! He was a monster, an- and we didn’t know.” Then, he crumples into sudden tears and sobs out. “Can we please not talk about him here. I don’t want to think about it here.”
“We’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later.” Fox says quietly, curling an arm around Dogma and stroking fingers through the smaller boy’s hair. “Especially if we need to tell the Jetiise the full story. It might be better if all of us know at least enough to not be shocked by the information.”
(The nice sound from Dogma has stopped. Thire is just a little bit disappointed about that. But seeing the way Fox is with him, Thire can’t help the little fond bubble of warmth in his chest because Fox always was one of the best when it came to comforting the Guard’s vod’ikase.)
Silence settles over the room, aside from Dogma’s little heaving sobs that are full of both hurt and anger at the same time. Fox’s expression has settled into something tired and resigned. Kote is now scowling at anyone who will meet his eye. Rex has kept his own glare aimed at the wall. Echo is silent, staring at the floor for a small eternity. Fives, Jesse, Kix, Tup, Sev, and Thorn are just watching their brothers, trying to understand what’s not being said. Jango is quiet from his place on the opposite side of the room from Fox, Thorn, and Thire, but clearly paying attention even as he cleans each piece of his beskar’gam with trained ease.
(Thire appreciates that he seems to know the three Guard Commanders aren’t going to be comfortable with him right away.)
“Kote.” Echo’s voice is very serious as he suddenly breaks the silence. “Who did you think Darth Vader was?”
Kote turns his head to look at the Domino, scowl slipping into confusion. “I don’t know? Some apprentice nobody knew about or something? They always seemed to be hiding more Darksiders to pop out when we least expected them. Why?”
“Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” Fox says flatly, his eyes on Rex.
Rex glances up, flinches under his ori’vod’s stare, then turns his head towards Kote. “I don’t-... Kote, the General Fell.”
“What?” Kote blanches.
Dogma peers at Kote and then sniffles out. “Skywalker led the march on the Temple, ori’vod. He led our vode to kill the Jetiise. Even the tubies.”
Staring at Dogma, Kote goes from disbelief to horror. “What?” He repeats himself, like he desperately wants it to not be true.
“He was Dark, for longer than any of us realized, I think.” Rex says very softly, picking at a loose thread on a pillow on the couch next to him. “I don’t-... I wasn’t sure until Ahsoka told me. Even then, I didn’t want to believe it. But it bothered me, so… I asked Echo to help me dig around. It’s not like there was any kind of announcement to christen a new Sith.”
That makes Fox snort out a laugh. “That would have been something.”
“There was holo footage.” Dogma whispers suddenly, and everyone in the room is still as their attention centers on him. “They played it on the holo-news in the Core for months, talking about how it was good the Jedi were gone. Calling them traitors and threats to the Republic. Even the holo footage of the bodies. Kote, they piled the bodies outside the Temple for days. There were so many. I hated seeing it. I hated it. He used our vode to do it.” There’s a broken sound from somewhere in his chest. “When some of the vode started breaking out of the chips, all I could think was what would happen if Appo or- or Bow, or Fox—the 501st’s Fox, not you, ori’vod—what would they do if they woke up and realized they’d helped kill tubies. Cadets. Everyone in the Crèches. If it were me, I knew I’d eat my blaster. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. And our General led them.”
“But-... He-...” Cody looks like he’s been struck. “Why?”
“Because the Chancellor had been grooming him for years…” Fox says coldly factual. “Right under the noses of the Jetiise.”
Rex’s expression falls further. “Of course.”
Echo rubs a hand over his face. “It’s why he hated Kenobi so kriffing much. But, I mean, come on, it’s like every Darksider has a thing about your General, specifically, Kote.” There’s a few weak attempts at a smile, but none of them are really amused.
Another silence falls over the room. All of their vode are pale and distraught, especially Kote, Jesse, Kix, Fives, Tup, Thorn, and Sev, who all visibly struggle with the new information. Thire sighs quietly as he leans against Fox a little more heavily for comfort.
“He was supposed to be the Chosen One, or whatever. Not sure how I feel about that right now.” Fives mutters sourly.
“His kids.” Rex interjects. “He had twins with Amidala. They restored balance when they beat the Emperor. Luke—crazy little mir’sheb—even brought Skywalker back into the Light right at the end. I think it was supposed to be about them the whole time.”
That makes Fox’s expression darken. “Oh, good for him. He gets to commit all the murder he wants and then his son shows up and—what, makes big tooka-eyes at him?—and it’s all fine?”
All of the Vode in the room—except Thire and Dogma—swivel their heads to look at Fox. (Ah, Thire realizes abruptly, Dogma was in the prison on Coruscant. He wouldn’t have gotten the order, being outside of official GAR lines of communication… but he would have seen a great deal of what happened.) That sound from Dogma starts up again, but this time it seems forceful, intentionally loud and evenly paced. Thire peers down at the younger vod, squinting in confusion.
Fox’s brow furrows and his hand in Dogma’s curls pauses. “Dog’ika. You’re vibrating.”
From his corner of the room, Jango laughs, sudden and bright. “Sorry. Sorry.” He waves a dismissing hand and ducks his head.
“What’s funny?” Thire tilts his head in confusion.
“It’s… not really relevant at this exact moment.” Kix hedges slowly. “But, you’re all going to need an updated biology lesson? About the Vode.” His eyes dart in Jango’s direction.
Thorn looks from the medic, to Jango, and then over to Dogma. “You know that just makes us want to know even more, right?”
“We’re not Human. Not really.” Sev offers. “More like a mix of Near Human species and, well, it turns out we’re enough descended from Taung and Togruta to purr.”
“What?” Thire blinks as he tries to wrap his head around this. “We’re not Human? But-...”
“Have the Kaminiise ever done anything for our benefit that wasn’t somehow tied to our functionality as soldiers?” Jesse asks, not really looking at anyone.
That stops Thire in his tracks. It’s true. “Well, kark.”
Fox is still, his hand now settled against Dogma’s back, eyes closed as he listens. “Kot’ika.” He keeps his voice even and doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks.
“Fox’ika?” Kote looks at Fox.
“He snapped my neck.” The words are hushed, but the room is so quiet that it almost feels like a blaster shot resounding through the air.
Kote and Rex both go pale.
“He-” Rex looks like he might be ill. “He killed you? Vader, did?”
Fox just hums an affirmative. Dogma’s purring gets deliberately louder, like he’s trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. Thire shifts to wrap his arms around his ori’vod, his Commander, and tries to keep his breathing steady.
“Kark.”
“Fox.” Kote sounds distraught. “I-...”
Whatever he wants to say gets cut off when the door to the room chimes. Before anyone else can move, Jango is up and crossing over to open it. He steps aside to let a droid enter and set down several covered containers, then it goes into the small kitchen of the room to pull out plates and utensils for them before it whistles cheerfully once and leaves again. For a long moment none of them quite know what to do, but then they're hungry enough that they shake off the clouds of grief that hang over them and mobilize to eat latemeal before it gets cold. After all, the lot of them are growing boys.
(When the food is gone, they collectively agree that they're going to need rest to be prepared for the next day. So, in twos and threes their Vode leave for other rooms off the same corridor. Jango goes first, with Sev and Tup, Jesse and Kix slip out as a pair, Kote picks up a dozing Echo and is followed out by Rex and Fives. At last, Dogma stands facing the three Guard Commanders and asks in a shy, uncertain tone if he can stay with them for the night. They glance at each other briefly and then Fox tells him they'd like that. It's true. With just the three of them they can't forget the hole where Stone would normally be.)
Dogma is content to tuck himself snugly between Fox and Thire when they all go to bed, and Thorn drapes himself over Fox, with an arm spread out to cover Thire and Dogma. Once they're all settled into the warm bed in the dark, Thire is blinking sleepily when Dogma says, “I wanted to say thank you.” His voice is hushed but clear.
“Why?” Thorn mumbles, already half asleep.
“The Guard… when I was in prison. Having the Guard made it a little more bearable… And, I'm not blind, some of the news from the 501st that was shared could only have come from the reports accessible to Command. It-... I don't know how much it mattered to you, but to me those updates, they were everything.” His voice trembles a little. “They made me feel less alone.”
Thire feels a little caught by the way both of the other Commanders shift and Fox cracks open one gleaming eye to peer at him. Just that one eye pins him in place. “Oh?” Fox asks carefully.
“I'm not sorry.” Thire tells them, honestly. “We all know he wouldn't have been in prison if he was a natborn. They'd have given him a real trial and probably let him off since Krell had admitted he was going to join the Seps. Since I couldn't fix that or even offer him touch—I switched kits with some of the boys when they were off shift and I was on shift for the prison—it felt like all I could offer was information about the Vode he knew, his unit.”
“You hated reading reports.” Thorn’s voice is muffled against Fox's shoulder.
Thire frowns into the dark room. “So? For a vod, I'd do anything. I started reading every report Rex submitted, looking for details that I thought might matter. Little things like praise for the performance of one vod or another in combat, throwaway comments about his vode, just… information about where they'd last been and what that planet was supposed to be like and such.”
Fox's eye closes again and he hums. “Didn't get caught, so s'fine.” Is his ori’vod’s very soft acquittal.
“Thank you.” Dogma whispers one more time. Then, he settles his head to Thire's shoulder and—that sound—his purr slowly picks up. It's quieter and more natural than it was before. Thire really can feel their vod'ika vibrating softly against his side. The sound makes something in Thire relax for the first time since they woke up in the past, in the Jedi Temple.
Just as Thire is brushing past the border into sleep—he notices that there's a second purr echoing the first. Even without looking, Thire knows it's Thorn.
Sleep washes over them easily.
Notes:
Jaster: So… we should tell the Jedi right?
Cody: They're not going to believe us. They didn't believe it in our future until the Sith were running around waving red lightsabers and killing Jedi
Jaster: Maybe if I ask about time travel…
Jaster: ...oh they sent me a bunch of academic papers on Force theory and philosophy, but that's it. Yeah they won't believe us.
Jango: Plan B?
Jaster: Plan B.The Force: *clearing it's throat* paging the Jedi Order, hello?
The Force: *two years later* Okay. The subtle approach isn't working. Be that way. Fine. I know what will get their attention.
The Corries: We did not agree to this.
The Jedi: !!!!!
The Jedi: What. Is. This.Fox: *deeply upset*
Plo: Ah, a youngling in distress, I know what to do about this.
Fox: *reflexive response to Force prodding*
Plo: ... he bites. How does he bite?
Fox: Don't try it again. >:(T'ra Saa: If I just project calm, everything will settle down.
The Corries: *immediate fear response to freeze upon feeling the Force doing anything*
T'ra Saa: I have miscalculated.Fox: Cody??
Cody: Fox!!
Fox & Cody: *lovingly fighting each other*
Plo: *Plo'buir instincts activating* I-... feel like I should be concerned?Plagueis: I have the strangest feeling that the Force is laughing at me. But I can't figure out why?
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
Kaminiise = Kaminoans
kote = glory
manda = the collective soul or heaven; the state of being a Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit; etc.
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
mir'sheb = smartass
Nayc = No (negative answer)
Ni ceta = sorry (lit. I kneel) groveling/more serious apology used in rarer circumstances
ori’haat = it’s the truth, I swear (lit. big truth)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 8: The Jedi High Council & Thire | 49 BBY / 688 SrD (Part 2)
Summary:
The Vode share the secrets of their futures. Everything about the Vode is disturbing to the Jedi. Master Plo is told about a boy, not yet born, who needs to be saved from his own future. The Mando'ade have plans.
Notes:
And now the Jedi Council gets the real info-dump. (Our sweet baby Kenobi should appear next chapter, fear not!)
CW: discussions of past character deaths, implications of clones having numbers instead of names, the tragedy that is the purpose and fate of the clone army, the past and mistakes of canon Jango Fett, the eugenics of the Kaminoans and how that almost definitely involved transphobia, also brief discussion around the issues of translating between languages that presume binary genders as default and languages that don't have inherent gendering at all, mentions of the dehumanization of the clones,
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning, as soon as the door to the well concealed room—usually set aside for meetings between groups of Shadows or Sentinels—slips shut and a signal jammer is active and sitting on the table, the Mand’alor speaks. “The Sith aren't gone.” The Mand'alor has settled on one side of the table in the room, his two armored advisors taking up positions on the far ends of the table from him, allowing the thirteen boys to array themselves on either side of the Mand'alor. Some of the smallest boys sit in the laps of the older ones, or squish themselves together—two boys to a single chair. “We have reason to believe the Senate is already compromised.”
“It is.” Fox interjects. He looks at his brothers. “He's already here. If he's here, there's no way it isn't compromised.” Fives reaches out and puts his hand over his older brother's shoulder in silent comfort.
All of the Jedi Masters in the room—a very select handful of High Council members, that does not include Master Dooku—wrestle with this news in silence. It clashes with everything they know. The Sith were defeated a thousand years ago. And surely they would know if there were such a resurgence of the Dark. Yet, the Force isn't resonating with any sort of falsehood. Instead, it rings with Truth.
“What proof of this, have you, Mand'alor?” Asks Master Yoda, a contemplative look on his face.
“Us.” Says Kote, a grim smile on his face that seems like it should be entirely out of place on a boy his age. Yet, it looks as though it's an expression deeply familiar to him.
Master Gallia blinks at him. “Pardon?”
The sigh from the Mand'alor is more fond than anything else. “Perhaps we start with introductions, Kot'ika?” A sheepish expression crosses the boy's face, breaking the storm clouds briefly. Smiling at his son for a moment, Mand'alor Mereel then turns back towards the Councilors in the room. “As you're aware, I'm Mand’alor Jaster Mereel of the Haat’mando’ade, in basic that would translate to something like the True Mandalorians.”
He gestures to the eldest of his sons and continues, “this is my son, Jango of Clan Fett. I adopted him after his family was killed by the group the Republic calls Death Watch when he was 8 years old.” Briefly, he pauses, eyes drifting over the other twelve boys. “The rest of the boys that you see before you are Jan’ika's clones.”
“Clones? For what purpose?” Master Koon asks, a rising sense of unease making him curl one of his clawed hands around his forearm within the sleeves of his robes.
Several of the older boys suddenly grin, near matching in their collective show of sharp toothed amusement. “For your army, of course, Generals.” Kote replies.
“Lead an army the Jedi would not.” Grandmaster Yoda frowns.
“You did. And if you don't listen to us, you will again.” Answers Kote, eyes burning with a ferocity of conviction that’s unsettling in a face so young. Everything about him is unnerving to Master Gallia. He can't be more than 12 or 13, but so much about his countenance could easily belong to an older and more experienced being.
Master Koon holds out his clawed hands in a quelling gesture as Master Mundi opens his mouth, brow furrowed. “Peace. Let us hear them out, as we agreed, before we start trying to argue and lose sight of the point of this visit.”
Kote closes his eyes briefly and adopts a pattern of breathing that reminds the Councilors of one the Jedi use in their meditations. After a moment, he looks at them again, and is much steadier, but there’s still a spark behind his eyes. Then, he introduces himself in a way that leaves them startled into silence. “I’m Kote. My designation at decanting was CC-2224, but I was most commonly known as Marshal Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps, in the Grand Army of the Republic. I served under High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master of the Jedi Order and member of the High Council, about twenty-seven years from now.”
There's a moment of eye contact from Kote to Fox and then Fox speaks. “I'm Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. Decanted as CC-1010. These are two of my fellow Commanders—CC-4149 and CC-4477—Thorn and Thire.” He motions in turn between the two boys who had appeared with him. “The Guard were the only clone forces who had no direct or indirect Jedi commanding officers. The Guard answered directly to the Chancellor of the Republic.” Fox snarls over the last sentence.
Another exchange of glances and the blond who arrived with the Mand'alor straightens slightly, even with the drowsy 6 year old boy in his lap. “I'm Captain Rex—CT-7567—of the 501st under General Anakin Skywalker and Padawan Commander Ahsoka Tano. And these are my men,” as he names them each boy salutes with crisp, practiced ease—except for the one in the Captain's lap who merely blinks sleepily at the mention of his name. “Lieutenant Jesse, our Chief Medical Officer Kix, ARC Corporal Echo, ARC Lieutenant Fives, and Privates Dogma and Tup. We were part of Torrent Company.” Private Tup snuffles quietly into his commanding officer's collarbone and the Captain smiles fondly, placing a hand over his small back.
All eyes turn to the last of the boys—the third boy around the same age as Fox and Kote. “I'm RC-1207, Sev, a commando under the Special Operations Brigade. Delta Squad. GAR SpecOps was under Generals Iri Camas and Arligan Zey.”
“Soldiers.” Master Saa says contemplatively, studying them all more closely. “But what sort of soldiers could even keep up with the Jedi? We generally do not fight in a conventional style for working with non-Force users.”
Kote—the Marshal Commander—grins again. “We're no ordinary soldiers, Master. Everything about us was genetically engineered so that we could keep up with you. If you don’t believe us, take us to your Training Salles. They didn’t clone us from a man called the Jedi Killer in our reality without purpose.” That appellation wasn't one the Jedi had ever heard before and the things it implied made a few of them glance at Jango warily. “The Vode were made to fight with the Jedi to protect the Republic. To live alongside you and defend you with everything we had. But we were also made to destroy the Jedi when the time came. It worked because none of us ever saw it coming.” He breathes out, grief settling over his features and flaring into the Force around him. “My General, Master Kenobi, he was my friend until the Emperor—the Sith—activated the biochips implanted in our brains, forcing us to turn on our own commanding officers, all of them—all of the Jedi.”
Master Koon shifts uneasily. “There is an Initiate Kenobi in the Crèches.”
“Prone to visions, young Kenobi is.” Agrees Master Yoda thoughtfully.
There’s a flicker there, between something hopeful and something afraid, in the boy’s eyes, before the Mand’alor reaches to put a gentle hand on his head. “If you will listen, we can tell you what we know of the future.”
“It seems wise for us to hear you out, Mand’alor. The Force tells me your words are true, even if they seem hard to believe. And, knowledge of what is to come may be the best weapon we have to prevent whatever led to the lives your sons experienced.” Master Nu replies, unwavering.
“Thank you.” Mand’alor Mereel nods. “I suppose the wisest place to start would be at the beginning.” Then, he turns his head towards the boy called Sev.
Sev tips his head at his father and then folds his arms over his chest. “It starts with a man named Jango Fett, who lost both his birth parents and his adoptive father before he was any older than 14 standard. When he was 14 standard, the Haat’mando’ade elevated him to the position of Mand’alor as the heir to Jaster Mereel, his adopted father. He would only be the Mand’alor for eight years before Death Watch laid an extremely effective trap for both the Haat’ade and the Jedi Order. The governor of a planet hired the Haat’ade for a mercenary job to suppress political insurgents and then sent a plea for help from the Senate that claimed the Haat’ade were killing innocent civilians. Without any investigation—so far as we were told—the Jedi sent a strike force led by Master Dooku.” Something shadowed flickers across his face when he says the Master's name.
“When approached by Jedi holding activated lightsabers, Mand’alor Fett responded as any ancient enemy might when threatened. On that battlefield, eleven Jedi and every single Mandalorian present, except Fett and one of his closest comrades, died. Jango Fett killed six Jedi with his bare hands before he could be subdued. After the Jedi handed him over to the planetary governor, he was stripped of his armor—the cultural equivalent of being robbed of his soul—and sold into slavery without the Jedi’s knowledge. The Jedi didn't realize what they had been tricked into doing until it was much too late. Several of the surviving members of the strike force, including Master Dooku and his padawan, were said to have left the Order in the aftermath.”
“I think, you can guess the political consequences, of massacring one of three major factions of the Mandalorians, for the Mandalorian Sector of the galaxy. Without a buffer, the New Mandalorians and Death Watch were in more direct conflict.” He pauses, studying the Jedi in the room. “After leaving the Order, Dooku reclaimed his hereditary position as Count of Serenno and, at some point, became a Sith apprentice. None of us have all the details on that… but eventually Jango Fett was hired by Dooku to serve as a genetic template for an army said to be intended for the Republic. Which is how the Vode came to be created.”
“You call yourselves brothers.” Master Nu observes carefully.
Kote glances at her and answers firmly. “Siblings. Vode is gender neutral. And not all of our Vode were brothers. The Kaminoans, the cloners, didn't like deviation. But I won't allow anyone to claim our siblings and sisters never existed. They just didn't often survive long enough to make it off Kamino.”
There's a ripple of grief through the boys, the Vode, that is a deep, agonized thing.
“From what I have been told,” the armored being on the far right side of the table speaks up, “there were many genetic alterations made during the process of creating the Vode. Many were meant to make them stronger and reduce any supposed flaws. Others were much less… ethical. For one, they all aged at least twice the speed of a normal Human or Near Human.” Master Koon feels a sinking sense of horror at the idea, children grown too fast and turned to weapons. “There were also behavioral modifications. They were intended to be more loyal and less independent than naturally born sentients. Creative and skilled with tactics, but not meant to be true sentients. And… there were, of course, the hidden inhibitor chips.”
The armored being tilts their head. “It is merely the work of whatever brought these children back into the past that has given them a more natural rate of aging and either removed, or recreated versions of their bodies that never had, these biochips. We've checked quite thoroughly, thanks to Fives having discovered the existence of the chips in his own time and knowing exactly what we were looking for.” Gauntleted fingers tap on the table once, “from what the boys have shared, the chips were framed as being anti-aggression chips. However, that was not the case. They were placed in the frontal lobe of the brain and contained a list of protocols that, when activated, could override the very personalities of the Vode.” A shudder seems to run through most of the boys at the table.
Rex picks up the thread, “the most important of those protocols was Order 66. Kill all Jedi. It was activated in the entire army—millions of our Vode—all at once near the end of the war. In a matter of days, the Jedi were dead beyond scattered survivors who disappeared or were hunted down in the following years. The person in control of those chips was both the Chancellor of the Republic and the Sith Lord.”
“When the chips were activated…” Jesse starts carefully, “it was like everything that made us individuals was just… wiped. Our names, our friends, our feelings. We could only really think what the chips allowed us to think. Commander Tano was like a little sister to the 501st. Even after she was framed and expelled from the Order, we loved her. Any of us would have gladly died for her. Some of us did die for her over the three years of the war. Under the chips, none of it mattered. We hunted her across the entirety of our capital ship. Anything we could do to prevent her escape, we did. All of the escape pods, shuttles, and starships were jettisoned as quickly as possible…”
“Because Fives had found the chips, only a matter of months prior, I was able to warn Tano.” Then, Rex scoffs with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. “She didn't even try to escape until she'd trapped me, dragged me to the medbay, and removed my chip. I fought my own Vode to get us off that ship before it crashed into the surface of a nearby moon. We were the only two to survive it.” His hand clenches and unclenches carefully, on the table where it won't hurt Tup. “I had to bury so many Vode. Then, we spent years on the run.”
Dogma, small as he is and sitting in Jango's lap, looks directly at Master Yoda. “The Vode on Coruscant marched on the Temple. Killed everyone inside, down to the littlest Jedi in the Crèches. Footage of the destroyed Temple and the piles of bodies were on the holo-news, and celebrated like it was a victory to be without the Jedi.” Everything about that feels dissonant to the Jedi, but still the Force only rings of truth around them.
“There were some survivors of the Jedi who Fell instead of being killed. They formed what was the Inquisitorius. A special branch of the Empire designed for the task of hunting and killing every Jedi or Force User they found… or stole children to torture and twist until they also Fell and could be trained as Inquisitors themselves. For two decades the simple reality of being Force Sensitive was practically a death sentence.” Echo tells the Jedi, unsmiling. “With their main purpose complete, our Vode became even more disposable than they already were. Those who weren't decommissioned en masse became subjects for innumerable experiments under the Empire.”
Kote’s voice is hoarse as he adds. “The Empire carved up so much of the known galaxy for its own gain. It was unrecognizable by the time those of us under the chips started to wake up enough to think for ourselves again. We weren't made for cruelty and mindless violence. We were soldiers but we'd learned loyalty and honor. We learned it from the Jedi. Many who woke up simply couldn't live with themselves and ended their lives.”
“Then… four years ago, we found Sev on Yavin IV, unconscious and injured. But he looked so much like Jango that we brought him into our care in hopes of learning who he was and why he was identical to my son. What we learned changed everything. I'm only alive because Sev could recall being told the story of how one of my own closest comrades would betray me to Death Watch.” Mand’alor Mereel's gaze is distant. “But, he didn't know much of the fate of the Galaxy, since he was left behind by his squad on Kashyyyk and was stranded there until he died at about the age of 16. It was Kote and Torrent appearing on Saleucami that gave us enough information for us to really reach out.”
“You didn't answer though. Or didn't want to listen.” Kote adds. “But, whether you wanted our help or not, we weren't going to let what happened before happen again. Even without the Jedi, we know enough that we've been tracking the future Sith Lord and tracked down the individual we believe to be his Master. And some of their allies. The thing is… they're all almost exclusively in and around the Core and the Republic. Which puts them in your jurisdiction.” He draws a datapad out and slides it across the table for the Councilors to review.
A list of names, connections, subtle dealings, locations suspected of harboring laboratories and stashes of the Sith. The Councilors are silent as they study it. “Many of these are politicians or their allies. Surely you must understand that the Jedi are not meant to be involved in politics. If we acted against any of these individuals without something more concrete we'd be accused of political assassinations or acting out of line.”
The Mand'alor inclines his head agreeably. “The Jedi can’t. You're right. But… we never asked you to kill them. We're telling you who they are…” Behind those words is something that none of the Jedi quite know what to think about.
Master Yoda hums, expression deeply troubled. “Much to think about, you have given us.”
“In the meantime, I understand that Fox does not want us to touch his mind, but if you and your Vode had so much contact with the Sith Lord as your commanding officer, it is most likely that you need a Mind Healer.” Master Gallia tells the Mandalorians worriedly. “At the very least, I have to ask that you let them look.”
In his seat, Fox goes stiff and silent. It's Fives putting a hand on his shoulder again and softly telling him, “you don't have to say yes if you don't want to ori’vod. Buir won't let them do anything to you that you don't allow. Not ever.”
“They will not hurt you.” Soothes Master Saa, “but they may be able to assist in alleviating any damage.”
Fox goes pale anyway. “It’s not…”
“The cloners already experimented on them. A lot.” Jango bites out angrily. “We try not to force them into any kind of medical care without explanation and their explicit agreement.”
Grief washes over the members of the Jedi Council’s signatures in the Force as the words sink in. But, of course, clones bred for an army would more than likely be subject to all kinds of medical experiments and abuses. “I see.” Says Master Saa carefully. “However, in this case… we cannot guarantee Fox’s continued wellbeing if he is not helped. The influences of the Dark in his mind could very well drive him mad or kill him without intervention.”
“I certainly understand now why his shielding is so vicious.” Master Koon murmurs.
“Me’ven?” The oldest boy, Jango, whips his head to glare at the Jedi Master, expression thunderous in protective fury for his little brothers—his clones. “What does that mean?”
The Kel Dor Jedi winces just a bit. “Ah. He was very distressed shortly after they arrived in the Temple and I unthinkingly attempted to do what we often do for our own younglings. The intent was to help ease that distress and help him release the feelings into the Force to make them less overwhelming. However… his shielding is quite strong and like nothing I have ever seen before. It's… sharp and, to protect himself, his shields actively repel intrusions by striking—not unlike his namesake—by biting before actual contact can be fully made.”
All of the Vode—except Fox—blink at Master Koon in surprise. Then, they turn to look at their brother who scowls under the attention.
“Perhaps, the boys could have some time to think it over.” Mand’alor Mereel offers diplomatically. “I imagine that there's still more questions that you may want answered and while we seem to have overwhelmed you… there is plenty more we could share about the shape of the future if the Vode had not been brought backwards in time.”
Master Gallia is quick to pick up the thread. “I believe that would be agreeable for all of us. We will need time to share this information with the rest of the Council and your boys appear more than a little bit exhausted by sharing their history with us. Perhaps we split up for the moment, and come back together at a later time to discuss further.” Several of the other Councilors nod in agreement.
Master Koon says in a more serene manner. “For now, you are all our guests and no harm shall come to you while you’re in this Temple.” There’s a murmur from Fox that makes Rex snort out a laugh. “If you do wish to make use of the Training Salles, please let us know and we'll gladly set up a time for that. And there are the gardens, as well as other places that are generally available to visitors. We can provide a guide to keep anyone from getting lost.”
Thorn laughs lightly at that. “Most of us spent three years coming and going from the Temple. I hardly think we’ll be at any real risk of getting lost.”
Conceding the point, Master Saa nods. “Yes, well, if a guide is required, there will be one available. However it does seem to be around the time for midmeal, and therefore a good time for us to conclude for the time being.”
None of the Mandalorians have any problem with that, it seems, as they are more than willing to rise from their seats along with the Jedi and file out of the room and into the corridors to part ways.
“Erm. Master Plo Koon?” When the Kel Dor turns to see who is addressing him, he finds himself looking at Rex, the young blond Captain, who is uncharacteristically nervous compared to his general demeanor over the course of the discussions.
“Yes? How may I assist you, Young Rex?”
The boy crinkles his nose slightly at the form of address, but then takes a deep breath. “You’re a Finder, right?” His wide brown gold eyes are searching.
“I have been, yes.” The Jedi Master allows. “Not so much now that I serve on the Council, but when the Force calls, I follow it.”
“My general.” He starts, pauses, seems to consider what he wants to say, and then explains. “Anakin Skywalker. He isn’t born yet. But he will be. In our time, he was born a slave on Tatooine and didn’t come to the Temple until he was nine. It-... He-... This isn’t a matter of sentiment, sir. I swear.” Those bright eyes look back towards the Kel Dor again, something urgent and afraid behind them. “The Jedi said that he shone like a sun in the Force. That he was one of the most powerful Force Sensitives that any of them had ever seen.”
Briefly, he fidgets and looks away again. “It made him very strong. But it also made him very dangerous. In our time, he-... the Sith who was hiding on Coruscant had access to him and was able to influence him to eventually Fall.” Sighing, he forces himself to look back at Master Plo. “I’m telling you this as a warning, sir. He’s too powerful. If the Jedi don’t save him and protect him more carefully this time… the Sith will twist him into a tool of destruction again.”
The look in his eyes turns haunted in a way that feels entirely wrong on someone so young looking. “He led the march on the Temple, at the end. Killed younglings in cold blood. You cannot let that happen again, Master. Please.” He looks away, staring off into the middle distance. “I know you’re not supposed to interfere in Hutt Space, but… His mother’s name is Shmi Skywalker. She should be owned by Gardulla the Hutt. I-... I can’t stomach the idea of him being out there again and nobody stopping him from becoming the monster I remember.” Swallowing hard, the boy looks back at Master Plo once more. “I hate what he became. I hope I never see him in this life. But, if me telling you how to find him somehow protects us all from what he could be… I had to try.”
For a long, long moment the Jedi Master is silent, trying to understand the sheer enormity of what the young Captain is telling him. It is true, the Jedi are not supposed to interfere in Hutt Space. However… Rubbing his chin thoughtfully with one hand, the Kel Dor nods to himself. “There may be something we can do. Thank you for telling me this, Rex.”
“Thank you for listening.” Rex answers, a huge weight suddenly released from his shoulders with the knowledge that the Jedi will do something . “I-... you were one of Kote and Fox’s batchmates’ General and we always knew you were one of the good ones. So, I thought if anyone would listen, it had to be you.”
This piques Master Plo’s interest and he studies the boy thoughtfully. “I see. I am glad that even in a time of such darkness as this war that you and your brothers lived through, that I was able to be a source of some comfort to even one of your brothers.”
“Sir.” There’s a flicker of humor in the boy’s eyes now. Then, something sadder crosses his face briefly before he shakes it off. “Wolffe, Kote and Fox’s batchmate, when he was injured and lost one of his eyes, we were so sure that he would be decommissioned because he wasn’t going to be able to serve anymore. But, you fought for him, and got him a cybernetic eye so he could recover and go right back out into the battlefield with you. You saved his life. You didn’t just offer the Wolfpack comfort, you practically adopted them. They called you Plo’buir. Their father. And you called them your sons.”
Rex shyly reaches out to touch the Jedi’s hand lightly. “They loved you so fiercely and we could all see that you loved them just as fiercely in return.” He breathes slowly in an attempt to contain the swirling emotions of recalling his lost brother. “Thank you, for loving them, when so many others didn’t even see us as people.” The boy’s eyes grow wet then, and he ducks his head to hide.
The Kel Dor can’t stop himself before he’s kneeling down to be much closer to the boy’s level so he can lift one sleeve covered hand and wipe some of the tears from Rex’s cheeks. “Your love for your brothers is a beautiful thing, Rex. Thank you for sharing a part of them with me.”
There’s a wobbly smile, and Rex nods, clearly out of words he needed to say.
“Come. Let’s get you back to your brothers. I’m sure they’re worrying about you already.” He rises back up to his feet and holds out a hand to Rex, who grasps it with his own much smaller hand.
“Thank you.” Rex tells him again, when they part ways outside of the rooms where the Mand’alor’s people are staying. Then, he lets go of the Jedi’s hand and takes a step back. Carefully, the boy bows once to Master Plo, unpracticed but intentional in the way he does it.
It makes Master Plo’s breath catch for a moment, to see one more sign of the unique relationship between the clones and the Jedi. (Because the Vode know what it means to the Jedi they shared their lives with.) When Rex straightens back up, the Kel Dor returns the bow, respectfully. Offering him a bow of equals—because to deny the experiences these boys have lived and not recognize them for their strengths would be a terrible mistake. “Have a good evening, Rex.”
Smiling, Rex nods. “You, as well, Master Plo."
(For once, a member of the High Council calls upon Master Nico Diath with a clear request that does not come from the Senate. Free Shmi Skywalker.
A young slave woman is rescued a few weeks later from her chains and offered a place on Coruscant—under the protection of the Jedi Order. She goes… and hears strange stories of young boy soldiers from a dark future where her son loses everything, including himself. These boys never do return to the Temple. And so, she never gets the chance to meet them, to thank them. But she thinks of them kindly, and hopes wherever they are in the galaxy, that they’re happy.
Shmi becomes an immediate favorite amongst the initiates in the Crèche where she assists in caring for them. Unbeknownst to her, Shmi meets a young boy who—in that other life—would have been her own child’s teacher. In this life, he won’t be. That burden will fall on someone more prepared for the responsibility. But still, something in the Force sings between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker. Soft and warm, like going home after a long day.)
Little more than an hour after midmeal Thire finds himself and Thorn following closely on the tail of Fox as their Commander races across the corridor their guest rooms are on to the door of the rooms where the Mand’alor is staying. Having worked alongside Fox for years is the only reason neither of them are startled when the door unlocks and opens itself without anyone touching it. Fox makes quick progress into the room and Thire just scrambles to keep up. Once they're far enough into the room to see that Kote, Sev, Rex, and Jango are sitting loosely around the seating in the center of the living area—the remains of their own midmeal scattered across the low table and the floor—studying datapads, Fox comes to a stop. He jabs an accusing finger at them. “I knew it! You're planning something.”
While Jango, Sev, and Rex all startle in their spots, Kote just smirks at them. “I told you we didn't need to tell him, for him to figure it out.” Then he turns his head and gestures to the empty couch and a few empty chairs and cushions. “We didn't want the Jedi to overhear. They need plausible deniability. But, yes, we've been working on this for two years.”
Fox narrows his eyes at his batchmate, but then jerks his head and drops onto the couch—with both Thorn and Thire close behind. “I was wondering why you needed two years to figure out how to kill a single man.”
“For one, he's a Sith and killed multiple Jedi Masters himself. Second, Palpatine has his Sith Master still and, besides that, he had no shortage of allies last time. If we want to do this and win… it has to succeed the first time.” Rex explains.
Sev snorts and interjects. “Also, Jas’buir is the leader of the faction of more traditional Mando’ade who don't use child soldiers, so we've had way too much time on our hands since we're all banned from seeking out active combat scenarios. But, Kote and I—you as well, Fox—are all almost 13… which means we can complete our verd’gotene soon and start taking on the fight for real.”
“So, we're—what—hoping he hasn't noticed us yet and waiting another year to do anything about him?”
“Who said we're waiting?” Jango asks politely as he flicks over what looks like building plans on a datapad.
Kote allows himself another smirk that makes Fox visibly bristle before holding out a datapad to the three Guard Commanders. “We won't be doing anything directly, but the Haat’ade are highly motivated to prevent the future glassing of Mandalore by the Empire. We're just the strategic planning.”
The datapad turns on to reveal years of information gathered through spying directly and indirectly on not just the known Sith Lord, but on many of his connections. Some are unfamiliar to Thire. A Muun from the Banking Clan whose personal connections and private activities are extremely suspect. But many are very familiar. Separatist leaders and allies, almost every single one. Nute Gunray, Wat Tambor, Poggle the Lesser, San Hill, Shu Mai, Lok Durd, Nuvo Vindi… the list stretches on. There's a handful of names that Thire has to pause to consider.
“Tarkin?” Thorn asks.
Rex makes a so-so gesture with one hand. “For now, we're just monitoring him. But he was one of the military heads of the Empire and had absolutely no problems with using our Vode as cannon fodder and building the Death Star, so… he's on a watch list for us but not urgent, yet.”
Fox straightens up in his seat. “Okay. Wait. Mandalore gets glassed? What's a Death Star?”
Sev sucks in a breath. “Shab. We probably should have mentioned those to you before we got distracted by Skywalker last night.”
“Right. Osik.” Rex groans and drops his head into his hands.
“Where is the Mand’alor, if this is a strategy meeting?” Thire asks quickly, glancing around the living area.
Jango tips his head to indicate the bedroom door. “One of the ori'ramikade handling our intervention on Melida/Daan called in with a status update, so buir stepped out to talk to them without us being a distraction. Nothing to worry about. Just one of our many efforts to un-kriff situations that the Republic would try to fix in the future, but only make things worse by being idiots.”
“Oh.” Thire says.
Kote sighs and plucks up a different datapad. “Right, well, in the meantime… Let's fill these three in on what exactly the future looks like by the time of the Empire's fall and what we've got from after that, too.”
Thorn grimaces. “I have a feeling we're not going to like it?”
“No. Probably not.” Sev's smile is crooked and a little sad. “But we can order snacks from the closest Refectory if we want? Indulge while we talk about the horrors of the galaxy's future?”
“I would kill for a cup of caf right about now.” Fox mutters.
The door to the bedroom slips open as Thorn makes grabby hands for Sev to show him the menu for the Refectory's snacks and desserts. Jaster steps through and answers. “Sorry, ad’ika, no caf until you're older. It's not good for you.”
“You're not my buir.” Huffs the Guard Commander.
“Yet.” Jango stage whispers, making Kote, Rex, Sev, Thorn, and—to his own surprise—Thire break into laughter.
Okay. Kote was right. This isn't Jango the way he was as Prime. This Jango? Thire might actually be able to like him.
Jaster manages to talk Fox down to just some hoth chocolate—which he clearly enjoys, despite making a quiet fuss about it not being the same as caf the entire time he's drinking it.
Notes:
Cody: Surprise, we're from the future and we're super soldiers that were made just for you! In the best and worst ways possible.
The Jedi: Oh no.Jocasta: Ah, the clones call themselves “the Brothers.” I see.
Cody: You do not see. Mando’a doesn't do gender like that and not everyone is cis in this galaxy. We're “the Siblings.”The Jedi: We can't just kill people.
The Vode: Yes, we're aware of your Code. We didn't count on you killing anyone for us.
Jaster: But, we will hope none of you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. *wink wink*
The Jedi: ?!?
The Vode: Don't worry about it. :3Nico: Not that I mind an excuse to kill a Hutt, but… why?
The Council: …time traveling Mandalorian clones.
Nico: …
Nico: FAY your master's people are doing weird shit like time travel
Fay: Oh. Was that what that weird feeling in the Force was? Hm.Sidious: I have a bad feeling about this…
(off-screen)
Cody: I mean he did help end a centuries long planetary civil war at 13 or 14 while part of a faction put together of only children
The Haat’ade: Where is this planet? Asking for a friend.
Translations from Mando'a
ad'ika = little one; child, daughter, son, of any age; may be used informally to a group of adults in a manner similar to “lads” or “guys” (ad’ike is plural)
buir = parent (buire is plural)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
kote = glory
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Me’ven? = Huh? What? Expression of bewilderment or disbelief
ori’ramikad = super commando (Mandalorian designation of elite special forces) (ori’ramikade is plural)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
verd'goten = Mandalorian coming of age tradition, taken around the age of 13 (lit. birth of the warrior) (verd'gotene is plural)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
Chapter 9: The Jedi High Council & Thire | 49 BBY / 688 SrD (Part 3)
Summary:
The Corries get secret caf and an important talk with their new potential ori’vod. The Vode show the Jedi exactly how good of soldiers they are. Fox accepts some help. Two meetings: one of a remembered nightmare and the other aligned by the Force itself.
Certainly, the Council insists, the string of assassinations after the Mandalorians depart from Coruscant is a complete coincidence.
Notes:
This chapter has a couple of my favorite moments. It's also, I'm pretty sure, the longest chapter so far?
CW: discussion of Jango's early backstory and the loss of his sister (he thinks she's dead whether she is or isn't) and Jango's thoughts and feelings from his early relationship with Sev, more discussions/implications of canon Jango's treatment of the clones, a revisiting of Umbara with an alive and clueless Krell, implications that some of the characters are having panic attacks or other PTSD reactions to things Umbara-related, discussions and some descriptions around mind healing/medical intervention in the Force, the consequences of a Force Sensitive Fox being under a Sith's thumb for years, implied character in the background trying to dodge needed medical treatment, references to Obi-Wan's backstory (especially the Jedi Apprentice novels), ALSO some people die off-screen.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thire, frankly, doesn't know how his life ended up like this, is what he thinks when the next morning he opens the door to their guest rooms—still in his borrowed sleep clothes—and finds himself staring at Jango Fett. Jango Fett, who is carrying a couple of closed containers of food from the Refectory. He thinks, that Jango looks inordinately pleased with himself, though he can't tell for the life of him why. Until he realizes there's the smell of caf. Blinking in disbelief, he steps aside to let the teenager in and watches in mute surprise as the containers of food are set down and then a hanging drink container that Thire hadn't noticed is lifted onto the table next to the food.
The sound of the door to the corridor snicking shut next to him is what startles him back into movement. “You brought caf? Won't Jaster be mad?”
“What Buir doesn't know won't hurt him.” Says Jango confidently as he saunters into their kitchen to drag out plates and mugs for caf.
Again, Thire finds himself just staring, unable to find his voice. He's only saved by Fox sticking his head out of the bedroom—summoned by the smell of caf as surely as he always had been during their time in the Guard. “You are my new favorite person.” Fox announces as he crosses over to accept a mug of caf from Jango. Once he has it, he just stands there holding the mug looking like Jango has handed him a star. Then, he shakes himself a little and sets about poking through the options for sweeteners and creams.
Jango raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment as he opens the food containers one by one to reveal different pastries, some fresh fruit, and other firstmeal items that are all suitable for eating without utensils. It all looks and smells really good. “They don't really have anything Mandalorian in the Refectories, but I figured I'd grab some things that sounded good.” He explains, catching sight of Thire's deeply confused expression no doubt.
“Okay.” Thire says, still feeling like he's having some kind of out of body experience. (It’s one thing to see a young, friendly Jango Fett when he's already fully awake and mentally prepared for it. Seeing him shortly after waking up is just disorienting to Thire in so many ways.)
“Is this a bribe?” Thorn asks, sounding delighted by the possibility. “Are we being bribed? If so, whatever you want, the answer is yes.” He comes stumbling out of the bedroom on Fox's tail, hair still sticking out on odd angles from him moving around in his sleep.
“Not really.” Jango replies, pouring another cup of caf and holding it out for Thorn to take. “I just-... I've had years to convince your Vode that I'm not going to hurt any of them. I figured this could at least get me a chance at a truce?”
Fox squints over the top of his mug and guesses, “Kote beat you up didn't he?”
The older boy flushes a little but smiles anyway. “Thoroughly, yes. And then held me in a headlock and yelled at me. It helped, so I'm not complaining, I just would rather not repeat the experience, if I don't have to.”
Thorn snickers into his mug. But, Fox just smiles fondly, “yeah, that's Kote for you. None of us were taught how to deal with emotions, but for him fighting someone is cathartic and then he'll usually be able to talk about whatever set him off to start with. Sort of.”
“Huh,” is Thire's eloquent reply. He’s trying really hard to picture Kote overpowering Jango, and the image doesn’t quite make sense—even if he knows rationally that the Vode would have learned fighting skills to a level more advanced than most teenagers do.
“Did you want caf, Thire?” Jango prompts patiently.
“Oh! Yes, please.” Still a bit dazed, he finally lets himself wander over to the table and accepts the mug held out to him by Jango. As he adds some fruit based sweetener that Thire remembers stealing from the leftovers of catered Senate meetings, he lets himself glance at Jango from the corner of his eye.
He looks so comfortable like this. Not even wearing much more than the top half of his beskar’gam, curls just a bit fluffy from probably taking a sonic before his venture to obtain food. It's so easy to look at him and see just another vod instead of Prime. There's something fundamentally different about him. Thire isn't even sure if it's the grief that this Jango hasn't experienced yet, or if it's something else. But, he's not hard and glaring, always moving like he's on the edge. A silent rage bleeding out from under the surface. Like this, pouring his own mug of caf and divvying up pastries with Thire's brothers, he could almost be soft .
“You're really okay with Jaster adopting all of the others?” Thire ponders, not entirely certain if he meant to ask it out loud or not.
Jango looks up and meets his gaze with brown gold eyes that Thire has seen in so many Vode's faces, and one side of his mouth tips up. “Sev didn't tell you? I wanted to adopt him before Jaster even brought it up.”
Thire stops, staring at him over the top of his mug. “Why?”
The question makes Jango's face go sad in a way that Thire knows he’d never seen on Prime. “I used to have an older sister.” He starts quietly. “Arla. She- we didn't always get along but I never doubted that I was safe when she was around to watch my back. When Kyr’tsad killed her and my buire… I didn't know if I would ever feel safe again. It made me angry and I fought Jaster just as much as I trusted him at first.”
His gaze drops to his mug thoughtfully for a moment, then comes back up to meet Thire's again. “When we found Sev, he was pretty much the same age I was when I lost Arla. And I was almost the same age Arla had been when she died. I don't think I thought of it in exactly those terms until later… but, the way he acted—like a cornered snapping and snarling animal right up until his body tried to give out on him—it reminded me of me. Of how scared I had been under my own outward fury after losing everything I had ever known.”
“I couldn't fathom not trying to take care of him. He needed someone and it was pretty clear that he wasn't going to let the adults get too close when he was feeling vulnerable and didn't know where he was or what was happening.” Jango turns his mug in his hands absently, as he continues. “But, there was something about how he looked at me, behind all of his anger and disdain, that looked like it could be trust.” Briefly he chews on his lower lip and furrows his brow. “Maybe it was instinct, I don't know. I just wanted to be safe for him.”
“I think he just saw a Vod right up until he realized I wasn't. But, by that point, he had also realized I wasn't the Jango Fett he'd known. Maybe it was easier because he was trained by Vau and not… Fett.” There's a shrug of his shoulders. “Finding out about all of you, about what that Fett had done. It made me angry to imagine anyone hurting children, but especially children from my DNA. You should have been his family. I don't-... I'll never understand it because my first instinct when I saw Sev was that he was mine to protect.”
He pauses to sip his caf, then tells them. “I've felt the same way every time I've met another one of you. I know now that you mostly don't need that protection. But, I look at you and see little brothers. The idea of not bringing you home and making sure you've got a chance to be cared for… I don't think I could live with it.”
“Oh.” Thire replies helplessly. It’s a lot. But it makes something inside of him untangle a little bit, to see this version of Jango—in a way that is so outside of any version of Prime that he can think of—and realize this Jango is nothing like Prime at all.
Fox looks at Jango thoughtfully for a second before gruffly saying, “Thank you. For taking care of our Vode. I’m glad they’ve had someone watching their backs.”
“I’ll watch your back, too, if you’d let me.” Jango smiles then, small and a bit soft.
Thorn, Fox and Thire exchange silent glances, considering. Then, Fox flashes the Corrie sign for ‘safe?’ and Thire finds himself nodding in agreement. It’s Thorn who turns towards Jango and announces cheerfully. “Okay. But only if we’re allowed to watch yours, too.”
That surprises him. Jango blinks—a little startled—before that small, slightly soft smile appears again. “Deal.”
(Later the same day)
It takes little more than an hour in the Salles for the Jedi to understand just how truly devastating over three million fully grown, adult versions of these boys would be. Against a small cohort of training droids turned to their highest setting—and with a single Jedi Knight on their side—they take out the training droids with an efficiency that seems almost impossible. And it's not only with their blasters. Kote and Rex in particular seem to take delight in running into melee range with the Jedi on their team and engaging the droids in hand to hand. Several Jedi Knights are curious enough to trade through and before each session, all the Vode ask them is what their preferred lightsaber form is—they know all of them by name or number—and then immediately adapt their positioning accordingly and proceed to show similarly startling results.
In hand to hand, even as young as he is, Kote manages to get the upper hand on several Jedi who would otherwise consider themselves rather proficient in hand to hand. He can't beat every single one, but he makes all of them genuinely fight for it. Sev and Fox are equally formidable.
Then, they insist on using some of the obstacle courses with a Jedi Knight running it, too. The Jedi who are dubious about their ability to keep pace are left gaping because even being twelve years old the three eldest boys barely falter in their steps. They rarely fall more than a handful of paces behind to demonstratively twist and fire a few stun rounds at both stationary and moving targets before catching back up again. Even moving at top speed and working around obstacles, their aim is still more accurate than most beings trained with blasters.
It's only because the medic that came with the Mandalorians insists on it, that they take a break after an hour of demonstration. None of the three seem to have done much more than break a light sweat. But they drink water and let their littler brothers take turns sparring at a lower intensity. Even in young bodies—and working with limitations to minimize their risk of injuries—they all move with a practiced ease and pull out moves that are like nothing the Jedi have ever seen before. If they were adults, they would be brutal to fight against.
One of these mini-spars is ongoing when the youngest and newest member of the High Council—who had been conspicuously absent for the past few days—comes into the occupied salle to observe. Fives and Echo are circling each other looking for openings, as a slightly tired looking Korun slips up alongside Masters Gallia and Koon. He nods to the both of them in greeting.
“Ah, Master Windu, glad you could join us.”
“Yes, I apologize Master Koon, there were some shatterpoints that gave me one of the worst headaches I’ve had in a long time. But it seems to be slightly more tolerable now.” He says apologetically.
“That was probably us. Sorry.” Interjects the boy called Jesse. All three Masters turn to look at the boy. He grins, with only a small amount of chagrin. “Since us being here is messing with the timeline. Right?”
Master Windu blinks in surprise. “I suppose so, yes. Which one are you?”
“Jesse, sir. And you're Master Mace Windu. Have you figured out your fancy-”
Rex covers his mouth with one hand and shakes his head at him. “Jesse, stop. The man just got here and you don't need to be interrogating him about his preferred form after you've just met him.”
From next to Jango, Kote gives Master Windu an appraising look, and then glances over at his older brother. Jango catches it and narrows his eyes at him. “Why do I get the feeling that you're going to rope me into something stupid or dangerous, vod'ika?”
“Me'ven?” Kote blinks as if surprised and widens his eyes in feigned innocence—though he's projecting amusement very intentionally and loudly into the Force. (A peculiar skill for him to know as someone who the Jedi can confirm is not Force Sensitive, unlike Fox who keeps his mind and presence heavily shrouded from them.) “Why would you accuse me of such a thing?”
“You're not that subtle, Kot'ika. You know you're not. What are you scheming?”
Pouting slightly—also an exaggerated expression—he tips his head towards Master Windu. “He killed Prime in our time. In a large melee and close quarters combat, so it was hardly a fair measure of skill. But, I just wondered how closely matched you'd be in hand to hand since Windu is good at it. Or… he was in the future?”
“Master Windu is very proficient in hand to hand. That is true.” Master Gallia agrees.
Kote widens his eyes at Jango in a silent plea. “Come on. It could be fun. We've taught you a bunch of your own tricks. You might give him a run for his credits.”
Jango sighs. “You're terrible and I love you, vod’ika.” He turns to the Jedi Master and asks quietly. “Would you like to spar with me? Hand to hand, probably, since I won’t pretend to be particularly good with a sword. Kote has given me endless osik about it.”
“I would see no harm in a friendly spar.” Master Windu decides after thinking it over for a moment, clearly sizing up the seventeen year old boy in front of him. Since the young Master himself is still in his early twenties, he doesn’t feel it will be a completely uneven match up. “Though, I don’t think I will be much of a sparring partner today, since I am still feeling, what is likely the effects of your younger siblings, on the Force.”
“I don’t think I understand what that means, but it can always wait for another time.” With a shrug, Jango turns back towards his vod’ika. “Not this time, Kot’ika.”
Kote is a good sport though and nods. “I’ll have to make sure Rex and I teach you some more moves that work well up close. Prime always said the best way to take out a Force User was to get under their guard and strike before they could bring their saber back down.”
Master Windu looks back at the younger boy in surprise. “I-... Pardon?”
“Jango Fett in our timeline was the Jedi Killer.” The boy replies with a sharp grin that the Korun finds more than a little bit unsettling.
“Kote. Stop messing with the Jetiise.” Jango lightly scruffs his brother’s hair and tugs, though not hard enough to do more than force him to turn his head slightly. “Mir’sheb.”
Rex steps closer then and says. “Kote could show them his skills with a lightsaber instead.” A touch of mischief in his eyes as he watches all of the Jedi within hearing range startle and turn to look at his brother with more appraising eyes.
“You know how to use a lightsaber?” Master Drallig asks, an expression of suspicion on his face.
This just makes Rex snicker. “General Kenobi could’ve lost his lightsaber even if Kote glued it to him. Eventually, he learned how to use it himself as insurance.”
Huffing at his younger brother’s accurate summary of the reasons behind his skill, Kote nods. “If you have a practice saber, I can demonstrate.”
“Looks like the Dominos have devolved to playing anyway.” Jesse comments.
Sure enough the pair are sprawling across the training mats with little real purpose beyond catching their breath and occasionally swatting at the other from their positions within arm’s reach of the other. The sight of them makes Rex smile fondly while Kote snorts in amusement. A few of the Jedi Masters exchange glances, before finally Master Gallia shrugs at Master Drallig and he goes to pick up a training saber for the boy. When he sets it in Kote’s hand, he goes to explain how to adjust the intensity, but Kote is already a step ahead of him, turning so he can ignite the saber without hurting anyone, lowering the intensity to something appropriate for his demonstration, then extinguishing it again. Master Drallig just stares at him in silent confusion.
Kote tests the balance and weight of the actual hilt, makes a considering noise, and then vaults himself over a barrier and into one of the open lanes for saber practice. Once he finds a good place to start where his form will be easily visible to the Jedi, he reignites the practice saber and assumes a familiar starting position. Soresu. That sends a quick ripple of disbelief through the Jedi watching. But, against all expectations the Jedi might have, Kote performs the entirety of the Form III basic and intermediate katas with near textbook perfection, and then moves through most of the advanced kata before he pauses midway through. “That’s about as far as we got. I think I could do some of the rest, but it wouldn’t be exactly right.”
Master Drallig sputters a little as the boy extinguishes the saber and then walks over and hands it back to him easily, like he hasn’t just blown the minds of every Jedi in the room.
“Who taught you that?” Master Windu asks, brow furrowed.
The boy’s lips quirk and there’s something gentle behind his eyes. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a Master of Soresu. Though, he also could use Ataru, Shien, Niman, and some Jar’Kai by the time I knew him.”
“Wh-...” Master Drallig looks down at the saber hilt and then back at Kote. “And he just taught you one of the forms?”
“Yes?” Kote cocks his head. “Like Rex said, he was always losing his saber in the middle of the battlefield. I was very good at getting it back to him, but sometimes I needed to use it to do that successfully.”
Several Jedi Masters just stare in a silence that is a clear mixture of horrified—that any Jedi could be so careless as to lose their lightsaber repeatedly—and baffled—that an apparent non-Force Sensitive could work through such a significant portion of the Soresu katas like it was nothing. Kote smiles easily and swings himself back over the barrier. Then, he turns and wanders off to rejoin some of his vode, lifting Tup from where the tiny boy is trying to wrap himself around Kix’s leg to hold him still so Dogma can climb their vod like a ladder and attempt to knock him over. Even as Tup complains against his battle being disrupted, he’s perfectly happy to have Kote sling him over his shoulder and carry him off towards where Jaster is watching all of his children with an amused expression on his face.
The Jedi watch him go and then exchange glances as the sheer competence of the Vode really settles in for them.
“I think,” Master Gallia says carefully, “we are very fortunate that these boys are on our side.”
(A few days later)
Thire thinks—as he watches an unfortunately familiar Besalisk pause little more than a meter or two away from where the Vode are sprawled out in the Room of a Thousand Fountains for a semi-impromptu midmeal—that perhaps their idea to spend prolonged time outside of their guest rooms was a terrible mistake. The goal, of course, had been noble. Fox had finally decided he’d try to brave the Mind Healers before they were due to leave for Mandalore, and it had been Kix’s idea to do something relaxing before the appointments for all three of the Guard, so they’d be less anxious before the actual time with the Healers. That plan has clearly been ruined. He glances around, and regrets that neither Jaster nor Jango nor any of the adult Mando’ade who came with them are anywhere within visual range. In fact, he very much finds himself wanting Jango in visual range right now. Which is why, he grabs the commlink on Sev’s belt before the commando can notice and starts typing frantically.
The Jedi Knight looms over the group of children as all of the Vode from the 501st—except Echo—go deathly still. “Good afternoon.” Says a voice that sends shudders down Dogma, Fives, and Tup’s spines. “I’m Jedi Knight Pong Krell. I hope your stay at the Temple so far has been a good one?”
From his periphery, Thire can see the way that Fox, Kote, Sev, and Thorn are all moving to their feet. Echo makes a small horrified sound as he likely recognizes the name that must appear in their vode’s nightmares. “You’re-...” His voice goes strangled.
“Please go away.” Thorn snarls, carefully contained as he places himself directly between Fives and Krell.
“I-... sorry?” That sheer confusion in Krell’s voice draws a hiss of air from Dogma who suddenly lurches forward as if to attack. It’s only Sev’s quick reflexes that stop him, pulling Dogma tightly to his chest instead. “Have I somehow offended you?”
“Offended,” there’s a note of anger in Kote’s voice as he scoffs loudly. “Does it matter? We want you to go away.”
“I don’t understand what I’ve done.” Knight Krell says, expression lost.
Please, please, please, hurry. Thire begs Sev’s silent commlink now that he’s sent an SOS to Jango’s comm code. (He would have contacted Jaster, too, but Jaster was supposed to be meeting with some of the Council again to discuss relations between the Jedi and Mandalore. Jaster might not see a message in time to do anything.)
This time it’s Fox who snarls at the Besalisk. “What you’ve done? You were a monster in the future. That’s what you’ve done.” Thire can feel the growing pressure in the air that only comes when Fox is well and truly upset about something.
Knight Krell takes a startled step back. “What?”
“You killed their siblings for sport. For fun. Just because you wanted to audition for a spot among the Sith.” Thorn bares his teeth at the Jedi fearlessly. “You pitted squads of our siblings against each other and tricked them into killing their own siblings. Cut them down with your lightsabers when they finally confronted you. And when Dogma killed you, he was court-martialed and spent the rest of the war in prison because it was that or being sent back to Kamino where they’d decommission him or worse. Just because you were a Jedi and he’s just a clone.”
That makes the Knight go silent, horror written across his features. “The future?” He seems to finally process what Fox said, though it doesn’t make him actually seem any closer to leaving.
Thire gives up on the silent commlink and turns to get to his feet as well. “Yeah. The future. The one where you thought being a Sith was a good idea and our siblings were just playthings in your bid to be evil enough to be noticed.”
“I think.” Jango’s voice from behind the Besalisk is only a touch breathless, but as solid as beskar at its core. “You should leave.”
Krell startles and turns to look at their ori’vod, eyes blazing with a protective fury that makes the Jedi flinch. “Wh-... I- I am sorry. I’ll… I’ll go?” He takes a step away as Jango circles around to put himself—clad in full beskar’gam minus a buy’ce, and hair clearly damp from a shower—firmly between the Besalisk and all of his clones. One of Jango’s hands sits pointedly on his blaster grip, ready to strike if needed.
“Do it then.” Their ori’vod commands, pulling himself up to his full height—which is significantly shorter than an adult Besalisk. Somehow though, the sheer intensity of his presence makes Knight Krell flinch again.
“Right. I’m-... really sorry.” Then, the Besalisk is backing off quickly, but not turning his back to Jango and the Vode until he’s very much out of lunging distance. Once he feels like he’s sufficiently beyond where Jango might strike him, the large Jedi turns and flees the Room of a Thousand Fountains with a speed that seems impossible for a being his size.
Jango waits, still as a statue, until Krell is fully out of sight, before turning to look at the group of them. “Are you all okay? He didn’t hurt you?” All of that fury has suddenly vanished, leaving only deep concern on his face.
Slowly, slowly, the tension eases in the air and Thire gasps out a sigh of relief when Fox finally sits down and slumps, burying his face in his hands. “He didn’t hurt us physically.” Fox mutters.
Tup’s little voice speaks up. “Can- can we go back to our rooms?” His voice has a wobble in it that Thire can tell means he’s about to start crying. Thire can’t blame him. Honestly, if Thire were faced with Sheev Palpatine right this moment—while in the body of a child again and entirely vulnerable— he might cry, too.
“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” Sev answers, still holding Dogma tight. He turns and looks at Thire. “I do want my commlink back later.”
“Later.” Thire agrees before he kneels down to start picking up some of what’s left from their interrupted midmeal.
“Just leave it, vod.” Kote grumbles, helping Rex to his feet and knocking their foreheads together lightly as Rex fights to stop hyperventilating. “Rex. Krell’s gone. No one got hurt. We’re okay.”
Rex’s eyelids flutter as he visibly tries to force himself to focus on Kote and not whatever horrible memory Krell dredged up. “Shab.” He hisses before dropping his head onto Kote’s chest. “I should have known. I should have known.”
“Rex, no. None of us could have known.” Kix says weakly from where he’s half-wrapped around Jesse.
Frustrated Rex shakes his head. “I’m the Captain, it’s my job to keep you all safe. And I karked up again. I couldn’t even make myself look at him.”
Jango sighs heavily. “Come on. Leave the food, we can order more from the refectory. The Jedi can deal with a small mess.” He steps forward and scoops up Fives, who goes easily, turning his face into the part of Jango’s neck that isn’t covered by his armor. “Up.” Their ori’vod starts gently nudging everyone to their feet and then in the direction of one of the exits from the large indoor gardens.
“We- we should reschedule with the Mind Healer.” Fox says quietly as he lets himself be pulled upright and guided along by Thorn. “I don’t-... I don’t think I can let anyone touch my mind after that.” There’s a subtle tremor in his shoulders. One Thire recognizes from the War. It got worse over their time on Coruscant. He’d asked Fox about it once, and Fox had told him it was hard sometimes, to keep the Force under control when he was upset. Especially with Palpatine always tampering with Fox’s mind specifically. He’d been so fascinated that a clone could have the Force. Just thinking about it makes Thire feel sick.
“Okay. I’ll tell Mij to talk to them.” Jango promises softly as he follows behind the group of them, staying visibly alert for any other beings that might approach them.
It’s only once they’re all crammed into the bedroom of one of the guest rooms, crawling into the bed clumsily for one large vod pile, that Thire feels like the danger is really gone. He knows this Pong Krell isn’t the Pong Krell he had read reports about after Umbara. Isn’t the same Pong Krell whose death landed Dogma in prison. This Pong Krell probably hasn’t got the foggiest idea what a Separatist would even be. But, Thire can’t help but see the way all of the vode from the 501st who were on Umbara can’t stop shaking and feel his own sort of secondhand panic.
Jango leaves them all laying atop each other, murmuring halfhearted assurances to each other as Sev starts purring intentionally to try to bring everyone’s stress back down. Thire can hear their ori’vod’s voice murmuring beyond the bedroom door—talking to Mij and Jaster via comms, he assumes—and then a little while later, he comes back with some fresh containers from the refectory and a small glint of mischief in his eyes. “Have any of you ever built a pillow fort before?”
The question draws the majority of them back to reality enough to look at him curiously. He doesn’t even wait for any of them to specifically answer yes or no before he’s dragging chairs and blankets and pillows around into the back corner of the bedroom until there is—in fact—a fort of blankets and pillows just large enough for all thirteen of them to cram themselves in—especially with the littlest of their vode sitting on laps.
They end up spending the afternoon there, poking through the snacks Jango brought and listening to him quietly tell them old Mandalorian myths that Prime never told any of them. At least, not that Thire can remember.
Dogma and Tup fall asleep midway through the first story, sprawling over multiple laps in the most trusting manner. Thire lets himself run fingers through Dogma’s curls quietly and hopes that all of them can get back up tomorrow and face the galaxy again. Because, beings like Pong Krell will never be able to hurt them again. Not with people like Jaster and Jango looking out for them.
Once most of the vode have fallen asleep—four or five stories in, Thire thinks—he’s just laying with his own head on Thorn’s shoulder, Dogma halfway between his lap and Kix’s, with Sev snoring softly from the other side of the pillow fort. Jango’s voice quiets down and Thire can feel the gentle weight of his watchful gaze over all of them. He stays at the entrance to their pillow fort, like a sentry.
Thire drifts in and out of a shallow nap. Hears it when Jaster eventually comes into the rooms and speaks with Jango in hushed voices. Knows vaguely when Jaster leaves again to position himself in the main living area and work on ‘Mand’alor stuff’ while remaining close by.
Fives’ voice is barely audible when he asks Jango sleepily. “You were gonna kill him if he touched us, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I would have, vod’ika.” Jango’s voice is quiet but certain.
As he dozes back off, Thire knows it’s true. Jango would have. Somehow… that’s incredibly reassuring to him.
(The next day)
The Halls of Healing aren’t overly busy when their Mandalorian guests finally make their appearance to bring three of the boys to see Mind Healers. While the first of the three boys is led back to a more private room, the rest of them are waved off to sit on an unoccupied bed and some chairs. It’s clear from their postures that they have no intent of leaving until all three of the boys who are patients are safely returned to them. A few Healers shake their heads at it, but since the group is relatively quiet and respectful, they leave it be.
About an hour into the first session, Masters Yoda, Saa, and Gallia arrive and join their guests. Another unoccupied bed falls victim to the spread of young bodies. A few of the boys pass around datapads with games of some sort on them to pass the time. They murmur amongst themselves and try to pretend that they’re not all casting anxious glances in the direction of where their brother is—alone, with a stranger—making himself vulnerable in the Force so he can be helped. When something across the main room crashes, they all jolt in place and whip around, looking half ready to jump to their feet and fight off a threat.
One of the healers smiles and waves a hand to let them know it’s fine. Even as the rather large, scruffy looking Jedi Master with them is visibly annoyed at being forced to sit still and submit to the attention of the healers. The Padawan Healer who dropped a small box of supplies looks apologetic as they scoop the fallen contents back into the box.
(Some unknown span of time later—after midmeal has been brought in and eaten—Master Gallia goes stiff next to Mand’alor Mereel when she feels a scream in the Force unlike anything she’s experienced before. All of the healers and Jedi in the Hall have frozen in place, heads turning towards the direction of the private room. “Please excuse me for a moment.” Master Gallia murmurs before she rises from her place and sweeps over to the door of the room. The door slides open to admit her before sealing again behind her.
“Is everything alright?” The Jedi Master asks, even though she can see that the answer is no from the moment she lays eyes on the quivering form of Fox.
His eyes are wild and unseeing as Healer Lirras glances up from an attempt to soothe the boy by running a hand over his hair. “I seem to have stumbled into something a bit more deeply rooted than some of the other scars. It surprised both of us.” Then, she leans a little closer to Fox and whispers gently. “Fox, if you need a break we can take one.”
“N-no.” Fox shakes his head, eyes slowly refocusing long enough for him to glance at Master Gallia. “I won’t be able to let you in again. I can’t-...” Small hands clench helplessly on a pillow in his lap. “I need to let you do this.”
Healer Lirras sighs. “Perhaps Master Saa could be of assistance? You are accustomed to only one person entering your mind, correct?”
Fox nods his head jerkily.
“Would that help?” Master Gallia asks. “To make it different by having more than one person?”
“It might be worth a try.” Healer Lirras admits. “He’s doing his best to not fight me, but… there are so many scars from the Darkside of the Force in his mind. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how he’s still alive, Adi. Convincing his mind that I’m not a threat is difficult. Having another skilled healer, especially one as capable as Master Saa, might give us a better chance.” Her hand smooths down Fox’s hair again—it’s damp and sticky with sweat.
“I will let Master Saa know then.” Murmurs Master Gallia. It takes her a moment to tear her eyes away from the trembling child and make herself leave the room. When she steps out, she makes eye contact with Master Saa and sends a gentle nudge through the Force. “Healer Lirras thinks you may be able to assist, Master Saa. If you are willing.”
Master Saa rises from her seat between Thorn and Thire, who both look visibly anxious. “Of course.” She pauses when she’s next to Master Gallia and asks in a very quiet voice. “Just how bad is it?”
“Bad.” Master Gallia tells her sadly. “Worse than anything we might have imagined if Lirras is to be believed.”
The look on Master Saa’s face goes grim. “I see. Then, I shall do what I can to assist.” She vanishes into the private room with a purpose to her movements.
Sagging slightly, Master Gallia can see that all eyes of the group of Mandalorians—and Master Yoda—have their eyes on her. “The damage is—it seems—quite extensive.” She tells them all, trying to keep her tone gentle and make her expression more serene than she currently feels. Giving this fear and grief for a young boy hurt by a Sith to the Force is difficult.
“What does that mean, exactly?” The Mand’alor asks, expression pinching further with worry for Fox.
Master Gallia, grief clear in her eyes, meets his gaze and replies honestly. “It means Fox was tortured with the Force by the Sith. For a very long time.”
Jango, and most of the other boys, go pale. Tellingly, the two boys who arrived with Fox don’t seem shocked by that news. “Fox was his favorite.” Says Thire when several sets of eyes look between him and Thorn. Like that’s a fact of life and not deeply alarming information.
“Do you know why?” Jango asks, voice strained as he tries to remain calm for his brothers.
“Fox has the Force.” Thorn answers. “Palpatine found that interesting.”
A heavy silence falls over them, and Master Gallia moves to take the place Master Saa vacated, allowing both Thorn and Thire to lean against her for comfort. “Your brother is in very capable hands. And he is being very brave. Have faith in his strength if nothing else.”
“Fox is really strong.” Thire agrees quietly.)
It is nearing time for latemeal when the doors to the Hall of Healing are flung open by a blur of white initiate’s robes and bright red hair, followed closely by a distressed Crèchemaster. Initiate Kenobi comes to a stumbling stop in front of Kote and stares up at him wide-eyed. “You’re real!” He gasps, as if he can’t believe it.
Kote’s expression goes from startled to fond and he stands up from where he’s sitting to face the smaller boy. “Hello, Obi-Wan. I’m Kote.” He holds out a hand to the much smaller boy.
Clumsy but earnest, Obi-Wan clasps forearms with him—even though no one has ever shown him a Mandalorian greeting before. “You’re the ones fixing the visions. Aren’t you?”
“Are we?” There’s hope on Kote’s face at the idea.
Obi-Wan nods his head. “Yes! Since I dreamed about him!” He points at Sev unerringly. “I dreamed about him falling through the stars. And then some of the visions got better. Then, when you and your siblings fell through the stars in a dream, too, a bunch of the visions got brighter. It has to be you.”
“I’m glad then.” Kote can’t seem to take his eyes off the initiate before him for even a second. His eyes moving over the face so much younger than he had ever known it, the unblemished skin from before some of his worst scars, the light in those eyes that never burned out but had clearly dimmed by the time of the Clone Wars. He tells Obi-Wan, truthfully, “I’m glad we’re making the visions better.”
There’s a long moment where—still holding Kote’s arm with his own—Obi-Wan's eyes go distant, as they often do when he’s having a vision. But he neither slumps nor truly falls deep into whatever it is he’s seeing. After a stretch of heartbeats, he blinks back to looking up at Kote. “You… you were made for me.” He says, wondering and awed.
“Yes.” The older boy agrees easily. “I was.”
Bright blue eyes search his face. “You’ll wait for me?”
“I could wait forever if you were the one to ask.” Kote tells him with that deep, deep conviction of his.
“When I’m a knight, I’ll find you.” The words carry a certainty that chimes in the Force as: Yes. Right. Beloved.
“I’ll look forward to it.” A breath, and then. “Don’t let the troll set you up with Master Jinn, again, sir. He’s a terrible Master for you.”
Obi-Wan nods, even if he doesn’t quite understand, because he can feel the Force agreeing with Kote’s words.
Across the Halls of Healing, a living breathing Master Jinn makes a choked sound from where a Healer is still fighting him to treat the broken ribs he got on his most recent mission. From his place on the floor watching Thire and Jesse play wrestle, the old Grandmaster of the order flattens his ears slightly as the Force gives him the briefest glimpse of pain, abandonment, and crushing self-doubt. “No.” Master Yoda agrees wearily. “A Master for Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon is not. Will of the Force that is. Correct the young Mando’ad is.”
“His other padawan is still alive, by the way.” Kote says to Master Yoda.
“Feemor?” the elder Master asks in confusion.
That makes Kote pause—visibly tripping over the unfamiliar name—then he shakes his head. “No. Xanatos. Obi-Wan never mentioned a Feemor. In my future, Xanatos hurts Obi-Wan to try to bait Jinn before Obi-Wan was even Jinn’s padawan. He didn’t even want Obi-Wan until he offered to set off his bomb collar to save them.” Brown gold eyes dart towards Master Jinn and narrow. “Obi-wan is too good for you.”
Qui-Gon sputters, pale and disbelieving, while Master Yoda frowns in concern. “Close, the future Obi-Wan is to you.”
“Yes. Living in each other’s pockets for three years of a war does that, Master Yoda.” Agrees Kote easily.
Large, green ears droop at the reminder. “It would yes. Sorry I am that suffered you and your brothers have. Again it will not happen.”
“No.” Kote says. There’s a glint in his eyes that promises danger. “It won’t.”
(When the Mandalorians finally depart from Coruscant—the Mand’alor with three more adopted sons—the Jedi only realize something is amiss when they receive a frantic call from the Senate over a series of sudden and unexplained assassinations, all carried out at around the same time and by figures in unmarked beskar’gam. The sudden lightening of the Force tells the Jedi more than anything else could. With the abrupt end of the Sith, the deaths of a few members of the Banking Clan, Trade Federation, Techno Union, several other large conglomerates known for their corruption, and one aide to the Nabooian representation in the Senate is a small price to pay. Especially since the delegation from Naboo finds a red bladed lightsaber amongst the effects of their dead aide.)
Notes:
Jango: Hey, what’s up, I brought Space Dunkin Donuts and caf.
Thire: *Error 404. Thire.exe has crashed*
Fox: *squinting* Cody beat you up, huh?
Jango: Yup.Mace: My head hurts so much
The Vode: Ah. Kriff. We forgot about the shatterpoint thing.Cody: *swings around a lightsaber*
The Jedi: whatPong Krell: Oh! Our guests! I'll be polite and say hello. :)
The Vode: NOPE. Go away!
Jango: If you touch so much as a hair on my baby brothers' heads...Jango: I know how to fix this. Pillow forts, snacks, and stories. Yes.
Thire: Oh. He really would kill someone for us. Wild.Mind Healer: How are you still alive???
Fox: I am never letting a Force Healer in again.Obi-Wan: I NEED TO GO
Crèchemaster: Initiate Kenobi, it's time to wash up for latemeal
Obi-Wan: *zooming out the door while the Crèchemaster turns their back for 5 seconds too long*
Obi-Wan: !!!! I've been dreaming about you for years!
Cody: That's-... good? I think?
Obi-Wan: The Force says I'm gonna marry you when I'm a Knight
Cody: Sounds like a plan to me.Obi-Wan: I don't know who Feemor is, but not knowing about my alternate life's master's former padawan who didn't Fall feels like a crime. I'm gonna find him
Feemor: This initiate has been following me for a week and frankly I'm starting to be concerned.
Translations from Mando'a
beskar = Mandalorian iron
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
kote = glory
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Mando'ad = Mandalorian (Mando'ade is plural)
Me’ven? = Huh? What? Expression of bewilderment or disbelief
mir'sheb = smartass
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 10: Thire & Jon Antilles | 49 BBY / 688 SrD (Part 4)
Summary:
The Corries make it to Mandalore. Questions are asked about the Haat’ade and what it means to be the children of the Mand’alor. (Who is technically, not yet, but soon will be the sole ruler of an entire sector of space.) Thire contemplates the kind of life he wants to live.
A strange pair of visitors come to Mandalore and conveniently cross paths with the eldest son of the Mand’alor.
Notes:
When I say Jon and Fay immediately invited themselves into the narrative after a mention of Nico Diath, I am not joking. Surprise, Jon Antilles is here and a new romantic pairing has risen to enough prominence in future chapters to demand some adjustments to the tagged characters and relationships.
CW: references to the themes of cultural genocide that tend to come up with New Mandalorians, references to terrorism and violence relevant to Kyr'tsad, references to the mass destruction of the Mandalorian Excision/Dral'han, some kind of humorous references to politics and the differences between the different Mandalorian factions and how leadership passes down, brief references to underage drinking (with supervision!), brief mentions of the bland rations based diets of the GAR and overeating/eating overly spicy food, all the triggers of Dark Woman and the horrible Master she is/was, New Mandalorian's being kind shitty (I don't like them, sue me! I could probably write a whole essay about why I don't like them), some references to the occasional necessity of violence to maintain peace, Fay being kind of eldritch and strange due to living a long time, etc.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mandalore is nothing like anything Thire might have imagined. Maybe because learning about the Dral’han made it easy to imagine a planet entirely laid to waste. But, it has been centuries and the planet isn't ruined beyond all repair or viability. Even from above the atmosphere there are patches of green and winding rivers and so many more things that seem like glimpses of a Mandalore long past. Except they're real. There are some bio-domes as well, especially in the more southern hemisphere of the planet—where Sundari and some other New Mandalorian cities are, according to Jas'buir.
Eventually, the Haat’ade's ships turn towards the northern hemisphere, and follow along the winding path of a river—the Kelita River, Jango tells him when he asks—letting them look out at the distant mountains and scattered forests that have somehow either recovered in the past few centuries or, perhaps, were never truly lost in the first place. It's beautiful. Nothing like Kamino or Coruscant or Toydaria or any other of the few planets Thire remembers from his first life. He thinks maybe Mandalore is his favorite planet he's ever seen. At least, in part, because seeing it feels like coming home. And, it is home.
“This is Manda’yaim. And there's Keldabe.” Dogma tells him, and then points further up the river to where a hill rises up above the ground around it and the Kelita River curls around its base with vividly alive forests stretching off northwards. Even at a distance the walls around the urban fort-town are impressive and beyond them the old city sprawls inwards on itself with buildings of all types of materials and architecture—though something about them all feels distinctly Mandalorian—pressed in close together and layered atop each other in some districts. Still, it's nothing like Coruscant. No seas of neon lights that hurt the eye or vast jungles of durasteel and grime. It's organic and alive with bursts of color and a pulse to it that Thire can almost feel by looking at it.
“Do we live there?” Thire asks Dogma. The little 501st vod’ika had come to stand next to him at the viewport once they had started their descent towards the planet and was more than happy to answer questions or simply tell Thire—and any other vode who might be listening—anything and everything about the planet.
Dogma nods excitedly. “Jas'buir and the Haat'ade finally secured it enough seven months ago for us to finally properly make repairs to the keep and move in more permanently. I like it. It's better than moving between compounds every couple of months to try to avoid Kyr'tsad attacking us wherever we are. Now there's lots more defenses and it's a proper stronghold like it's supposed to be.”
He lets himself stare wonderingly at the city stronghold that is also the historical capital of Mandalore. It's nothing like he would have imagined. “Is it nice there? In the city?”
Their ship is finally drawing closer and regaining some altitude to pass safely above the outer walls and tops of buildings with a comfortable margin—as much to minimize the disruption to the beings in the city below as to maintain safety for the ship. Dogma looks over at him and nods. “You'll see. We can take you to the markets once we're settled back in. And the cantinas! The oldest cantina on Mandalore is in Keldabe.”
“Aren't you kind of young for a cantina, Dogma?” Thorn asks from where he's playing sabacc against some of their other vode.
“We eat there sometimes. It's not like buir lets us drink alcohol.” Explains Rex with a roll of his eyes. “Besides, most of us already know what drinking is like even if we haven't tried the local varieties so it's not like we're trying to sneak drinks behind his back. Besides, if we ask, sometimes he lets us try a sip if it's something unique or interesting.”
Thire nods and looks back out at the buildings below them and listens to Dogma rattle off information about Keldabe to him. Facts about the residents and exports, the local varieties of foods and goods for sale in the markets, cultural traditions and differences in dialects of Mando’a specific to the region, Jaster's latest proposal to pull together a restoration fund so the historical parts of Keldabe can be kept alive and usable for the citizens, what's already being done for cultural preservation. He studies the placement of the defense towers in the city and along the walls and can see the evidence of repairs and newer upgrades. All of it is helpful to know, even though Thire isn't going to be responsible for its security. (At least, not while he's still the size of a cadet.) It isn't going to be easy to penetrate from the outside if anyone tries.
The final approach to Keldabe Keep is what really takes his breath away. It's massive and stretches skyward in layers of towers with anti-air installations and many lower to the ground defenses almost seamlessly integrated into the design of the buildings. Some of the large exterior towers have wide open hangars for smaller ships to land, while others are merely intended for bigger ships to dock temporarily before being moved elsewhere for storage. The Legacy has a dedicated hangar, even though it's not nearly as small as many of the other vessels. As the ship slides into its place, Thire realizes something. “We don't actually know how Fett got the Firespray, do we?”
“Nope. But it's not an idea we've planted for our ori'vod, either.” Kote answers. “A Firespray is good for a bounty hunter. Not so much the heir to an entire sector of space.”
“Might be fine for security patrols.” Fox says thoughtfully.
Sev huffs. “Mandalore has its own shipyards, importing from Kuat is expensive when we can build our own designs that more closely fit our needs. One of the biggest, MandalMotors, is based here in Keldabe.”
“And they're aligned with the Haat’ade?” Thorn drops his hand of cards onto the table as the sounds of landing gear snapping fully into place and the engines powering down makes it clear that their journey is over.
“The Haat’ade don't blow their factories sky high or try to prohibit them from installing armaments. So… for the most part, yes.” Sev shrugs. “But they're a corporation and they sell ships to anyone who is buying.”
“Sounds like most corporations. The morals don't matter when the money is moving.” Fox snorts as he hands his cards to Jesse who is gathering the deck up to put away.
Kote nods. “Exactly that.”
Making a considering noise, Thorn looks at the other Vode in the room and asks. “Can we still say ‘eat the rich’ if our buir is the ruler of an entire sector of space?”
“Well, technically…” Sev holds up a finger. “He isn’t officially the ruler of Manda’lase since the Republic recognizes the Evaar’ade as the official government and Kyr’tsad doesn’t recognize either the Evaar’ade or Haat’ade. Plus there are plenty of clans who still haven’t declared allegiance in any direction. So… Jas’buir isn’t quite that powerful yet. But… he also isn’t rich. What funds he does pull from the mercenary work of the Haat’ade tends to get funneled right back into ensuring the verde are supplied, armored, and fed, that Keldabe is still being repaired, and that he’s doing all he can to just keep things from falling apart the next time Kyr’tsad tries something di’kutla and destroys large swathes of infrastructure just to try to get a win over the Haat’ade.”
“He didn't grow up in the ruling class either.” Jango points out. “Jas'buir was originally a Journeyman Protector on Concord Dawn. Before he got exiled for killing a corrupt superior officer that no one else was going to do anything about. Becoming Mand’alor was, at least in part, more an earned role by gaining the loyalty and respect of the clans who've sworn to him. Unlike the Evaar’ade who pass down the Duchy by birthright or Kyr’tsad by lineage and might, the Haat’ade want to pass down roles like Mand’alor based on merit. My tal'buire were farmers and I'm only the de facto heir because Jaster has been training me to take his place. But if someone better suited wanted the role, the Council of Clans could choose to elect them into the position instead. There just isn't anyone else both qualified and willing right now.”
“Ah.” Thorn says with an air of enlightenment. “The rich we should be eating are the Evaar'ade and Clan Vizsla. I see.”
Jango snorts out a laugh and stands up. “Whatever makes you happy, vod’ika.”
“Sticking it to the man makes me happy.”
“Jas’buir is definitely the man, Thorn.” Fox informs him flatly.
Thorn grins. “All the better for my future teenage rebellion.” He gets a cushion to the side of the head for that, before the rest of their vode get up and follow after Jango to disembark.
“Maybe leave the rest of us out on that one. Give us some plausible deniability.”
“But that would be too easy!”
It takes about four days before Thire has decided that this new life—in Keldabe with his vode and Jango and their buir—is the best his life has ever been (across both of his lives, not that it’s a high bar to reach).
There’s waking up in the mornings tangled up in a sprawl of relaxed bodies, soft purring betraying exactly how content they all are. Jas’buir either orders firstmeal—from the Keep’s version of a mess hall—or cooks something for them in the karyai’s kitchen and it’s usually a noisy affair with vode talking about what they want to do that day or later that week. (Jas’buir pretends to not see it when Jango occasionally sneaks small mugs of caf to the oldest of the vode. But he definitely sees it.) Then, they just… do whatever they want within reason?
While there’s been some mention of eventually putting Fox, Thorn, and Thire into some sort of educational courses (just to make sure they’re all offered options that wouldn’t have been available on Kamino) it doesn’t seem to be an urgent thing. Some of the other vode do have classes every other day or so during the week, but it doesn’t seem like any of them dislike what they’re learning. Echo comes back talking about whatever new scientific concept he’s picked up that interests him. He thinks maybe Dogma is taking a history class? Thire isn’t sure what he’d want to learn more about, but having the option seems nice.
On the days where none of them have classes or significant plans around the Keep, Jango—and some of his squadmates—take the Vode out into Keldabe proper to see various sights and explore the markets. Getting to own things is a novelty all by itself. At first, all three of the Corries gravitate towards clothing and personal belongings that are red. Out of habit or familiarity, maybe. But then it occurs to Thire and Thorn almost simultaneously that they don’t have to wear the same colors anymore. It quickly becomes a race to try out as many colors as they can find to pick new favorites. Red is still good, but having more options is exciting.
Sometimes it feels like there’s always more of Keldabe to discover simply by walking around. There are plenty of bigger things to see. Like the Cultural Archives that Jaster is in the process of establishing. It’s a mix of a library and museum in the best kind of way. Some of the rooms have armor, weapons, tapestries, preserved bits of pottery, fossils of plants and animals that don’t exist on Mandalore anymore, and so many other things to look at and learn about the history and beliefs of Mandalorians across the stretch of time. As new as it is, there are lots of gaps and artifacts that aren’t really identified beyond it being known that they’re old and valuable. (During one visit, Thire gets to listen to Jango and one of his friends, Myles, talk back and forth about the New Mandalorian efforts to wipe out these kinds of heirlooms and the histories they carry.) The more he sees in the Archives, the more Thire understands how much more there is to being Mandalorian than being a warrior. In a good way.
They visit restaurants and cantinas and try food so spicy it makes some of their vode—especially the three Corries who are new to Mandalorian cuisine—cry as soon as it’s in their mouths. No one laughs at them though, they’re just given milk or frozen cream or something similar to cut through the spice and relieve their tastebuds. There are other foods, too. Sweets and savory dishes and things unlike anything Thire has ever seen before. After some debate, all three Corries agree that they’re absolutely going to try everything once—no matter how weird or gross it might sound—and expand their palates. (Living most of their previous lives on rations gives them perspective on how much difference there is between eating for basic nutrition and eating because they want to eat and enjoy what they’re eating.) They learn very quickly how easy it is to give themselves sick stomachs from eating too much—another experience they never had before.
By the end of most days, they all end up back in the karyai watching holo-shows or listening to music or quietly enjoying each others’ company while playing games or reading on datapads. There are evenings where Jango or Jaster tell them myths and stories of Mand’alore long past. (Jaster has even more stories than their Jango or Prime ever did.) It still surprises Thire sometimes, even after more than a week of living with Jaster as their buir, that he can tell them all apart with little hesitation. He even sees Echo and Fives try to pull one over on Jaster by swapping outfits in the middle of the day. (In hindsight, Thire realizes they might have been trying to make a point to the Corries.) Jaster isn’t fooled for a second and quickly directs a comment at one of them by name and makes eye contact so it’s obvious who he’s talking to.
(Just having a buir feels like something that will never get old for Thire. It's different from anything he can compare it to. But it's good. Knowing there's someone he can go to if he needs it who is an actual adult not one of the multiple teenagers—twice over—who all had to become soldiers too soon. He loves his Vode, but there are things that Jaster knows that none of them ever had a need to know before. And he’s a lot nicer about helping them out than any of the Alphas or Trainers ever were.)
Of course, Jaster’s role as Mand’alor isn’t all glamorous. There are evenings where he comes back from spending most of the day in meetings—and putting out metaphorical or literal fires, depending on whether it’s the Evaar’ade or Kyr’tsad causing problems—and basically collapses into the cushions of the karyai to lay there for most of the evening. But even when he’s exhausted, he seems to enjoy listening to the vode talk and joke and simply exist as children. Those are the evenings where they order a meal from the Keep’s communal kitchens or have food delivered from a restaurant somewhere in Keldabe. They’re peaceful evenings in their own way.
Yes, Thire thinks—at the end of another long, exciting day—this is a very nice life. Next to him, Thorn is already purring and soundly asleep, and he can feel Fives squirm where he’s settled himself in between Thire and Fox—probably dreaming. Fox’s breathing is still not quite evened out but, even in the near dark, Thire can see his eyes are closed and all of the tension has bled out of him. (It helps that Dogma is sprawled across Fox’s chest and purring away contentedly.) Kote is on Fox’s other side, and he has one arm slung over Fox’s waist. Rex is at Kote’s back, and somewhere else Jesse, Kix, and Echo have probably made themselves another tangle of loose limbs. Tup’s purr is carrying from over where Sev and Jango normally sleep.
The only dim light in the room is the one cast by Jas’buir’s datapad screen as he reviews some document or another for some kind of Mand’alor business. It makes strange shadows on Jas’buir’s face. When Thire yawns once, he can see Jas’buir glance over at him and smile. He lets himself smile back before his eyelids drift shut and he feels himself really fall asleep.
(Thire can’t ever forget the life he lived before. But he hopes this life ends up lasting much longer and being much happier than the other one. It would be good. To live most of his life at peace and never have to think about being a soldier again. If war does come, he knows he’ll be ready again. Still though, he hopes it won’t.
Peace is a much better way to live his life.)
Jon still isn't fully sure what to think of Master Fay. He knows what his former Master would think. She's never approved of him getting close to anyone, not even other Jedi. And Master Fay isn't just different from Dark Woman as a Jedi, Fay is kind in a way that Dark Woman could never be. It would probably irritate Dark Woman to no end that Jon has been traveling around with a Jedi like Master Fay. If she found out. He doesn't really want to think about what she'd say to him if she did.
Master Fay is currently focused on getting them through the port security on Mandalore when her identity records are centuries old and Jon's are basically non-existent. Apparently, in the past four years or so, there's been some shifts in Mandalorian politics that have the New Mandalorians on edge and that means trying to get through the port in Sundari is hard for just about anyone who isn't New Mandalorian. Even as Master Fay makes progress on the documents, the next issue is that Jon is carrying at least one visible weapon and those are banned within Sundari. (He doesn't even know where to start with that because, of the three major factions of Mandalorians, according to Master Fay, the other two are very much armed and dangerous and one of those factions are considered terrorists in most sectors outside of Mandalorian space. One would think when caught between two armed powers the choice would be not disarmament that leaves their people vulnerable. The choice to make themselves helpless is a foolish one and highly inadvisable in Jon's mind. Some Jedi swear off killing for fear of tapping into the dark. Jon has no problem with cutting out a tumor when it's grown too large and disposing of it. Thoroughly.)
There is a trio of armored Mandalorians having what seems to be a very similar conversation with another pair of port security officers. The three of them can't even be adults yet. Even with their beskar’gam on, they're all plainly younger looking in their frames and how they move. Not that they aren't dangerous, but… looser and easier on their feet than most adults. Of the three, the one in the middle has their arms folded over their chest and keeps shaking their head at the security officers while the one to their left is gesturing emphatically and one to the right just tips their head skyward in a silent plea for patience. Jon can commiserate with that.
The Force around Jon feels like it's pulling at him to pay attention to these three. So, he does.
“Look,” the one on the left bites out angrily, “we have an official missive for the Duke, if you want to be the one to tell him that you turned away messengers from the Haat’mando’ade, that's your problem. But we're not going to just roll over and let you push us around. You can have your beliefs, but that doesn't mean you should get to force them on everyone else!”
“Just leave it, vod. They're not listening. I don't think they could tell Haat’ade from Kyr’tsad if they wanted to anyway.” The one in the middle sighs, irritable even through their vocoder. “I'll tell Buir they're still not willing to talk. If it costs them their own people and safety, it's no one's fault but their own. We can't make them listen if they don't want to.”
With a closing grumble, the one on the left turns and stomps away. The one from the right glances between the two, clearly trying to decide who to stick with. Ignoring them, the Mandalorian from the middle turns back towards port security. “Tell the Duke that Death Watch is mobilizing again and getting bolder. If he wants help in defending his people, he knows how to contact the Haat’ade.” Then, they tilt their head in a way that suggests an eye-roll and turn to walk away with their two companions.
Jon glances back at Master Fay who is still trying to convince the port security that as Jedi Jon carrying a lightsaber is part of their belief system. But the Force has shifted and feels urgent. “Master Fay?” He interrupts carefully and she turns her head to look at him. “Maybe we should just go.”
She opens her mouth to answer—possibly argue—except she clearly feels the change in direction, as well. Master Fay's gaze sweeps back towards where the armored trio are heading back towards where some of the berths for private and individual ships are and then nods. “I think you're right.” Without another word, she plucks their identity records back up and tucks them away as she turns and moves into step with Jon as they both trail after the trio.
Whoever they are, they're well trained enough to notice they're being followed and the one who had been in the middle turns around abruptly with a hand on their blaster. “Who are you?”
Fay is calm as she lifts both hands where they can be seen. “Peace. I am Jedi Master Fay and this is my companion Jedi Knight Jon Antilles. We seem to be unable to reason with the port security here, but I was hoping you might know how we could get passage to another city that doesn't accept interplanetary public transports. The Force has called us here and we are simply here to obey that call.”
“Jetiise?” The one from the right questions, head tilted in a suggestion of curiosity.
For a moment, the one in the middle stays still, looking the both of them over with their head cocked to one side. Their fingers tap rhythmically on their thigh plate before they nod to themself, coming to some sort of decision. “We can give you a lift to Keldabe. The Mand’alor of the Haat’ade has recently reclaimed it more permanently and a large number of us are staying there. I don't know what your business is, but I know that the Mand’alor of the Haat’ade would be more than willing to have you as guests. After all, we had fairly recent contact with the Temple on Coruscanta and that was largely amicable.” The other two shuffle a little and one of them moves their head in a way that suggests they might be talking through helmet comms. But the one in the middle remains firmly focused on Fay and Jon.
“That would be much appreciated. We would be more than willing to compensate you for the ride.” Fay replies.
“No compensation needed. Buir would have my hide if I went asking for payment from important visitors from out of system.” They motion with one hand and turn to lead the way through the hangars.
Master Fay tilts her head in interest as she moves to follow. “Oh? May I ask who your parent is?”
One of the two other Mandalorians seems to look at her, surprise in their posture. “You understand Mando’a?”
“I do. My former master was very closely tied with the Mandalorian people and he passed a great deal on to me before we parted ways more permanently.” Fay explains. (Deftly leaving out that her master was the former Mand’alor Tarre Vizsla.)
“Oh.” That same Mandalorian says a bit blankly. They don't seem to know what to do with that information.
“My buir is Mand'alor Mereel.” The leading Mandalorian tells them both as if it's nothing of real importance.
Master Fay smiles. “How convenient.”
The Mand'alor’s child laughs. “My vod'ikase would say it's the ‘Will of the Force’.”
“Are your younger siblings Jedi? I didn't think Mandalorians took their children to the Jedi anymore when they're Force Sensitive.” There's a tinge of curiosity from Master Fay.
“Jedi? No. But they're very familiar with the Jedi and some of their favorite sayings.”
“Oh?” Master Fay looks at them with a more open curiosity now. “How interesting.”
“Can I ask a question?” The gaze of the Mand'alor’s child drifts back in their direction as they lead their small group around a corner.
“Of course.”
Their helmet turns towards Jon. “Aren't you kind of young… for a knight? Just, my impression at the Temple was that a Jedi like Master Windu was really young and he's probably in his twenties. So, I was wondering.”
Jon ducks further under his hood, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He'd been very happy letting them focus on Fay and sticking to being in the background.
Thankfully, Master Fay answers for him. “Jon's training was rather unconventional, yes. But he has earned the title of Knight by any measures the Order might use. Though I'm afraid I haven't met Master Windu to be able to say much about the comparison.”
“But, he's on the Council? I would have thought all the Jedi knew the members of the Council.”
Master Fay laughs lightly. “Most Jedi, yes. But I haven't been back to the Temple in a few hundred years so I'm not terribly up to date on who is or isn't on the Council anymore.”
“Hundreds of years?” Yelps one of the other two Mandalorian’s before his companion jabs him in the side with their elbow.
The Mand’alor’s child leads them into a smaller berth in the spaceport where a single vessel is waiting. “I hope you don't mind it being a bit cramped. We weren't exactly expecting to pick up more passengers.”
Politely, Master Fay dips her head at them. “Not at all. I'm sure we've both endured much worse in our travels.”
It's not a large ship by any means, but it is the right size for a group of three to five passengers without being overly crowded, especially if they're not planning to travel overnight. The three Mandalorians shuffle themselves up to the cockpit and argue lightheartedly among themselves until the ship is fully powered up and flying out of the space port. Once they're in the air properly, two of the three Mandalorians re-emerge into the small space that serves as a cargo bay and take off their helmets. While the Mand’alor's child is a Human or Near—probably Near, Jon would guess based on his own heightened senses—with dark curls over tawny skin and brown eyes cut through with veins of gold, their companion is a Pantoran.
“Please feel free to sit.” The Mand’alor's child says, gesturing to the benches on either side of the space, long enough for at least two beings to sit side by side. “I'm Jango Fett, House Mereel, he/him and this is Myles Tenau, House Tervho, also he/him. My other squadmate is Silas Kaja, House Ordo, he/him, but he's piloting for now. You said the Force brought you to Mandalore?”
“Yes. I am what is known as a Wandering Jedi. Unlike the Jedi who remain closely tied to the Temple, I follow the calling of the Force—not missions given to me by any political body or overseeing Council.” Master Fay explains, smiling kindly at him, as she takes a seat on one of the benches. “It is a pleasure to meet you and your companions Jango Fett.”
Fett dips his head respectfully and sits across from her, with his companion dropping down next to him. Then Fett asks, “Do you know why you were called to Mandalore specifically? I'm sure my vod'ikase will tell me something like ‘that's not how the Force works’ but I'm just curious.”
Jon ducks his head to hide his amusement as he sits next to Master Fay.
Master Fay shakes her head. “Unfortunately, your younger siblings would be correct, the Force is not usually so explicit in its guidance. It merely points me in a direction and I follow. Jon is my temporary traveling companion but he is also not a Temple Jedi.”
Tenau watches them both with bright golden eyes full of curiosity. “You think they could be here about your vod'ikase, Jango?”
“If I knew how the Force worked I'd tell you, Myles, but I haven't got a clue.”
The question however is enough for Master Fay to hone in on them. “Is there something wrong with your siblings? Ad’be’Mand’alor?”
Fett winces a little. “Wrong, well, I can't say that's exactly a no. But… they shouldn't be in active danger. It's more… They're in a very unique situation.”
“Ah. They must be the ones Master Diath mentioned to me when we last spoke. The time travelers?”
“It's a little more complicated than that, but yes. I think it's better if you wait until you meet them for yourselves.” Fett answers carefully.
“Very well.” Master Fay agrees. “I can wait.”
For the rest of the trip back to Keldabe, the two Mandalorians are more than happy to fill them both in on the latest shifts in the local politics and increasingly desperate movements of the third faction—that has finally realized they're losing ground faster than ever with the people of Mandalorian space. It was this change in movements that led to their visit to Sundari. But, the Duke, and leader, of the New Mandalorian movement has been less and less willing to speak to the Haat’ade as his influence also diminishes. The Haat’ade aren't going to force anyone out, but they won't allow the group they call Kyr’tsad to continue to fester and they also won't be more than civil to a faction of Mandalorians who not only reject what it is to be a Mandalorian, but demand the same from all other Mandalorians without room for debate.
“Adennai Kryze used to be more reasonable according to my buir, but the loss of his riduur seems to have made him lose sight of reason in favor of paranoia. It certainly made him fold to some of his more extreme advisors.” Fett gripes to them. “When I was younger we used to visit Sundari so the Haat’ade and Evaar'ade could coordinate security and defense around Manda’yaim and it worked. They had better technology and intelligence for monitoring movement into and out of the system, we had the firepower to respond when needed. We were able to trade goods back and forth to support each other. Now, they won't allow armor or weapons within Sundari and they're determined to decry more and more of our culture as being backwards and barbaric without even listening to anyone else.”
Master Fay hums sympathetically. “To reject an entire culture over its more extreme parts is little better than becoming so deeply entangled in the extremes that one loses sight of all else.”
Fett nods sharply. “Buir's Supercommando Codex is the Haat’ade's attempt to do neither. We want to honor the old ways and still acknowledge that things need to change to survive an ever evolving galaxy. It's the Canons of Honor, but brought forward into a more modern perspective. Which is why so many Mando’ade continue to choose to follow Buir. If it weren't for Vizsla and his Ka’ra be damned darksaber, the sector might already be united.”
Master Fay's expression darkens in a way that Jon has never seen before. “A corruption of what Mand’alor Tarre Vizsla would have wanted for his lightsaber.”
“Trust me, I know.” Fett huffs. “I spent almost a month at the Temple on Coruscanta and Buir spent hours with one of their head Archivists talking about everything they had on him. Buir was very excited to establish an agreement to exchange relevant historical information and copies of documents. Which means, the Haat’ade now have direct accounts and evidence that the dha’kad’au was meant to be laid to rest in the Temple with the other lightsabers there. Instead his descendants desecrated his memory and stole a piece of his soul.”
He glares at the floor briefly as if he wants to spit to show the extent of his disgust with Kyr’tsad but ultimately just scowls for a moment before looking back up at Jon and Master Fay. “Buir fully intends to return the saber to the Jetiise after he wins it from Vizsla and can put out a clear statement about the final wishes of Tarre Vizsla. Putting it out now just looks like he's trying to undermine Vizsla's claim, without being able to actually win it from him in combat.”
“Not that anyone seems to care that Tor Vizsla is a coward who prefers traps and sabotage to fighting head on like a real warrior.” Tenau interjects with his own frown.
Master Fay studies Fett for a long moment. “Perhaps, while we are here, we can assist in preparing Mand’alor Mereel for lightsaber combat to have a better chance in winning the darksaber when he does pin Tor Vizsla down.”
Fett glances between the pair of them and hums. “Maybe.” There’s something peculiar about the way he looks at them, like he knows something they don’t.
They move on to other topics of conversation for the rest of the flight.
Notes:
Thire: I have seen Keldabe for exactly ten minutes and already know I like it better than Coruscant.
Sev: Eh, corporations, you know? They care more about money than anything else.
Fox: *nodding in understanding* Ah, yes. The money over morals perspective typical of every soulless corporation.
Kote: Exactly. You rubbed elbows with the 1%, you know what we’re talking about.
Thorn: Are we allowed to say “eat the rich” when Jaster is the Mand’alor?
Sev: Eh… technically… it’s debatable?Myles: Maybe they’re here for the kids.
Jango: You think I know how the Force works to tell you that?
Fay: Is there something wrong with them?
Jango: *having flashbacks to the multiple symptoms of PTSD his little siblings show on a regular basis and the way Fox accidentally threw a bench with the Force when startled by one of the verde earlier that week* …
Jango: Define wrong.
Fay: Well, now I’m even more concerned.Fay: Perhaps Jon can teach your buir a bit about how to fight with a lightsaber.
Jango: *internally* should I tell them my little brother learned an entire lightsaber form from a jetii who mastered it and has already been teaching it to Jas’buir? Hmmm. No, I think I’ll hold off on that.
Jango: … perhaps.
Translations from Mando'a
Ad be’Mand’alor = Child of the Mand’alor
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
Coruscanta = Coruscant
di’kutla = useless, stupid, worthless
Dral’han = Mando’a term for the Mandalorian Excision or the “Annihilation” which was a massive preemptive strike by the Republic and Jedi Order against Mandalorian space that involved bombardment of multiple planets under Mandalorian control to the point of environmental devastation.
Evaar’ade = New Mandalorians
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
Ka'ra = stars, as in the ruling council of past Mand'alore
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kelita = moat
Kelita River = A river outside of Keldabe
kote = glory
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people (Mand'alore is plural)
Manda’lase = Mandalorian Space, basically
Manda’yaim = the planet Mandalore
Mando’a = the Mandalorian language
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
tal = blood
tal’buir = blood parent or birth parent
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 11: Thire & Jon Antilles | 49 BBY / 688 SrD (Part 5)
Summary:
Jon and Fay meet the Vode for themselves. Fox and Jon get some Force shenanigans as a treat because the Force has plans for Mandalore. Kyr'tsad makes a move. Someone believed dead is found.
Notes:
Jon has taken control of the narrative... and then another unexpected character decided to show up.
This chapter is brought to you by my eternal confusion that Mando'a doesn't have a word for vambrace... but that a kom'rk probably is meant to encapsulate both the armoring over a gauntlet/glove and the forearm coverings that are vambraces.
CW: warnings for an actual combat scene and use of explosives during a terrorist attack, discussions of weapons, ALL the trauma of Fox being a Force Sensitive clone and reporting to Sidious as his superior, references to Fox's death (again, sorry), two characters having co-occuring flashbacks to their trauma and struggling to differentiate themselves for a little bit, discussion of Darth Maul and some of his related traumas, the clones being child soldiers, references to Melida/Daan, references to how a mass death/destruction event like the Dral'han/Mandalorian Excision results in loss of culture and history, references to everything wrong with Dark Woman as a teacher, some discussion around what is a Jedi and what makes someone a Jedi versus other Force Traditions, implications about Kyr'tsad and what they do to children, loose references to Coruscant being Not Great for the Guard, some enemies die (but no one we care about), etc etc.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“We're almost to Keldabe if someone wants to come help me land us safely!” The voice of Kaja comes from the cockpit.
Rolling his eyes, Fett stands up. “I'm coming, Silas.” He looks back over at Jon and Master Fay and quirks a smile. “Buir is going to be very happy to have new Jetiise to ask all of his questions to. Especially since you seem to know so much about Mand’alor Tarre Vizsla.” Then, he vanishes into the cockpit.
Tenau shifts awkwardly in his seat, then allows himself to look at them directly again. “So, you said you're Wandering Jetiise. What kinds of places do you wander to? Anywhere interesting?”
Master Fay smiles kindly at him. “Oh, well, we tend to stick to the Outer Rim, but there are some very unique planets that most of the galaxy tends to overlook. For example…”
Jon is content to let her voice wash over him until the ship is landed and they’re following after their new Mandalorian companions into Keldabe Keep.
The Keep in the heart of Keldabe is impressive both in scale and defensibility. Jon can't help but think it's a very good fortress by most measures. But, as they wind through corridors and take a few lifts down to a lower level, he's mostly aware of the way the Force is tugging more insistently in the same direction that Fett is leading them. When they'd landed, Fett had commed someone to ask where the Mand’alor is and then set out with purpose to find him.
Through the entire building, they cross paths with Mandalorians of all sorts of species from around the galaxy in many different amounts of armor. (The difference seems to largely be comfort and which Mandalorians are actively on or off duty. Vambraces seem to be the most common pieces to be worn, even if no other armor is.) Very few—aside from the children—are wearing no armor at all and these beings seem to be primarily diplomats and visitors from other sectors. A few of the species they cross paths with are entirely unknown to Jon. At one point they cross paths with a large group of children being escorted by two or three mostly armored Mandalorians.
(“The most recent arrivals from Melida/Daan.” Tenau tells Master Fay when he sees her curious glance.
Jon blinks. “Melida/Daan is Republic space.”
“It is.” Agrees Fett. “But they've been locked in a civil war for centuries and children were being caught in the middle and forced into the fight. We're doing what we can to make that stop and mitigate the situation until the adults in power see reason. Whether or not they will remains to be seen.”
Master Fay glances back in the direction of the children. Assesses them with new eyes. They've been malnourished for a very long time. She tells Jon through the Force.
He tries to not remember the times Dark Woman deprived him of food as part of his training.)
When they step out into the large space that serves as a central training ground for the Haat’ade based out of the Keep, Jon notices three things in quick succession. One, there are two figures sparring with metal blades in the center of one of the roped off rings, and the taller of the two is using a form that looks strangely like a slightly modified version of Soresu. Two, in the room there are around six or seven boys of varying ages who are all eeriely identical aside from small variations of hair color or style, clothing, and their distinct presences in the Force. Third, one of those boys looks up the moment Fay and Jon step into the room and Jon has little more than a second to realize he's hiding himself in the Force before something he's never experienced happens.
A spontaneous connection.
His mind suddenly links itself into another—the boy whose Force presence is very nearly a blackhole with the way he's trying to make himself not there in the Force—and he can feel all the sharp edges and shock fear of a foreign mind. Jon staggers with the stunning intensity of it. Only keeping his feet because Master Fay notices something in the Force shift and catches him with one hand and her own comforting presence in the Force. Though, Jon can feel the moment she notices the new bond and flinches away from that changed part of his Force presence as it cuts at her.
The other boy is not so lucky and loses his footing where he'd been standing with two others and crumples to his knees. Immediately everything in the room comes to a halt. One of the boys next to the one who fell is trying to get him to refocus his eyes. “Fox? Fox, what happened?”
“What the kriff?” Fett asks, looking between Jon and Fox—his brother?—in a mix of confusion and alarm. “What was that?”
Master Fay helps Jon to the nearest bench to sit. “A spontaneous Force bond, I believe. Such a thing is usually quite rare so I'm not sure what provoked it.” She tells them in her most calming voice.
Jon nods when Fett’s gaze moves to him, seeking confirmation. But it's hard to think against the absolute tidal wave of go away go away go away don't hurt me across the new bond. Their minds pull too close together and it amplifies both of their emotions. While Jon is mostly astonishment, unease, and a hint of curiosity. Fox is an animal fear that comes with flashes of yellow eyes and pain that starts ripping across Jon's own memories of Dark Woman's training as she pushed him past every limit and further until he couldn't break any more. It makes the separation between them harder to distinguish. Lightning crackles in separate-mirrored blinks of recollection. The hammering of an outside Force presence until their shields crack. Absolute choking helplessness as a child overpowered by an adult with more experience and strength.
There's a clumsy attempt from both of them to pull back and stop bleeding unfiltered memories over the bond. Wary, Jon reaches for the edges of the new tether between them and tries to encourage Fox to feel where he ends and Jon begins. Painstakingly, Fox drags himself back from the brink of blinding terror and Jon is able to nudge him back to his end of their unexpected connection and demonstrate how to build a door between them to dampen the intensity of the bond without sealing it. How to adjust the door to give them different levels of connectivity based on need. After that is done, he feels the extremely cautious press—like barely there fingertips across a solid surface—of Fox trying to make sense of him in the Force.
Who are you? Fox questions, more impressions than words.
Jon opens himself up incrementally, letting Fox see a more controlled response, without another rush of memory. Just his presence, the firm tug of the Force guiding him, an image of his lightsaber burning green, an impression of thousands of moments of pain used to shape him into a weapon instead of a person, Knighthood and being set loose with only Purpose, Master Fay standing over him in an old abandoned Temple and offering him kindness and personhood, his name chosen when he wasn't meant to have one. Jon Antilles.
Fox latches onto that last one, curious but also… something resonating. Like me too. He rolls it around for a long moment of observation. Then, Fox pulls back slowly and seems to struggle with his own shields. It's only because of the new bond that Jon can brush the contours of them without being hurt the way Master Fay was. Teeth that are honed sharp and ready to bite into anything unfamiliar or foreign to Fox's mind. The shape of them is unlike anything he's seen. Jon takes care to not push against them and instead waits, allowing Fox to come back to him on his own.
He is dimly aware of voices talking somewhere beyond them, but they aren't what matters. This is what the Force has been pulling him towards. To Fox. It's a certainty in his core. The already stabilizing link between them.
Finally, Fox seems to figure out how to give Jon a limited opening to see only what he wants Jon to see. The images come briefly but heavy with a sense of vulnerability. A cold white place with oceans and rain and endless cruelty. Millions of tubes with developing identical infants inside them. CC-1010. But a name he stole for himself, too. Fox.
One body in a sea of them, all being grown and trained with purpose. Keeping his extra sense so, so secret, because many of his siblings vanish over any perceived flaw. He doesn't want to vanish. Knowing a war is coming. And then it begins.
Then, he is delivered directly to the Sith at the heart of the Republic. (There's a grim flash of satisfaction knowing that he's dead now. Long before he could corrupt everything again.) And the pain digs deep claws into him until he learns to bite back. Except… the Sith has a trick. With just a few words his mind pulls blank and his shields go dead and there's nothing he can do to stop it. A flash of horror when he kills a younger brother and didn't want to. Didn't mean to.
An army gone blank and empty and the Temple of Coruscant burning. The snap of his neck under the Force of a man his siblings had trusted. They trusted him. Then… waking up small and confused inside an unspoilt Temple. Realizing he could keep it from happening this time. And that he wasn't alone. His brothers had come back, too.
This is where Fox slows, pausing the glimpses. Too much? He asks carefully. Jon presses back a silent assurance. It was intense and more than Jon had shared, but necessary for him to understand. Fox has lived once and now he lives again in a time before his own. He is an anomaly in the Force but an important one.
Your family is worried. Jon tells him, aware that the voices near him have gotten a little more urgent. He gets back a flicker of fond amusement. But, Fox does reseal his shields and close the door on his side of the bond, leaving him muffled in Jon's periphery. Respecting his choice, Jon slips his own door shut but for a small gap—just so Fox knows he's welcome to reach out again if he wishes to.
Blinking his full attention back to the physical world, Jon breathes out in relief. “Apologies. It took us a moment to disentangle ourselves.” He tells the Mandalorians standing over him and Master Fay—who settles a careful hand on his shoulder and doesn't pull back when it makes him twitch minutely. (Master Fay knows why he struggles with touch. And she knows that his twitches and flinches don't mean he doesn't want to be touched kindly.)
“That seemed like it was a shock for both of you.” She soothes.
There's movement and Jon looks up to see Fox approaching, despite one of his brothers having to help steady him on his feet. “You're like us.” He rasps once he's close enough to be heard easily. That sends a ripple through all of the identical boys and the other Mandalorians. Fox’s lips twitch when he notices it, but his eyes stay on Jon. “You stole a name, too. You weren't supposed to have one.” The other identical boys—except Jango—turn their gazes on Jon with sudden interest.
“Yes.” Jon admits quietly. “Names are attachments, and I was never meant to have an attachment.”
Fox furrows his brow. “That's stupid. Besides, the Force just attached you to me. If it didn't want you to be attached, it wouldn't have done that I don't think.”
Master Fay doesn't hide her sudden and delighted laugh. “I'd love to see the look on his Master's face to hear someone tell her that but I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy.”
He cocks his head at Jon. “I don't think I like your Master. Reminds me of some of the trainers.”
“Trainers?” This makes Master Fay look at the boys more curiously.
“They are who Master Diath mentioned to you.” Jon tells her. Then, to Fox and his siblings. “He didn't mention you were a clone army created to serve under the Jedi for a future war or that the Sith were back.”
She is silent as she looks from Jon to Fox and then scans across all the other identical faces before landing on Jango Fett. “The Sith are back?”
“Were back.” One of the other boys—this one has a curling scar on the upper side of his face—replies with a pointedness to his word choice. “We got rid of them. The clone army and the war shouldn't happen this time. If it does, it will look very different than it did before.”
“I see.” The troubled look on the Sephi Master's face makes Jon feel a little regretful. She, of all Jedi, understands the weight of what a resurgence of the Sith might mean. “I suppose that explains the strange Zabrak that Knol found as well.”
“Zabrak?” One of the boys asks, a vaguely concerned expression on his face. “What kind of Zabrak?”
“Dathomiri, I believe. A young boy. But I have not met him myself. Knol has said Maul is rather… difficult.” Master Fay answers. Just the name sends a ripple of fear and discomfort through the boys.
The connection reopens cautiously and Fox shows Jon a face, a red Zabrak with black tattoos and burning yellow eyes. A lightsaber staff and black robes. Dead clones. Then, another Zabraki man of slightly similar coloration, much more yellow in tone but clearly a sibling. The wake of destruction and death he left behind under the influence of Nightsister magicks. But he circles back to the face he knew as Maul and adds, Sidious's first known apprentice. An assassin.
“He is the apprentice of the apprentice.” Jon murmurs. “Or was. But, more importantly, he has a brother that Knol may want to reunite him with.”
Master Fay looks at Jon and Fox thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I'll have to pass on the information, but last I spoke to her, I think she's just about ready to finally admit to herself that she's going to take him as her apprentice.”
“The Jedi once took more than one apprentice at a time.” He points out carefully. “We already refuse to be bound by the Senate. Why shouldn't we also refuse to be bound by rules that limit our reach as Jedi to best serve the Force?”
Laughing, Master Fay shakes her head and looks at Fox. “A matter of minutes in your presence and you have him talking more of ideas his Master would call heretical than I've managed in the weeks since I met him.”
A smirk forms on Fox's lips. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
“Evidently.” She smiles easily at him before turning to Jon. “I do believe that the Force would like us to stay here with the Mand'alor and his family, at least for the time being. There is something we will be needed for, I think.”
Jon pauses to listen to his own sense of the Force—tries to not be distracted by Fox paying keen attention in an attempt to understand what Jon is doing—and finds Master Fay is correct. The Force wants him here, though not just for some future event, but also for Fox. Fox has no formal training, but the Force is nudging gently that Jon should share some of his knowledge to help him better defend himself and Mandalore. They will need those skills to survive against their enemy, it whispers. Fox's Force presence flickers between interest and uncertainty. He can also feel the Force encouraging him to explore the new bond—in time—and utilize the advantages it will give them both.
“Well, kriff.” Fox mutters. “If you teach me, is that going to make me a jetii?”
Master Fay startles slightly, then seems to assess something in the Force before she answers. “No, there are many ways to use the Force and the Jedi are only one of many philosophies of Force users. My former master sought to combine the most central beliefs of the Jedi with the philosophies of the Mandalorian creed. Unfortunately, much of his ideas and teachings were lost in the Dral’han. But I still remember a great deal.”
Jango looks at her closely. “You mentioned a Master who was tied to Manda’lase and the Mando’ade before.”
This time, Jon gets the pleasure of sharing with Fox. Tarre Vizsla. His armor and saber, divided after his death—his armor to the Mandalorians and his saber to the Jedi—only for the saber to be stolen. A Mand’alor and a Jedi Master. Balancing honor and justice in search of Force traditions that could be called truly Mandalorian and still remain primarily in the Light. A small and secretive sect of Force users wiped out with the destruction of Mandalore centuries ago.
Fox whips around to gawk at Fay. “You were trained by Tarre Vizsla?!”
Several of the Mando’ade startle at this and look at Master Fay in disbelief and interest. “Yes.” She agrees lightly, unbothered with her secret being revealed. “He was my Master and I loved him dearly.”
“Perhaps,” Jon says slowly, consideringly, “it is time to revive the Force traditions your Master wanted for his people.”
Master Fay looks thoughtfully between Jon and Fox. “That does seem to be a possibility. And I see no harm in it. The Jedi do not have a monopoly on the Force, nor should they.”
“I think I'd like to learn.” Fox tells them both, eyes bright with interest.
“Then you will.” Master Fay promises.
Jon holds out a hand. I'll help you.
The two Wandering Jetiise have been in Keldabe for around three weeks before anything truly significant happens. Really—Thire thinks—they probably should have seen this coming, as the building he's in shakes from explosions somewhere uncomfortably close by. Tup yelps loudly as a shelving unit falls over and barely misses landing on him. Thire pokes his head further out from the table he's taken shelter under and tries to lay eyes on any other vode who were in the same room before this started. Thorn is, thankfully, already in the process of gathering up Tup in his arms and scrambling back into the cover of a different table. Jesse and Dogma are already tucked up under the same table as Thire, and Jesse is clearly making his best effort to shield Dogma with his slightly bigger body—not that a ten year old will fare much better than a six year old if the building itself comes down on them. But he's almost certain that Rex had been in the room, too, and he can't see the blond vod anywhere now.
“Where's Rex?” He hisses at Jesse and Thorn.
Jesse pales a little and glances at one of the doors into the room. “I heard him say something about Echo and Fives but I didn’t see where he went.” After a beat, he grimaces. “I figured he could handle himself since I was more concerned about getting me and Dogma under some kind of cover.”
“He went out into the corridor.” Tup manages to pipe up from where he's being practically pinned against Thorn’s chest protectively. “Fives and Echo were supposed to be in the big hall with all the armor displays. They got bored.”
Oh, Thire realizes. “Osik.” Rex was probably worried because there isn't any good cover in the East Display Hall if things come crashing down and old beskar’gam isn’t exactly safe if it falls onto someone. Still, running through the corridors of the Cultural Archives by himself isn't really safe either.
(Master Fay had proved to be extremely well informed about Mandalorian history, especially from the past thousand years or so, and was happy to assist Jas’buir and some of the archivists in identifying a few different artifacts as well as offering her own oral recountings of Mand'alor Tarre Vizsla's life. Which was why they had spent several days in the last weeks in the Archives either listening along to her accounts or keeping themselves busy in some of the side rooms. Like today, when Thire, Thorn, Rex, Jesse, the Domino twins, Dogma, and Tup had set up in one of the rooms meant for the archivists to clean and examine donated items before they could go into the rest of the collections. Aside from a handful of crates of mostly unopened donations and the shelving units with tools and a few datapads with reference information, the room is mostly tables with some seating, which makes it a good spot for them to sit and play games or read on their datapads. It keeps them from being underfoot while the archivists handle sorting things already in storage or on display being moved around while Master Fay goes through them for anything she recognizes.)
“He'll probably be fine. Survived Skywalker for three years, the Order, and then 20 years of the Empire, right? What's a few explosions in comparison?” Thorn attempts to joke, but his expression is grim. No one needs to remind them that they're all in much smaller and weaker bodies than they ever were in the Clone Wars.
“Are any of your comms working?” Jesse asks, changing the subject. “I can't get a signal on my datapad or my comm.”
Thire grabs his comm from his pocket and checks. “No. Think it's jammers or they took down the central communications relay with one of those explosions?”
“No idea. Don't really know if I want to find out. But it would be nice if we could call someone for help to tell them where we are.” Jesse grouses. “I'm really hoping we don't get buried alive in here.”
“We've got Jetiise, remember? They'll find us even without comms.” Thorn points out.
Dogma wriggles a little as Jesse hunkers further on top of him. One small hand waves as he interjects. “We also have Fox! He said Jon was showing him how to search for people in the Force more accurately, so he could find us!”
Thire feels his body relax a bit more to think of Fox coming to find them than the Jetiise. No offense to the Jetiise—Master Fay and Jon are both good people and generally more tolerable than some of the Jetiise they knew during the war—but his vode will always feel safer than any natborns ever could. (Though Jon is slowly becoming a distant second to his vode. Jon doesn't even like them using his title most of the time, he'd rather be just Jon.) Either way, the reminder that they've got more than just technological means to find survivors after this is a helpful one. Which means he only has to focus on surviving the current situation. Keeping the four other vode he can see alive. It doesn't help that between the five of them they've got three knives and that's about it. (Jaster letting the Vode over the age of 10 carry one beskar knife each is already a big concession and they know it.)
“Think they'll stick just to explosives or will they actually show their buckets while they're at it?” He asks, putting away his comm in favor of patting the hidden pocket of his pants where his knife is, just to assure himself it's still there.
Thorn grimaces at that. “No idea.”
“Maybe we should-...”
Rapidly pounding boots in the corridor makes all five of them fall silent in hopes that they'll be passed by if whoever is out there isn't part of the Haat’ade. When the door to the room is flung open, Thire grips his knife in preparation to strike at any weak point he can find to protect his brothers. But the armored figure is familiar as Myles steps in and visibly relaxes, stopping to catch his breath, as he looks around and sees all five of the children in the room. “Are any of you hurt?”
Collectively, they all shake their heads and Thorn answers for them. “Don't think so. Just shaken.”
“Jate. We couldn't raise anyone on comms so I'm here to bring you back to the others.” Then his buy'ce tilts as he seems to properly count the vode in the room and realize he's missing a few. “Where are Rex and the twins?”
“East Display Hall.” Thire replies readily.
Myles’ shoulders sag slightly. “Right. Great. We'll have to collect them first.”
“Got a spare blaster?” Jesse asks hopefully as he drags himself and Dogma out from under the table alongside Thire.
“One.” Myles concedes and pulls it out of its holster. He makes the quick choice to hold it out to Thire since he's the only one not holding a smaller vod.
“Vor'e.” Thire says, efficiently checking it over and flipping the energy pack out and back in to make sure everything's in order. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. And Myles should have enough firepower in his own weapons to hold off most attackers long enough for Thire to take advantage of any openings. All he really needs is one opening to be able to get in a debilitating strike.
Myles cocks his head at Thire. “I forget sometimes you're all just as trained as me and your ori’vod.”
“More trained probably.” Jesse tells him wryly as he pulls Dogma up to ride on his back.
“... right.” Their ori’vod's squadmate shakes his head slightly before straightening up. “Stick close.”
Thire glances between Thorn and Jesse, one hand flicking quickly through basic GAR hand signs that they both return with affirmative signals. Then, Jesse and Thorn follow closely on Myles’ heels with Thire taking up the rear. It's the best formation they've got at the moment. Especially with Thorn and Jesse both carrying their tiniest vode. Keeping alert, Thire does his best to watch their backs without falling behind.
The East Display Hall isn't far, and the corridors are clear beyond some fallen wall hangings and upturned furniture. For the moment, the sound of explosions is further off and the building isn't shaking as badly. Thire hopes it will hold for long enough to get them somewhere safer. Rex and the Dominos are immediately visible when they enter the hall. All three of them have lain flat under a bench near the center of the room. It is probably the best cover they could get considering the number of overturned armor stands and cracked display cases.
Rex's expression is pure relief when he recognizes them. “Thank kriff.” He pulls himself and the twins out from under the bench, tugging them along to reach Myles.
“Any injuries?” Myles asks, pausing to look all three of them over.
“Some bumps and scrapes, but I think we're okay aside from Echo possibly having a concussion.” Fives reports, watching his twin with some concern as Echo wobbles even with Rex supporting most of his weight.
Thire steps forward around the others and hands the blaster from Myles over to Rex before scooping Echo up. “Come on, Ey'ika. We'll never hear the end of it from Kix if we don't get you safely back to a medic.”
Jesse joins Rex and Fives, expression troubled. “How'd he get hit on the head?”
“We were too close to one of the armor racks when the first explosion made things shake. It was too sudden and we lost our footing, so we couldn't get out of the way before the armor came down on us. But only Echo got hit on the head.” Fives explains, looking abashed. “I suddenly remember why being a cadet again is annoying sometimes, because it was hard to drag the armor off us and get both of us under the bench while everything kept shaking.”
“You're both alive and that's what matters.” Myles tells him calmly. “C'mon, the rest of your aliit is by the storage rooms near the West Hall. I promised Jango and your buir I'd bring you all back safe while they secured the main entrances.”
“What about the back entrance?” Rex asks, suddenly looking a little anxious.
Myles tilts his head like he's going to respond, but then the sound of multiple pairs of incoming armored boots has him jumping to put himself between the vode and corridor further into the eastern half of the Archives. He brings up his blaster fast and the moment the first Kyr’tsad verd is visible, he's already opening fire. Rex is only a beat behind him, taking shots at gaps in beskar’gam to injure the attackers. Glancing back at them only briefly, Myles barks out, “get down!” Then, he's vaulting forwards and over the benches to close the distance between Kyr’tsad and himself.
Jesse and Thorn have already jumped into motion, flipping the closest bench onto its side so they can push Fives, Tup, and Dogma down behind it. Then, the pair of them crouch into the small temporary cover as Thire follows them down with Echo still in his arms. Rex kneels behind the bench so he's mostly hidden from view as he continues trying to keep the enemy verde thrown off balance. He'd call it a miracle none of them have been close to being hit, but it's clear that the verde from Kyr’tsad are trying only to hit Myles and ignoring the perceived ade in the room. (Not something that Thire finds comforting since it means they're probably going to try to take the Vode hostage and that will give Jaster and Jango a heart attack. With both him and Thorn involved, Fox will also be very upset.)
As capable as both Myles and Rex are, there's more verde in the squad from Kyr’tsad than two of them can really deal with. They close in on Myles, even when most of their shots only glance off his beskar’gam or slow him down a little but don't stop him. With two of them getting into uncomfortably close range, Myles steps back once before lighting up his flamethrower from the vambrace of his left kom’rk in a bid to push them back. It's not unsuccessful, but he can only use it in bursts to avoid burning all his fuel or overheating the metal of his kom’rk and hurting himself. The two who got close pull back and one catches some fire along their armor and kute, shouting in pain as their retreat is more of a stumble than the other.
When the burst of fire snuffs out, two more of the Kyr’tsad verde spring forward to engage Myles directly. The first drops low to kick out in an attempt to knock Myles off his feet while the second leaps for his head with a vibroknife in one hand. Myles kicks the lower one in the side of the buy’ce to avoid being tripped but can't fully dodge the second attacker. He's grabbed at the shoulder and shoved back a few steps as he narrowly avoids a jab of the knife towards his throat. This turns into a full on struggle to grapple with the other verd, just to keep from being stabbed somewhere vital.
A well placed shot from Rex makes the verd trying to regain their feet go limp. Dead. (Thire hopes.) Briefly, he considers one of them trying to take the weapons of the downed verd but dismisses it because the body is already being stepped over by the rest of their comrades.
With Myles caught in a close range tangle, the rest of the Kyr’tsad attackers have paused in firing to avoid hitting their own verd. Unnervingly, three of them have turned their full attention on Rex and the Vode. When the first round of stunners—Thire kind of hates it when he's right about this sort of thing—comes their way, they all collectively tuck their heads back down. Rex tips the blaster so they can all see that the borrowed blaster is already low on charges left and Thire mentally promises himself to give Myles eternal osik for having such a low quality side arm. (And only having one. Seriously, he misses the Guard and their ever more creatively hidden weapons. They were walking armories and it had been very practical during their patrols closer to the lower levels.)
The older four Vode exchange battle signs to come up with a plan. Sitting and waiting to be shot isn't an option and they all know it. Reluctantly, Thire moves to put Echo down as both Jesse and Thorn pull out their knives. They're only going to be able to do so much considering their size, but with Rex laying down covering fire, they might be able to take down one or two of the verde and hope Myles can get out of his own fight to back them up.
But, he's still in the process of disentangling Echo from where he's wrapped his arms around Thire’s neck when running footsteps from behind them draw the attention of most of the room. Half-turning, Thire is intensely relieved to see Fox hurtling towards them, eyes blazing with protective fury—and a borrowed carbine in his arms—with Jon only a few paces behind.
“Get away from my brothers!” Fox snarls the instant he can see all three of the verde closing in on their vode. There's that pressure in the air again except, for once, it doesn't just hang over them—like a building storm cloud—it erupts. Whatever it is passes above the heads of the vode behind the bench but slams into the Kyr’tsad verde unseen and throws them across the hall. Even the verde at the other end of the hall stumble from the impact of it. Myles’ opponent is knocked off balance enough that Myles can give them a vicious kov’nyn and they crumple from the hit.
One of the Kyr’tsad attackers shouts. “Jetiise!” (Stating the obvious since a beat later Jon’s lightsaber ignites in a wash of green and he flips over the heads of the Vode with grace.)
A few of the Kyr’tsad warriors don’t get back up from being thrown—knocked out from the impact?—but several regain their feet. Among them is a woman with cropped blond hair that sends bells ringing in Thire brain, though he can’t figure out why. Not until Echo confusedly asks the room at large—probably aimed at Rex though. “Why’s Omega here?”
Rex blinks at Echo. Then, he looks at the blond woman too. She had only barely entered the hall before Fox’s—Force push?—blast and lost her helmet at some point between being knocked over and getting back up. Echo’s voice makes her turn towards them, and she freezes in place. For reasons that Thire doesn’t understand, she looks like she’s seeing a ghost.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not Omega, Echo.” Is what Rex finally manages to say.
Myles and Jon move through the hall with an unspoken agreement, taking down most of the attacking verde more quickly now that there’s two of them, with covering fire from Fox and Rex. The woman doesn’t move—so she’s left alone by all four of their armed allies—and merely stares at all of the Vode. But it isn’t a hostile stare, she’s… confused. And Thire doesn’t think it’s only due to the number of identical ade because there’s recognition in her eyes. Something in the back of Thire’s mind clicks and he turns to Rex.
“Who’s Omega? You’ve mentioned her as being with the Bad Batch before but I don’t think either of you have explained who she is since I’ve been here.” He keeps his voice low, trying to not project their likely strange conversation to the natborns in the room.
“Clone.” Echo mutters back. “Unaltered, like Boba, but female. Looked a lot like her.” He waves one hand in the woman’s direction.
Thire turns back to Rex, and Thorn next to him. The moment Thorn catches onto his thought, he can see his vod’s eyes widen. He whispers for Rex’s sake. “Jango had a sister. Supposedly killed by Kyr’tsad.” For a moment Rex still looks like he’s considering this information. Then he blinks at Thire and shrugs. All of them know how many times supposedly dead or mortally wounded enemies would show back up during the war. Why wouldn’t it happen again? (Though, in this case, maybe she’s not an enemy?)
Sitting up to be seen, with Echo still attached to him like a limpet, Thire looks directly at her and asks. “Are you Arla Fett?”
She looks like she’s been struck by lightning. “Wh-... I-... yes?” Briefly, she closes her eyes and shakes her head like trying to shake something in her brain off. When she opens her eyes again, the woman—Arla—sweeps her gaze back over the group of Vode, still openly confused. But there’s a grief there too, a longing for a precious thing lost. “You look like my vod’ika… but you’re too young to be my vod’ika. He should be-...”
“Older.” Fox fills in, lowering his rifle after Jon takes down the last actively struggling enemy. “Jango is older.”
There’s a clear flinch at the mention of Jango’s name. “You know my brother? But he-...” Her voice trails off and she seems to get lost in her own mind, gaze going faraway.
“Jango thinks you’re dead.” Thire tells her.
Arla’s eyes jump to Thire and she blinks at him. “Jango’s alive?”
Myles snorts in wry amusement from where he’s tying up two of the Kyr’tsad warriors that aren’t dead. “Very alive and a pain in my shebs.”
“I-...” She goes quiet again, attention fixed on the Vode. (Honestly, Thire can’t blame her. If he thought one of his vode was dead only to have a bunch of tubie identical copies—down to the tattoos and mannerisms, in the case of a vod—show up, he’d be pretty confused, too.)
“Do you want to see him?” Tup asks innocently, as he crawls up over the bench now that there’s no more fighting.
Just the sight of such a tiny copy of her long-lost brother makes Arla startle and then drop to sit on the floor. She buries her face in her gauntleted hands and weeps. This brings Dogma and Fives out of hiding as well. Unafraid, the three smallest Vode—who don’t have a concussion—scramble across the hall to reach Arla’s side. With gentle hands, Tup strokes her hair and Dogma practically shoves himself into her lap while Fives picks up her lost buy’ce and sets it down neatly at her side. Dogma starts purring rather loudly at her which makes her cry harder, but she drops her hands to pull him closer to her chest so she can instead hide her face in his hair.
(Thire is starting to think they should utilize this purring for comfort thing that Dogma does more tactically. It’s so helpful. Just stick a purring Dogma into the face of anyone who’s upset. Problems solved.)
The rest of the Vode, Thire included, finally get to their feet and Fox trades his borrowed blaster over to Thorn so he can shuffle Echo out of Thire’s arms and into his—since Fox is now the oldest vod here and a little more capable of carrying a slumping developmentally eight year old child. It takes them a moment to convince Echo to move his grip from Thire to Fox, but he does eventually go easily enough and latch onto Fox just as much as he had to Thire. Fox mutters affectionate half-insults under his breath but it’s obvious he’s not actually bothered by it. Thire breathes a quiet sigh of relief that they’re all relatively safe now. In fact, when he stops to listen there’s no longer any sound of distant explosions.
“Can I really see Jango?” Arla asks in a small voice as she finally seems to get some sort of control over herself back. When she lifts her head, she looks somewhere between hopeful and afraid. Like they might be pulling some kind of trick. (Considering she’s spent the last nine years of her life with the likes of Kyr’tsad, Thire can understand why she might suspect something like that. He remembers Priest and Reau.)
Fives nods at her, smiling warmly. “Of course you can! Our comms are out, but Myles and Jon can take us back to him and the rest of our aliit.”
She is startled a little at that. “There’s more of you?”
“Yeah, twelve if you don’t count Jango.” Rex tells her, keeping his voice calm. That has to be his Shiny-wrangling voice. Thire would bet rations on it.
“Twelve? What even-... how-?” Arla doesn’t seem to even know what she wants to ask about the Vode, which… really isn’t a new thing considering they are an anomaly on several levels.
“Clones.” Fox says simply, shrugging when she looks at him in wide-eyed shock and confusion.
As soon as she moves to get up, Dogma scrambles to get out of her lap only to be picked up and held as she stands up to her feet. “Clones? My vod’ika was cloned?” She clutches onto Dogma like she’s afraid he’s going to vanish if she doesn’t keep him in her arms. It’s a good thing Dogma is a consummate cuddler because he latches onto her right back. Just having him in her arms seems to be helping Arla stay calm.
“Well, technically…” Thorn starts, with a mischievous grin on his face.
“It’s complicated and we can explain later.” Rex cuts him off, shooting a warning glare at him.
Thorn rolls his eyes. “I outrank you, Captain.”
“The GAR doesn’t exist. Try again, vod. It’s ‘I’m older than you’.” Fox pats Thorn on the shoulder and looks him over for any signs of injury before moving to do the same to Thire. He submits quietly to his ori’vod’s attention, because he understands why Fox is on edge.
“But, technically, he isn’t.” Rex points out matter of factly. “I outlived all of you, remember?” It earns him some eye-rolls and muffled laughter, while Arla simply looks more bewildered.
Thire opens his mouth to suggest they go join up with the other Haat’ade now that Jon and Myles seem to have all of the still living Kyr’tsad warriors bound so they won’t be going anywhere anytime soon—some of them with bindings from their own gear. But then, Myles’ comm crackles back to life.
“ ...-les? Can you hear me, Myles? Some of our ramikade got the signal jammer down. If you hear this please respond. Do you have my vod’ikase?” Jango’s voice cuts through the room as Myles grabs for his comm.
“‘Lek. I hear you, Jango. I’ve got eyes on nine of your little siblings and one older sibling. We’re in the East Display Hall.” Once he’s tugged his buy’ce off, Myles reports casually. “Want us to head back in your direction? We’ve got a few of Kyr’tsad’s verde here still alive but tied up.”
“Older? What are you-... nevermind. Don’t move actually, I’m bringing a squad your way since we got an alert about one of the back entrances being breached.” Jango pauses. “And some very worried siblings because they wouldn’t hear of staying behind somewhere safe.”
Kix’s voice is mildly indignant across the comm. “Excuse you. I was the Chief Medical Officer for the 501st, I know what kind of trouble they get into. I’ll clean your weapons for the next week if none of them are hurt in some way.”
“That’s not a bet I recommend taking, Ori’vod.” Kote warns, clearly holding back laughter.
“Yeah. No. We’ve got at least one concussion and some other cuts and scrapes. Don’t take that bet, Alor.” Myles chuckles.
“Knew it!” The medic from the 501st sounds almost smug about the fact he was correct his vode got themselves hurt.
Jango’s bemused laugh over the comms seems to make Arla’s lips quirk into a hint of smile. Her eyes haven’t left Myles’ comm from the moment it started transmitting again and they look misty like she might start crying again. “What would you have even had me do in exchange, Kix’ika? You don’t exactly have any weapons for me to clean.”
“I’d figure something out. I’m creative.” Kix sniffs in what is probably mock offense—though it’s hard to be sure without seeing his face.
Rex snickers. “Yeah, he is. Don’t test him.” Then his gaze jumps up to Myles’ face. “Speaking of weapons, Myles, your sidearm is osik.” He holds the blaster out for Myles to take back.
“Wait. He only has one sidearm?” Fox sputters in startled confusion.
Thire sighs. “My thoughts exactly.”
Myles manages to look both embarrassed and puzzled. “I-... sorry?”
“If you want, we can show you how to hide more weapons in your beskar’gam.” Thorn offers cheerfully. “We got really good at it on Coruscant.” Their vode from the 501st all cringe a little at the reminder of how hard Coruscant was, but Thire shrugs at them.
“We made it a game sometimes, to see if we could figure out all the places our vode hid extra weapons.” Thire tells them. “Fox was the best at hiding weapons where no one would ever guess. He’s sneaky like that.”
“I really, really hate the other version of me.” Jango tells them right before he and his squad come around a corner and into the hall. He flips off his comm and makes it about halfway across the space—clearly checking each of the Vode with his eyes—before he notices the still standing person in Kyr’tsad colors. The sight of her makes him jerk, and he raises his blaster on instinct, until he really registers her. “Arla?” His voice breaks over the shape of her name.
“Su’cuy, Jan’ika.” Arla says softly, looking at him just as disbelievingly as he’s looking at her.
When both of them end up standing there and staring at each other for what feels like forever, Thire lets out a put upon sigh and tromps over to grab Jango’s forearm and drag him forwards. “Come on. Just say hi to your ori’vod properly already.”
Jango stumbles a little but allows himself to be led. This seems to be enough permission for the other three Vode who had been with him to finally hurry to reach the rest of their siblings. Kix is instantly fussing over the developing bruise on the side of Echo’s head, while Kote checks over Rex, Jesse, Tup, Fives, and Dogma in turns. Sev looks between the three Corries, asking with his eyes if they’re alright and seeming satisfied when he gets three nods in response.
Kote takes Dogma from Arla before Jango reaches her, making it safe for him to collapse into her arms. Their ori’vod clings to Arla tightly. She clings back just as desperately. Neither of them cries though, they don’t seem able to take their eyes off each other. “Are you real?” Arla asks Jango, voice shaking.
“I’m real. I thought-... I thought you died.” He answers, clearly cataloging her face. Every old and new scar, the ways she’s grown up without him there to see it.
“No. No, they-... took me with them.” Arla’s expression shutters into something deeply pained. “They told me they’d killed you.”
Jango shakes his head. “They didn’t. I killed one of them. And… Jaster took me in.”
She nods silently, and presses her forehead to his. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“There’s a place for you here… with us… if you want it?” Jango offers, looking uncertain and nervous, like he thinks she’ll tell him no and disappear again.
“I’d like that…” Her eyes skim over the Vode again. “Though… could you please explain why you have a bunch of kih’tate running around?”
“Ugh.” Jango mashes his face against her hal’cabur a little bit. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got plenty of time to tell it.” Points out Sev. “But probably after we’ve done a bit of cleanup.”
There’s a sigh, and then Jango picks his head back up. “Yeah. I can tell you about it once we’ve dealt with things. You’re not going to go trying to stab any of the Haat’ade are you?”
Arla shakes her head. “No… I don’t think so. I-... I might be in shock though?”
“That would be a normal reaction.” Kix agrees mildly.
Jango stands up straighter and forces himself to let go of his sister. “Right. We need to get back to Jas’buir before he goes and panics because he doesn't know where any of us are now.” He turns to his squad. “Secure the survivors and get them moved for transportation back to the Keep. Vod’ikase, Myles, Jon, move out.” There’s a tinge of humor to his voice as he scoops up Dogma from Kote and hands him back to Arla before he gathers up Tup to carry.
Finally, all of them start moving back through the Archives, followed close by Jon and Myles. Thire watches Arla for a couple of minutes as they walk. He has a feeling that their lives are going to be even more interesting now that they’ve ended up with another ori’vod. Not that he’s complaining. How could he complain when Jango looks so quietly happy every time he glances over and finds Arla still next to him?
This is a good change. He’s sure of it.
Notes:
Jon & Fox: *two spidermans pointing at each other.jpeg*
Jon: …
Fox: …
Jon: You’re really weird in the Force, you know that right?
Fox: Happens when you have to keep a Sith at bay for three years.
Fay: what did you just say?The Vode: So… the Sith were still around until a few weeks ago.
Fay: Oh. This explains some things about Knol’s new feral strange zabraki child.
The Vode: Pardon?
Fay: His name is Maul.
Cody: *vividly remembering how hard it was to kill Maul permanently*
Fox: Congratulations, it’s a baby Sith.Jesse: If I physically put all of myself between Dogma and the danger he can't possibly get hurt
Dogma: can't. breathe. am. squished.
Jesse: But you are also safe :)
Thire: Debatable.Arla: *getting back up after being thrown by an unseen force the moment she got into the room* I can still fight
Arla: *seeing nine little copies of her thought-dead younger brother* Oh. I’m hallucinating. That’s. I am not okay. I’m seeing things.
Echo: *concussed* Our baby sister!
Rex: No. Definitely not.
Thire: But she might be a sister of Jango’s?Dogma: *does the purring to make someone feel better thing because he likes to help*
Thire: This is a good tool. We can harness this.The Vode: What's better than one ori'vod? TWO Ori'vode :D
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
aliit = clan name, identity, family (aliite is plural)
Alor = chancellor, leader, chief, “officer”, constable, boss
beskar = Mandalorian iron
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
Dral’han = Mando’a term for the Mandalorian Excision or the “Annihilation” which was a massive preemptive strike by the Republic and Jedi Order against Mandalorian space that involved bombardment of multiple planets under Mandalorian control to the point of environmental devastation.
elek = yes (shortened to ‘lek as “yeah”)
eyayah = echo (this is where the nickname Ey'ika for Echo comes from in this chapter)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
hal’cabur = chest armor
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
jate = good
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
kih = small
kom’rk = gauntlet
kote = glory
kov’nyn = head-butt
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Manda’lase = Mandalorian Space, basically
Mando'ad = Mandalorian (Mando'ade is plural)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
ramikad = commando (ramikade is plural)
shebs = backside, rear, buttocks (also used for the rear of a building, etc)
Su’cuy = Hi.
tat = twin (or sometimes clone) (tate is plural)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Vor'e! = Thanks!
Chapter 12: Arla & Rex | 39 BBY / 698 SrD (Part 1)
Summary:
The Mandalore Mission Era:
Arla reflects on family and the Vode growing up. The New Mandalorians are dragged to the negotiating table whether they like it or not. Rex remembers another version of Mandalore and someone he might never meet again. Bets are made about a girl-shaped predicament in the making. None of the New Mandalorians were prepared for the Fetts. There might be complications no one anticipated.
Notes:
We're jumping forward in time again because I've got more story to tell and lots of words to tell it!
This chapter is brought to you by the fact that there isn't a named city on Concordia? So I made up a name for the only city on Concordia that ever appears on screen. Also, the fact that the one New Mandalorian whose last name is "Ru-Saxon"... it basically means something like "Formerly of clan Saxon"... which... ouch. Just come up with a new name at that point, pal.
The city name I came up with is Kel for fortress merged with a cut version of oriya for city and then vheh for dirt/soil. It's a "City Fort on a Mine" basically. Something, something linguistics reasons for why Kel'oriya becomes Kelora.
... Was Rex supposed to have a POV in this fic originally? NOPE. But here he is folks!
CW: mentions and references of Kyr'tsad being horrible to children... like the trainers on Kamino were horrible to children, references to the Vode who haven't come back in time and might not exist and the weird brand of grief that comes with it, discussion and references to the cultural and historical erasure and destruction related to New Mandalorian beliefs, references and discussions related to New Mandalorians basically practicing pro-Human, pro-white people with blond hair and light colored eyes brand eugenics, new Mandalorians and the Republic Senate being shady, mentions of truly horrifying quality coffee the Corries drank, references to the Clone Wars events in the Mandalorian system, references to political assassination attempts, implied past (possibly one-sided) Rex/Ahsoka Tano and the complication that accelerated aging and now time travel have for Rex's connection to Ahsoka (even just as friends), mentions of Sith and references to the Corrie Guard's experience with one in particular.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Even after ten years, there are days where Arla Fett has trouble feeling like she isn’t living in some sort of dream and, at some point, she’s going to wake up. Today… is not one of those days.
She wakes up with Dog'ika halfway on top of her—even at the developmental age of sixteen, he remains one of the most constantly physically affectionate of her vod’ikase—his head tucked against her neck in a way that leaves his curls dangerously close to her mouth. (Thankfully, she does not actually end up with any hair in her mouth— this time.) Unfortunately, there is no escape from her sleeping vod’ika because she has Rex'ika’s back pushed up against her other side, trapping her in place—he is not as easily moved at developmentally twenty years old the way he was at ten. Her mir’baar’ur would probably have something to say about the value of finding these kinds of grounding moments with her aliit. Not that she’s complaining.
So, yes, it’s definitely real. She isn’t with Kyr’tsad anymore. It’s been a happy ten years since she ran into a fight, was thrown against a wall with the Manda, heard a voice that haunted her dreams—but with an unfamiliar inflection and accent—then opened her eyes to see multiple faces that looked like her long lost vod’ika. Not long after that confusing moment, she found out that not only was Jango still alive, but there were now twelve more little siblings wandering around with their own versions of his face. And, to her immense confusion, they’re from a version of the future that—hopefully—won’t happen again.
(Learning to love Jan'ika’s kih’tate was easy. She already loved Jan'ika and they were all Jan'ika’s—in a sense, though most of them prickled at the implications when she said it that way—so she wanted to love them. Her brother’s kih’tate have their ghosts and she won’t begrudge them that. They don’t begrudge her all her little oddities and quirks picked up from nine years as a captive-member of Kyr’tsad. If anything… they understand her better than Jaster and Jan'ika can sometimes. The kih’tate know what it’s like to be trained to fight in a conflict they never chose for themselves. Horrifyingly, some of them are familiar with the training methods used by Kyr'tsad, though they unsubtly reassure her they weren't directly trained by them. None of the kih’tate try to compare if what they experienced was better or worse than what she went through. There isn’t a competition. Just mutual recognition.)
For all the joy she’s found with this new version of her aliite, there’s still grief, too. All the years of Jan’ika’s life she missed. The ways he’d grown and changed, when she wasn’t there, to become a good and honorable man their tal’buire would be proud of. (She makes sure to tell him so regularly, especially when he struggles with the growing responsibilities of the Ven’Mand’alor.) There's grief for the lives that a different version of them all lived, changed only because the Manda saw fit to send the kih’tate backwards through time. No one could tell her what had happened to that other version of herself. Maybe it’s for the best.
And yet, getting to watch all the kih’tate grow up—in the ways Jan’ika must have before them—helps Arla feel less like she’s missed too much. She was able to be there for Fox'ika, Kot'ika, and Sev’ika’s verd’gotene. (And all the other verd’gotene for the kih’tate that followed.) Arla was there when Kix'ika got to start his training to be a baar’ur (again) and saw how excited he was when Baar’ur Gilamar offered to train him personally on top of the formal schooling. (Gilamar is extremely fond of Kix'ika and Jan’ika has shared his suspicions that if Jaster hadn’t already told his verde that any of Jan’ika’s clones were his that Gilamar might have tried to adopt Kix'ika himself.) There had been the beginning of Fiv'ika’s apprenticeship under the House Mereel Goran—which had surprised his vode more than it surprised Arla or Jan’ika. As well as Sev'ika—and later Thor'ika and Thir'ika—reaching the heights of becoming some of Jaster’s ramikade as some of the youngest verde to achieve the rank.
Each and every single one of her vod’ikase were growing up.
Though, whether or not all of the thirteen mostly-grown younger siblings she has should all still be sleeping in the same karyai is another question. The kih’tate like their ‘vod piles’ and she doesn’t mind the freely given affection. Eventually, Rex'ika does wake up enough to be nudged into rolling over onto his stomach and freeing Arla. Which she appreciates because one of her arms was asleep from being trapped under Dog'ika. She still takes a moment to brush some of his curls away from his face before crawling out of the pit of the karyai to start her day.
Once she’s made it over to the kitchen area of the karyai, Arla finds the Domino tate in the process of trying to grapple each other. Raising her eyebrows, she turns to look over at Kix'ika who is standing out of their way and pouring the last cup of caf from the caf machine. “What are they fighting about this time?” She asks him.
Kix'ika rolls his eyes fondly and wiggles the now empty pot at her before passing her the full cup of caf and going through the motions of setting another pot of caf brewing. He watches the struggle resolve itself. (Ey'ika wins.) Then, kindly informs the pair of them. “You’re both giant ik’aade.”
“No!” Fiv'ika stands upright and pouts. “Don’t say that. We’ve already been cadets twice, you’ll jinx it!”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Ey'ika snickers as he turns to look at the caf machine, then squints suspiciously at Kix'ika. When he turns to look at Arla, she just smiles and offers him the cup of caf that she hasn’t even taken a sip from yet (the twins are blocking the path to the conservator so, since she doesn’t care for having her caf black, she hadn’t been able to get to her choice of mix-ins.) His eyes brighten and he accepts the mug from her, steps over to give her a quick keldabe, and then kicks at Fiv'ika’s shins to get access to the conservator.
(She knows sometimes he looks at her and sees another sister he used to have. It’s the reason why he and Rex'ika never call her their “favorite sister” unlike most of the other kih’tate. Kot'ika won’t call her that because of a different sister who was under his command during the war. Arla isn’t offended. After all, she is their older sister and neither Omega nor Sister could claim that privilege for any of the Vode.)
Arla settles herself onto a stool by the counter and watches her little brothers sort themselves out. With the dispute over caf temporarily resolved, Fiv'ika helps Ey'ika pull ingredients out of the conservator to make an actual firstmeal. Kix'ika joins her on the opposite side of the counter—outside of the ‘blast zone’, he whispers to her—and quietly watches in case things go from messy to disastrous. It’s peaceful, in its own way.
The peace can’t last forever though, and Jan'ika emerges from the private room that serves more like an unofficial office than a bedroom muttering mostly inaudibly to himself while glaring at a datapad in his hands. None of them need to ask to know why he’s frustrated. It’s the same thing it always is recently, the Evaar’ade’s increasingly blatant ploys to try to delay the inevitable meeting with the Haat’ade. In Arla’s opinion, it’s a long overdue meeting, but there’s been vanishingly little contact between the Evaar’ade and the Haat’ade since Kyr’tsad went to ground after a string of defeats for five years after Arla gained her freedom. (They had been very satisfying victories for Arla though. Her vod’ikase had terrifying strategic minds once handed all of the information she could remember about Kyr’tsad after she’d had time to recover from her ordeal.)
Whether the Evaar’ade like it or not there are only two choices for leadership left for most of Mandalore and the majority of the Mando’ade prefer the Haat’ade over the Evaar’ade. It’s obvious. More and more Evaar’ade are trickling out of Sundari—and other Evaar’ade strongholds—to seek reconnection with their aliite, their people, their histories, and their culture.
Mando’ade who aren’t Human—or who don’t fit the visual mold preferred by the Evaar’ade—have gotten increasingly loud about the problems with the way the Evaar’ade have made themselves Human-centric. Really, in aliit Fett alone, only Arla and Rex'ika could potentially stand a chance amongst the Evaar’ade considering most of the kih’tate have Jan'ika’s dark curls as much as they have his tawny complexion and rich amber eyes. And they would only have a chance because they’re blond and Arla has a lighter complexion than Jan'ika and his kih’tate do.
Jaster has grown increasingly determined to bring them to the table to negotiate. Not only because as the Mand’alor he has a right to demand they swear to him (even if they won’t do so as warriors), but because they’ve caught wind of the Evaar’ade making increasing trade deals to sell beskar out of the system. Just thinking about what they must be melting down to sell so much beskar makes Arla angry. There’s history—artifacts like those from the Cultural Archives—that the Haat’ade can’t account for that might be in the hands of the Evaar’ade. (Or worse, already smelted into ingots and sold off to the highest bidders from the Republic.)
It was Jan'ika’s idea to weaponize the Evaar’ade’s admiration for the Jetiise of Coruscanta against them. (Rumors from their spies have told them that Duke Kryze’s elder daughter has come back from her fancy Core world education espousing the Jetiise as true keepers of the peace and so on. This makes most of the kih’tate snicker when they hear it because they know how the Jetiise keep the peace in the face of a war. And it’s not pacifism.) So now Jan'ika has been in contact with the Republic Senate—ugh—to request aid from the Jetiise in negotiating with the Evaar’ade.
That little jetii of Kot'ika’s has been extremely helpful in pointing out the best ways to utilize the system to their advantage. The Republic likes the Evaar’ade and would love for the Haat’ade to join them at the negotiating table. Those from the Senate, of course, would want the Haat’ade to make the most concessions and to allow themselves to either be entirely defanged or better positioned to be leashed by the Republic. But, the trick is getting the Evaar’ade to the table and then reminding them exactly what the balance of power is. After that it shouldn’t be hard to start getting them to see enough reason to realize that even if they keep their little safe havens, they don’t have the pull to try to make other Mando’ade give up their culture. Not anymore. (Really, this Obi-Wan that Kot'ika speaks of so glowingly has been very useful. Arla looks forward to the day she gets to meet him.)
“The Republic being difficult again?” Asks Thir'ika as he slips onto another of the stools by the counter.
“Not today.” Jan'ika grumbles before dropping himself into a slouch on the stool next to Arla’s. “We’ve got some confirmation that our request is being passed to the Order and even an estimate of when they might have a diplomatic team available, based on the Senate’s knowledge of what the Order’s current workload is. But now the Duke wants to drag his feet and be difficult about where we can meet. He doesn’t want to come to Keldabe and I’m not making us take our people to Sundari where they’ll try to force us to disarm to even step foot into the city. Of course, there’s not exactly an abundance of reasonable alternatives for a meeting this size.”
“What’s their problem with Keldabe?” Ey'ika huffs as he slides a cup of caf for Arla and then one for Jan'ika across the counter before setting down the most common mix-ins within their reach.
Pushing a hand through his curls, Jan'ika lifts his gaze from the datapad to tug his cup of caf closer so he can add sweetener. “I can’t even tell you. At a guess, they’re scared that if their people see how well Keldabe is doing, they lose even more of their fragile backing. Or they’re worried we’ll take them on a tour of the Cultural Archives and frighten them with reminders of our ‘barbaric warrior past’.” His mocking Kalevalan accent is bad but very amusing.
Arla hides her smile while she adds nerf milk to her own caf before taking a sip. “You could ask them?” She suggests.
“I would if I thought they’d give me a straight answer.” Jan'ika snorts before picking up his own cup. “But they’ve been trying to talk me in circles for weeks and I’m getting tired of it.”
Thir'ika raises his eyebrows. “Want one of us to look? Fox, Thorn, and I used to work in and around the Republic Senate. Politicians are kind of our thing. Not that carrying around increasingly bigger weapons is an option in this particular scenario. But, I’m familiar with the doublespeak that politicians and diplomats love to use.”
Shrugging, Jan'ika concedes. “I don’t see what that could hurt.” He hands the datapad to Thir'ika and their younger brother is immediately intent on the screen, brow furrowing slightly as he skims over whatever lengthy and flowery message the Evaar’ade’s representatives have sent this time.
“Pffft. They’re not even that good at political doublespeak.” He says disdainfully after a long moment. “I’ll get you a better response than they could manage within an hour or two.” Without looking up, his fingers are already flying over the surface of the datapad, opening a blank text note and then putting together words in chunks as he settles in to draft something.
“This is why I like having so many vod’ikase.” Jan’ika says tiredly.
Fiv'ika snickers. “And because you love us.”
“That, too.”
Ey'ika quietly slides a cup of caf across the counter to Thir'ika, who picks it up without looking and drinks it black. (Arla only asked the three kih’tate who call themselves ‘the Corries’ about their preference for black caf once, and was informed that the caf machines the Vode were given on Coruscant were so atrocious that drinking it black was like drinking starship fuel and, comparatively, any other kind of black caf is enjoyable. The idea is horrifying, but she can understand it conceptually.)
Rex'ika finally comes stumbling over to join them by the counter, only briefly glancing at the Dominos before he leans himself against Kix'ika and closes his eyes like he might fall back to sleep standing there, pressed against Kix'ika’s back. “Rex, why?” Kix'ika asks, prodding at Rex'ika with one elbow.
“Tired.”
Exasperated, Kix'ika gives up and just sighs. “Then go back to sleep in the place we sleep, di’kut.”
Shaking his head a little, Rex'ika slumps even further into Kix'ika. “Mm’no. Dogma was trying to attach himself to me. I didn’t want to get stuck for several hours.”
That earns him some snickers and huffs of laughter from the rest of their vode in the kitchen area. “That’s probably because I got up.” Arla says, unapologetic.
“Probably.” Rex'ika agrees with a sleepy nod.
There are suddenly loud footsteps from one of the other private rooms—really most of the aliit uses their private rooms as personal offices and storage spaces—and Kot'ika comes practically flying into the karyai and over to where the rest of them who aren’t sleeping are gathered. “The Order assigned the mission to come help us!” He tells them gleefully.
“Oh?” Ey'ika looks up from pushing some of the food he and Fiv'ika were making onto a dish for serving.
“They’re sending Obi-Wan and his Baji'havur.”
Ah. Yes, that would explain why Kot'ika looks like he just received the best news in his entire life. Arla smiles and sips her caf, enjoying the way the excitement spreads from Kot'ika through the rest of the kih’tate. Most of them like Kot'ika’s jetii on some level.
“Congrats, Kote, you can stop pining from afar for a while.” Thir'ika says with a smirk tugging at his lips.
There’s no hiding the way Kot'ika turns bright red, even as he snaps at his vod. “Ne'johaa!”
On the trip to Kelora Vheh, one of the major cities built near the mines on Concordia, Rex finds himself mentally reliving the time he'd spent in the Mandalore system as Alor’ad and Al'verde for the GAR. Most of the time he tries to not think about his past life these days. His mir’baar’ur says it's good to live in the present moment. But now, on the way to the planet that once was the core of Kyr'tsad's nest of evil? He thinks about it.
In his mind’s eye he can still clearly recall the first time they came to Mandalore and Concordia. The way that Duchess Kryze had been so sure that Mandalore's real culture was dead and she had so staunchly refused to be moved from pacifism. Her adherence to her principles was admirable, even if years of experience have soured Rex to the reality of them. Mandalore's bitterness against the Kryzes isn’t exactly changed, but it seems better in some ways. It isn't festering exclusively in the shadows, at least. Jas'buir gives everyone room to air their grievances with him and with the leadership of Sundari. He can say with some certainty that Jaster is far less actively unpopular to the point of assassination attempts than Kryze was during the war.
(This version of Rex doesn't want the Kryze family dead anymore than he did before, he just wishes they'd step out of the way and accept political and cultural defeat with a little more grace.)
For that other version of him, Concordia itself was a place of betrayal.
There had been Kyr'tsad and Pre Vizsla, and it itches that the younger Vizsla is still out there. Unaccounted for. Pre is still young, not yet as powerful or as vile as he'd been in the other future, but he is a threat so long as no one has eyes on him. Figures like Tal Merrik and Almec are also either not yet prominent or safely tucked behind Evaar’ade leadership where their true nature remains something of a secret. But Rex remembers and he remembers it well. He and Kote have spent hours with Jesse trying to track them along with other possible future evils.
(Jesse's ability to have an intelligence network is still painfully stifled by being seen as a fresh-faced twenty year old instead of a veteran military officer and elite forces soldier. How he'd bullied Kal Skirata into helping him four years ago remains baffling. But, he is building a network. And what's there works passingly well.)
“We’re going to land in 30!” Echo shouts through the closed door to the room that Jesse, Kote, and Rex had commandeered to review all their intelligence one more time. “Just a heads up.”
“Vor’e!” Kote calls back loud enough to know he'll be heard. He passes another datapad to Rex—schematics for one of the buildings the Governor of Concordia and local leader of Kelora Vheh have set aside for this conference between the Haat'ade and Evaar’ade—to look over the security measures in place.
Sighing, Rex looks at it and lets himself think of the other thing related to Mandalore that he rarely lets himself dwell on. Ahsoka Tano. She'd been… good and one of the best friends he could have ever asked for. She isn't even born yet and that hurts. Again the universe is denying him a stable, lasting connection to her. The first time he'd grown old too fast. He was kriffing younger than her back then but the Vode’s aging meant he would never have enough time. Now, he is over two decades older and has no reason to ever meet her.
It doesn't stop him from remembering her as she was when he was nearing the end of his life and she was still in the prime of hers. She'd been strong and beautiful and more than Kenobi and Skywalker could have ever dreamed of for her. Still, Rex had always resented that she'd had to grow up in a war only to be flung into another, more complicated one after. Even if he never meets her in this life, he hopes desperately that she'll get to be happy and safe this time. If that's the only thing he can ever give this version of her, it will have to be enough. (Nothing stops him from missing her.)
Making a note in the margins of the schematic, he forces himself to break the focused silence of the room so he'll stop brooding over things he can't change. “Remember the last time we came to Concordia and Obi-Wan got himself kidnapped by Kyr’tsad and Satine was the one to rescue him?”
“Yes,” Kote replies with an aggrieved tone. “I'm already dreading finding out whether their feelings for each other are going to happen again or not.”
Jesse snickers. “You're probably in the clear with how often Obi-Wan talks to you, but it is possible Satine will pine after him anyway.”
“She probably will, vod. She still thinks the Jetiise are the peak of pacifism made flesh.” Rex laughs.
Tilting his head, Jesse looks between Kote and Rex thoughtfully. “So, the question is what will she do when she finds out Obi-Wan is taken and the Jetiise aren't as shiny as she thought. There are multiple vode close in age to her.”
Kote blinks at Jesse like that possibility never occurred to him—if Rex is honest it didn't occur to him either. “Would she want to consider any of us? We pass for Human, sure, but we don't exactly have the complexion they prefer in Sundari.”
“We should make bets.” Jesse is grinning excitedly now as he puts down the datapad he's using. Before either of them can argue he has already vanished out the door—probably to find the Dominoes who will delight in having some form of extra entertainment for the extent of their visit.
“I don't like that.” Rex points after him. “I really don't like that.”
Kote shrugs. “We're still used to them doing that without telling us they're doing it.”
“I prefer to not be responsible for whatever that is going to turn into.” He decides with a groan before looking back at the schematics. Something catches his eye. “Hey… does this look off to you?” Turning the datapad back to Kote, he watches his brother study what he's looking at.
“No, you're right. That's weird.”
Rex tilts the datapad and chews his lower lip. “We’re going to need to look when we’re planet-side. But, this might be the time for an old-fashioned Kenobi ‘I have a bad feeling about this’.”
“Don’t.” Kote sighs. “You’re going to jinx it.”
“Too late?”
Arla walks through the central area of The Legacy to see multiple kih’tate whispering to each other in a manner that seems extremely conspiratory. And, well, there’s still some time until they land in Kelora Vheh. So, she walks over quietly before leaning in to rest her chin on Ey’ika’s shoulder. “What are we whispering about?” She asks mildly, carefully not letting herself smirk at the way Ey’ika startles and then settles when he realizes it’s her.
“Placing bets.” Jess’ika tells her, a gleam in his eye that always precludes some kind of trouble.
“On?”
Sev’ika smirks and folds his arms over his chest. “Whether or not the older Kryze will have a crush on any of us and which vod it’s the most likely to be. Apparently, last time she had feelings for Kenobi, but Kenobi isn’t likely to be interested in her this time. Which leads to the question… which other man her age will she possibly be interested in.”
She raises her eyebrows at them as she processes this information. “Oh. That’s easy. It’ll be Rex’ika.” It’s obvious.
However, they clearly don’t all agree with her. “What, why would it be Rex? He’s nothing like Kenobi.” Jess’ika argues.
“No, you’re just assuming her attraction to Kenobi was based on personality and appearance and not circumstances.” Fiv’ika rolls his eyes. “And she’s right, it'll be Rex.”
“So you’re assuming her feelings were about them being in a dangerous situation together?” Ey’ika asks contemplatively.
Dog’ika speaks up quietly. “It could have been an act of teenage rebellion. Like… having a relationship with a jetii would be kind of questionably allowed. In which case, having a crush on one of us isn’t that impossible since the ade of the Mand’alor would be even more taboo for an Evaar’ad.”
“So who do you think it will be, Dogma?” Jess’ika asks, eyeing his vod’ika speculatively.
Shrugging, Dog’ika sidles over to press his side against Arla and Ey’ika. “Kix, probably. He’s calmer and a medic, which potentially makes him not seem like a warrior to the Evaar’ade. It would make him one of the safer options.”
Kix’ika sputters a little. “Wh- I hate that idea. No, thank you!”
“I didn’t say any of us would want her to have feelings for us.” Jess’ika points out. “That’s not part of the betting pool… though I guess it could be?”
“Urgh. No.” Fiv’ika grimaces. “Anyone who bet on her having a mutual thing with one of our vode would just be throwing away their waadase. It’s a stupid bet.”
Several of the kih’tate nod in agreement to this. “Okay, alright.” Ey’ika holds up his hands and tries to bring them all back to order. “So we have two bets on Rex, a bet on Kix, two bets on Tup, one for Thorn, one for Fives, and one for me. We’re still missing the Corries, Kote, Rex, and Jango—if he even wants to participate.”
“Participate in what?” Jan’ika asks from where he’s paused in his path walking through the room. “What are we doing?”
“Whether or not Satine Kryze will have a crush on one of our vode and who it will be.” Jess’ika informs him cheerfully.
Jan’ika just stares at them for a beat. “No way. Her faction won’t even talk to us most of the time.”
“Do you want to bet on it?” Fiv’ika challenges quietly.
Jan’ika’s shoulders slump a little. “Oh. That’s what this is. Sure. I’ll bet on it.” Then, he turns and makes his escape with quick steps—not running, but walking very fast.
Jess’ika and Fiv’ika both snicker at the sight of Jan’ika’s retreat, then turn back to the group. “Now,” Jess’ika says brightly, “We go find the Corries.”
Kelora Vheh is… pretty much exactly how Rex remembers it. (Probably because Kry’tsad didn’t destroy their own cities the way they did other places.) There’s hills cutting up into mountains that stretch skyward, covered in gangly odd trees. The front entry of the city looks down into a valley with a river cutting through it, green and quietly alive. Rex is almost certain that the Jetiise will end up spending some amount of their free time down in the valley to get away from the rising tempers that a meeting full of Mando’ade would surely bring.
The Legacy sets down outside of the city, because it’s a little too big for their main hangars and the Haat’ade want to keep their own unofficial base outside of the city in case anything goes sideways. While Rex and his aliit disembark, there are already verde and gotabore rushing to unload equipment. The Haat’ade plan to set up sensors and limited defensive measures around their larger ships. Ideally, it would give them some advance notice if there’s an attack from outside during the conference. (They’re well aware that any attacks are more likely to come from within or be lone agents, but it’s better to be prepared for all possible outcomes.)
It isn’t until they’ve taken speeders up to Kelora Vheh and been led to the complex of buildings that will serve as the temporary conference space, that there’s any sign of the Evaar’ade. Most of the Evaar’ade are meant to arrive the next day, shortly after the Jetiise are scheduled to arrive, but there is a small contingent of them who came ahead for preparations. (Mostly to make sure the complex isn’t a trap of some kind and probably pass back information about what sorts of arms and armor the Haat’ade have arrived with. Rex isn’t a fool. Sending scouts out ahead is normal strategy in battle. Even if the Haat’ade aren’t planning for this to turn into a physical conflict.)
“Ser Mereel. I am glad to see you’ve arrived safely.” An unfamiliar individual says, when they cross paths with the Haat’ade during their own building sweep and security check. Several of the Haat’ade immediately prickle at the lack of proper title for their Mand’alor. The one Evaar’ad has two others waiting near the doors to the room for him, both clearly meant as personal security than as other individuals with enough standing to speak to someone as important as the Mand’alor.
Jas’buir pauses where he’s reviewing notes taken by some of their ramikade about the city’s defenses to look up at this stranger. “Olarom. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage as I don’t know who you are.”
“Armatan Ru-Kelborn, Ser.” Replies the Evaar’ad.
With his name, Rex can place him as a member of the governing council of the Evaar’ade. That is a surprise considering they’d been expecting most of the actual politically important Evaar’ade to all arrive together. He hides his own instinctive grimace at the use of the ‘ru’ prefix so many Evaar’ade seem to adopt for their clan names. To separate themselves from their aliite and alii’kotese. Declaring themselves the equivalent of ‘formerly of this aliit’ in a way that’s both public and insulting. (Or, at least, most of the Haat’ade seem to find it insulting when they meet someone with a ‘ru’ prefix in front of their own clan or house names.)
Jas’buir nods and passes the notes in his hand to Sev and holds out his arm to Ru-Kelborn, who shakes his hand like a kriffing Core Worlder instead of the traditional forearm clasp. And, yes, Rex knew to expect this but it’s still jarring after living amongst the Haat’ade for twelve years. Even the Vode had always preferred the forearm clasp. He intentionally keeps the tilt of his head towards the schematics on his datapad as he starts visually mapping out the room they’re in. “Well met. As you know, I’m Mand’alor Jaster Mereel of House Mereel. Allow me to introduce a few of my ade.”
“Ah. Of course, Ser.” Ru-Kelborn seems startled when Jaster motions towards Sev and Rex while Kote pulls off his buy’ce to meet the man’s eyes. Fives, Dogma, and Tup already didn’t have their buy’cese on, so the man is now looking at four identical faces and two more armored verde with extremely similar builds.
The smile on Jas’buir’s face is all good manners—but Rex is almost certain there’s a glint of humor in his eyes at the chance to startle a new audience with his collection of identical ade. It’s been a long time since they really met anyone of importance who hadn’t already known something about them. But the Evaar’ade trying to shut everyone out for the last decades have left them at a disadvantage in the way of intel on the Haat’ade. “This is my son and one of my youngest ramikade, Sev Fett, and that’s my son Kote Fett, both House Mereel.” Jas’buir starts gesturing from Sev to Kote.
(At best, the Evaar’ade probably know some of what’s publicly available, if they’ve even known to attach the Fetts to House Mereel at all. Jas’buir has always been careful about openly publicizing anything about his aliit beyond that he has ade and one of them is in training to succeed him. Unless someone thought to actually pay close attention to the occasional holos taken of their aliit though—to check for minor differences in armor, hairstyle, and body language—and count heads very carefully, there’s no way the Evaar’ade know the quantity of ade the Mand’alor has.
It doesn’t strike Rex as something they’d pay attention to anyway. He’s been told—with a great deal of disdain—that the Evaar’ade don’t value adoptions the way traditional Mandalorian culture does. So, the sudden expansion of one adopted ad to thirteen ade and then an addition of a fourteenth adult might not have even been on their radar. The idea of their intelligence team having to scramble after this afternoon to try to figure out who the Fetts are makes him smirk under his buy’ce.)
While Sev just offers a silent nod—he’s clearly taking pleasure in being the silent and intimidating figure for the moment—Kote clips his buy’ce to his belt and steps forward to greet Ru-Kelborn. When the Evaar’ad goes to hold out a hand to shake, Kote bypasses his hand easily to grab the man by the forearm. Rex knows Kote’s grip is firm but not bruising, though Ru-Kelborn visibly startles at being forced into such a position. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ser Ru-Kelborn.” Kote’s tone is light, almost friendly. “We appreciate your faction agreeing to speak with us after such a long lapse in mutual cooperation.”
Ru-Kelborn fumbles silently, before replying. “Yes. Of course.” His eyes dart to Jas’buir like he thinks their buir will save him from Kote. “Erm, how many children do you have, Se-ehm, Mand’alor Mereel?”
Kote lets go after a long enough moment to drive home that Ru-Kelborn’s lack of respect for Jas’buir was noticed. (He subtly squeezed the man’s forearm a little tighter when he went to use the wrong form of address for Jas’buir again.) “There are fourteen of us, Ser. Jas’buir has been good to us after we were all orphaned.” It’s a half-truth they’ve all agreed to use when speaking with outsiders and people they don’t trust with the knowledge of the clones being, well, clones and time travelers.
“Fourteen?” The Evaar’ad is a bit agape, looking from Sev, to Kote, to the three Vode standing and chatting across the room. “Wh- well that’s… very, uh, generous of him.”
“Vor’e.” Jas’buir keeps his expression evenly polite and turns to motion to Rex. “This is my son Rex Fett, he’s currently helping review building security, so you’ll have to excuse him.” Rex has been careful to not turn his body and let on that he’s paying attention to them as he’s continued to slowly track the length of the wall that had caught his and Kote’s attention on the schematics. Though, now, he lifts one hand in a brief gesture of acknowledgement before he keeps moving. (This wall is bothering him. Something in the measurements of this wall and the corridor outside is either wrong or there’s a hidden space. Where and what exactly it’s for are what Rex is concerned about.)
“I see.” Ru-Kelborn says, still sounding a bit dazed by the number of ade.
Jas’buir continues as if there’s no problem at all. “And, over here…” he leads Ru-Kelborn towards the three younger Vode. “Are my sons Goran’hibir Fives, as well as my two youngest Dogma and Tup. All Fetts as well, as you can probably see.” There’s a tinge of humor to his voice at that.
Ru-Kelborn nods. “I do see that. Are they all… twins and triplets?”
“From a certain point of view.” Kote answers, making Ru-Kelborn jump because Kote had remained only a pace behind the man when he trailed after Jas’buir to be introduced to the other three.
Fives puts on his typical disarming grin that used to do him a lot of favors on nights out to 79s. Dogma’s expression is closed off—though that’s not particularly shocking for him in a situation with new people and unfamiliar surroundings—and Tup is leaning against Dogma as silent support and smiling in his typical kind manner at Ru-Kelborn. “Nice to meet you.” Fives says for the group of them, and none of them extend hands or arms for the Evaar’ad to take. A silent defiance.
The man looks increasingly wrong-footed as he glances from Kote, back to the three Vode in front of him, and then to Jas’buir. “I- yes, it’s very good to meet your family. And there are… eight more of them?” He questions, sounding a bit faint.
“There are.” Jas’buir says, projecting his amused pride. He never hides how much he loves all of them and he’s clearly realized this is the perfect chance to subtly mess with the Evaar’ade before they even arrive.
“Where did you even-”
Rex loses track of Ru-Kelborn’s next question because there’s a seam in the wall in front of him. He checks by zooming in and out on it with his HUD, and, yes it’s really a seam. “Sev, Kote. You need to see this.”
The conversation between the Evaar’ad and Jas’buir cuts off as two sets of armored boots audibly cross the room to join Rex. Sev stops next to Rex and tilts his buy’ce in question. “Did you find something?”
“Here.” Rex puts a gloved finger on the seam. He watches his two ori’vode turn their heads towards it and can see the instant they each find what he’s pointing at because they both stiffen silently.
“Shab.” Kote mutters, too quiet to be heard beyond the three of them. “You were right about that schematic. Not that I doubted you, I just hoped-” He cuts himself off, shoves his buy’ce back on, and paces methodically back down the wall in the direction Rex has already checked, making his own pass in search of another seam.
Sev lifts a hand to feel along the seam. “Well, we better figure out what it is before everyone gets here tomorrow.” He presses one hand to the wall, first on one side of the seam, then the other, and they both notice it the moment the wall shifts ever so slightly under the pressure. Rex sucks in a sharp breath. A door. Or some kind of cover for a hidden compartment. Either way, not great news.
“Everything alright, ad’ike?” Jas’buir asks as he crosses over to join them, clearly recognizing that they’ve found something a little more urgent than tugging a representative from the Evaar’ade in circles while seeming entirely polite about it.
Rex puts his finger on the seam again. “The schematic wasn’t right. There’s space unaccounted for between this room’s wall and the corridor that should run parallel to it. And… there’s definitely something here.”
Jas’buir sighs. “But we don’t know what it is?”
“No. But I intend to find out. I think this is a Corrie kind of problem… though Fives and Echo might be just as good if the Corries are busy.” Lifting his gaze from the wall, Rex turns his head to look for Fives.
Fives looks a little uneasy from where he’s still standing at a respectful distance with their two vod’ikase, but when Rex turns his head he steps forward, expression falling into the calm certainty he wore regularly during the war, and crosses the distance between them. “Something wrong, Captain?”
“Good question, ARC Lieutenant.” Rex says, keeping his tone light because they all still try to have a sense of humor at times about their former roles. “Want to help us find a hidden space?” He holds out the datapad to Fives.
Taking it, Fives studies the schematic and his eyebrows raise. “Huh. No, you’re right. This is a Corrie type of problem. And Fox can probably find something faster than any of us.” He doesn’t mention why, because the Evaar’ade don’t need to know that one of the Mand’alor’s ade is a Force-User that is not under the jurisdiction of the Jetiise.
Sev sighs. “I’ll call them.” He steps away and fiddles with his comm.
It crackles, and then Thorn’s voice comes through. “Got lost and need us to save you already, Sev’ika?”
“I wish. Are you with Fox and Thire?”
The grim tone to Sev’s voice is obvious because suddenly there’s a shuffling noise from the other side of the comm. It’s Fox’s voice that asks. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re in the secondary room off the main meeting chamber and Rex found signs of a secret compartment or room. You’re the urban combat and hidden osik experts. Want to come have a look?” Sev is careful to not mention that the hidden osik the Corries’ specialized in were secret corridors and crawlspaces in the Republic Senate building, but all of the Vode know what he means.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Thorn answers seriously.
“Vor’e. I want to be sure this isn’t going to be a security problem.”
Fox’s tired huff is audible across the comms. “It’s almost certainly a security problem if someone put a hidden compartment in a wall for a building. Especially one used for gatherings of people.”
Rex steps closer to Sev. “Which is why I want to know what it is before it becomes a bigger risk.”
“Of course, vod’ika. Just don’t set off any traps before we get there.”
Sev grimaces. “I don’t know why this would be trapped, but you’re the expert.”
Thire interjects calmly. “Just a reminder that the Mando’ade have a history with the dar’jetiise that is too long to recount in one sitting. There could absolutely be traps depending on who put something there and why.”
“Hate that, thank you.” Rex replies before turning back towards the wall.
“I aim to please, Rex’ika.”
Notes:
Jango: I hate political speak.
Thire: *grabby hands* I’ve got this
Jango: *surrenders the wheel to Thire*
Thire: Wow. This isn’t even good political speak. I could make better political speak with my eyes closed.
Thire: *already drafting a ten page “as per our previous email” message*Rex: I miss Ahsoka. :(
Rex: She’s not dead yet since she isn’t even born, yet but I still miss her. :(Kote: Don’t say it.
Rex: I’m gonna say it.
Kote: Please, no.
Rex: But, Kote… I have a bad feeling about this.
Kote: NoFives: Listen, I don’t know a lot about how straight women think, but I do know that Satine Kryze’s people are into blonds and we have one blond brother who is very respectful, if she’s going to like anyone it’s Rex.
The Vode: Sounds fake, but okay.
Rex: I suddenly feel like I’m in danger?The Vode: *planning shenanigans*
Arla: I am encouraging this for my own fun and profit.
Jango: I am leaving the room as fast as I can.One Evaar’ad: I am just going to feel out the vibes.
Jaster: Hello. Would you like to meet my fourteen beautiful children, thirteen of whom have the same face?
Evaar’ad: Wh-
The Vode: Hi. :3
Evaar’ad: *running away* QUICK SOMEONE SPACE-GOOGLE THE FETTSRex: Uh oh. We have a problem.
Sev: A problem?
Rex: Yeah. A problem. FIVES.
Fives: Mhm. This is a Corrie-flavored problem. Do we have Fox on speed dial?
The Corries: *spidey senses tingling* We are needed somewhere.
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child
ad'ika = little one; child, daughter, son, of any age; may be used informally to a group of adults in a manner similar to “lads” or “guys” (ad’ike is plural)
alii’kote = reputation (of a clan, not a person)
aliit = clan name, identity, family (aliite is plural)
Alor’ad = captain
Al’verde = commander
baar'ur = medic
Baji'havur = translates to something like a person to guide learning. (from the words Bajurir and Havur) a Mando'a term for a Jedi Master
ba’jurir = to educate, raise children
beskar = Mandalorian iron
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
Coruscanta = Coruscant
darjetii = Sith or darksider
di'kut = idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on) (di’kute is plural)
Evaar’ade = New Mandalorians
eyayah = echo (where the nickname Ey'ika for Echo comes from)
goran = armorer, blacksmith, metalworker
goran'hibir = armorer's student/apprentice
gotabor = engineer (gotabore is plural)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
hibir = pupil, student
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
ik'aad = baby, child under three (ik’aade is plural)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kel = fortified, strengthened; appointed
keldabe = as in, keldabe kiss (an affectionate version of a headbutt)
kih = small
kih’tat = little twin, little double, little clone
kote = glory
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
manda = the collective soul or heaven; the state of being a Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit; etc.
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Mando’a = the Mandalorian language
mir’baar’ur = lit. brain medic, like a psychiatrist or therapist
Ne'johaa! = Shut up!
Olarom = welcome (greeting)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
oriya = city
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
ramikad = commando (ramikade is plural)
ru, r’ = past tense particle
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
tal = blood
tal’buir = blood parent or birth parent
tat = twin (or sometimes clone) (tate is plural)
ven = future tense particle (generally used with a verb)
Ven’Mand’alor = Future Mand'alor
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
verd'goten = Mandalorian coming of age tradition, taken around the age of 13 (lit. birth of the warrior)
vheh = dirt, dust, soil
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Vor'e! = Thanks!
waadas = credits, wealth
Chapter 13: Arla & Rex & ??? | 39 BBY / 698 SrD (Part 2)
Summary:
The Mandalore Mission Era:
Rex and his vode encounter a few problems, only one of them girl-shaped. The Jedi arrive. Satine Kryze and the New Mandalorians meet the Vode. Someone wakes up.
Notes:
This chapter is brought to you by: SECRET TUNNEL!! Secret Tunnel! Through the Mountains!!! Secret, Secret, Secret, Secret TUNNEL!!!!! Yeah!
Also, Rex and the Vode get to verbally rip into Satine, just a little bit, as a treat.And, another unexpected character shoves their way into the plot. What could it mean?
CW: references and discussion of Kyr'tsad flavor terrorism and Arla's experiences with it, grief about people who existed in another version of reality but don't exist in this one that you still feel a sense of loss for, implied/referenced bad experiences from Rex having a visible difference from other clones on Kamino, New Mandalorians being condescending and rude, mentions of somewhat irresponsible consumption of alcohol, references to slavery and the clones being property, references to canon character death, brief mentions of Umbara, imprisonment in a cell...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Fox looks at the wall for exactly 93 seconds (Rex watches Fives time it) before putting an ungloved hand on the surface. After another 12 seconds, he slides his hand sideways and presses down, on what turns out to be a hand-sized pressure plate next to the hidden door—that no one would even notice if they weren't looking for it. This makes the previously hidden door swing back, into an opening in the wall. “Well.” Fox says, unsmiling. “There's good news and bad news.”
“Okay.” Sev leans in to look into the dark space that's been opened—probably using a night vision filter on his HUD to see into the darkness.
“You’re going to do something about this, right? It could be dangerous.” The Vode currently present have all silently decided to largely ignore Ru-Kelborn and his—now, much more closely—hovering guards. So long as they aren't actively in the way, they're not a concern in Rex's opinion. They're allowed to want to know about any safety concerns, just as much as the Haat’ade. Even if they'll be useless to address most real threats.
Flipping on a built-in light hidden in his left vambrace, Fox turns his forearm back and forth to illuminate and study the interior to the opening. “There's nothing dangerous in here right now, but… we are looking at a passage of some sort. By the way it has stairs angling down, it's either a secret exit someone built so they could make quick escapes or it's a back entrance for espionage and other hut'uunla tactics. Your guesses are as good as mine. But, there's too much dust for it to have been in recent use.”
“Jor'lek.” Kote nods before he mutters under his breath. “I guess we know what we're doing for the rest of today.”
“Please do what you can to stay in contact and be back before we all need to turn in for the night, if possible. We can always ask the Jetiise to take a better look with us tomorrow, after they arrive, if it's too far to cover in a matter of hours.” Jas’buir requests, expression pinched with quiet worry. He's probably not pleased that he can't join them, but he's needed up in the complex for preparations. (And, the Mand'alor can't afford to go running off and getting lost when his people are depending on his leadership.)
Rex puts a reassuring hand on Jas’buir’s shoulder and squeezes just hard enough to be felt through armor plates. “Don't worry, buir. We'll be in touch and if it gets late, we'll come back with an update. I'm hoping that won't be necessary though.” Then, he turns towards Fox. With some caution for their audience, he inquires. “Can you feel anything about it?”
Noncommittal, Fox tips his right hand back and forth in the air to make a so-so gesture. “Hard to be sure. I don't feel any pressing danger or sense that this is more than an old hidden tunnel. But, that might just mean it's not a threat now, not that it won't be a threat later.” He leans a little further into the opening to look down the stairs. “It does have a prickling of something to it that seems worth looking into.”
Ru-Kelborn's brow furrows in confusion in response to Fox's assessment. “Excuse me. You're deciding based on a feeling whether to investigate or not?”
“I'd tell him to go look even if it didn't feel like anything.” Thorn grouses, arms folded over his chest. “Secret passages rarely have a pleasant purpose.”
Sev turns his buy’ce towards Ru-Kelborn and tips it in a silent challenge. “I always trust Fox when he gets a feeling about things. It's saved lives before.” It's enough to make the Evaar’ad take a step back to press closer to his two bodyguards, like he thinks Sev is going to genuinely try to fight him.
“Let's stick with a small team. There's still more ground to cover in this building and I'm slightly worried this isn't the only hidden passage. Where there's one…” Thire trails off unhappily.
Fox nods sharply. “I'll take Rex and the Dominoes. That'll be more than enough trained-” he catches himself just before he says ARC troopers and chooses to rephrase. “...specialized verde to handle almost anything. You and Thorn go back over the building schematics with Kote and Sev, make sure everything else looks right. Make notes on any discrepancies and we'll go over them with the Jetiise tomorrow. If there's more of these, it might be too time consuming to check them all ourselves before the negotiations start.”
“Elek, Alor.” Thire replies with an amused lilt to his voice.
Rex holds out the datapad to Kote. “Let me contact Echo. And, if you have no complaints, I want to bring Kix.”
Tugging his armored glove back on, Fox concedes. “A medic is a good idea. Yes. You, me, the Dominoes, and Kix. We can't afford to spread ourselves much thinner than that. But it’s enough of us that if something does come up, we should be able to handle it, at least until back-up can arrive.”
“Agreed.” Sev steps back from the opening to join Kote, Thire, and Thorn re-examining the building schematics. “Let's get moving, vode.”
Within twenty minutes, Rex finds himself following Fox and Kix down a narrow, winding staircase that leads far under the building. Fives and Echo are both silent and steady behind him. Having a familiar pair of presences at his back helps him feel less unsettled by this turn of events. They all switch to using internal comms so they'll be quieter if there is something down here. Rex and Echo have their buy'cese recording everything so they can review the footage later. With their buy’cese they can also utilize night vision, which means they won't give themselves away with artificial lights.
“At least it doesn't feel like a darjetii construction.” Fox says to them after ten minutes of walking.
Fives lets out a relieved breath. “Oh good.”
Fox snorts quietly in amusement. “That doesn't make it safe yet, Fiv'ika.”
“I know that, but the less Force osik we need to worry about, the happier I'll be.” Rex can picture the way Fives must be rolling his eyes. “A Force trap is an entirely different beast than a mundane physical trap. Don't act like that's not a fact, Fox.”
“No. You're right. I just don't want to let down our guard yet.” The former Commander of the Guard answers in return.
Echo hums as they continue to move further down. “What do you think of the structure, Rex?”
Turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Echo, Rex sighs. “It's… distinct. For a small passage, the construction seems pretty intentional. Very solid, too. Like it was meant to last. This isn't a temporary thing.”
Fives taps his knuckles on the side of the passage and makes an agreeing noise. “Duracrete, with supports of some sort of metal alloy. Heavy duty. But I can't say for sure what exact mix of metals were used without taking a few samples and having access to a decent forge.”
“Let's hope we don't need to dig that deep for answers.” Kix mutters.
Rex just hums in quiet agreement as they continue following the passage down, around a few corners, and continually further down under Kelora Vheh. It feels like a small eternity—but the chrono on his HUD tells him it’s only been two and a half hours since they entered the passage—before they hit a wall. Almost literally. The passage stops. No warning, no obvious doors or shifts in the construction. Just… a sudden ending.
Fox pauses at the apparent dead-end, buy’ce cocked in silent annoyance and confusion, until Echo points out something. “Is that a wall panel to your left, Fox? Like the kind you'd use to cover a keypad.”
Tilting his head the other direction, Fox touches it with gloved fingers and then flips up the cover to reveal exactly that. “Yes.” He sighs.
“We don't have the code though.” Fives murmurs to himself.
Turning his buy’ce back towards Fives, Fox scoffs over their internal comms. “That’s why I’m here, Fiv’ika.” Then, he peels off a glove and puts his hand on the panel, waits a moment, and there's the sound of a lock clicking before the dead-end moves and a door drops down into the floor to reveal a room beyond the tunnel. Carefully, Fox steps over the threshold only to curse. “Well, Shab.”
A step behind Fox and Kix, Rex can see the problem almost immediately. The tunnel hadn't been in recent use before today… but someone has been in this room very recently based on the streaks in the dust where crates were brought in and then moved. Many of those crates are still here and conspicuously new. There's two more doors on the far side of the room. One of them is similar to the door they just came through, but the other door isn’t.
“That's a really heavy duty door.” Rex says, suspicion rising, as he nudges Fox and Kix to move out of the doorway. Both of them oblige and allow him to cross the relatively compact room to stand in front of the unique door. “Fives?”
“Mhm.” Fives is already at his shoulder. “You're right. At a glance there's some extremely durable metals in that… I'm almost sure they used nutorium. I can't get a good scan at all with my buy'ce sensors, and that's what nutorium is good for. Evading sensors. Hard to tell what else at a glance beyond that it's built to survive, well, another Dral’han, essentially.”
Nodding, Rex looks at Fives. “I'd bet it's a bunker. Though, for what is a different question.”
Echo swears from where he’s opening some of the crates. “Someone brought a lot of munitions down here.”
“What kind of munitions?” Fox asks, and Rex is already turning to join Echo and Fox by the open crate. The sight in the crate is sickeningly familiar in a way. He stares down at the crate full of thermal detonators and swallows hard. Just one of these crates could pack enough of a punch to take out large parts of Kelora Vheh. And, at a glance, there’s at least three more with similar markings on them.
“This… is worrying.” Fives leans around Rex to look. “Kark. Are they planning to take out half the moon? That’s… a horrifying amount of bombs.”
Rex rubs a hand over his buy’ce’s T-Visor. “I don’t even know. There's no way we can drag these up with only the five of us before it gets late today and we have no guarantees someone won’t try to come back overnight. Do you think you could prevent the other door from opening somehow?”
Sighing with a worried angle to his shoulders, Echo turns to look over at the other door, the more normal one. “I can see what I can do.”
“Actually. Maybe I should.” Fox interjects, a speculative tone to his voice over their comms. “Technological locks can be bypassed, welded doors on the other hand.” His hand goes to rest on the side of his motun’bur where his saber hilt is normally hidden.
Fives cocks his buy’ce. “No, you’re right. Unless they use explosives or some kind of specialized equipment, they won’t be able to get back through. But let’s make sure it’s another tunnel beyond that door.”
“Obviously.” Rex can picture the way Fox must be rolling his eyes under his buy’ce. Fox crosses over to the door and puts his uncovered hand on it. After a few seconds, it clicks open and swings into the room, towards them, revealing a different passageway that does appear to angle upwards. “Mhm. It’s the other way in or out. I can feel it.” He pushes the door back closed, then flicks his wrist so his lightsaber hilt jumps into his hand. “I’m going to inspect that bunker door after this. From this far, I’m not getting much off it, but I’d rather check.”
“Good idea.” Rex agrees.
“Oh, I know.” Confidently, Fox ignites his bright orange lightsaber and begins the slow work of fusing the metal door into its frame.
Arla keeps staring at the holo recordings of the crates in that hidden room. The labeling is familiar in a way that sits heavy in her gut. She knows the kih’tate have noticed it, too, from the way that Kot’ika and Rex’ika have been pensive this morning as they’re reviewing all of it with fresh eyes. Even knowing they’re sending a team of verde down to collect the crates, transport them out, and set up some motion sensors and cameras in the room to monitor for movement down there, isn’t much relief. Just knowing a stash of munitions, and a bunker, are somewhere far beneath their feet makes her itch for a weapon.
She knows she’s not the only one. Jess’ika keeps pacing around their temporary karyai and Kix’ika is reorganizing his medkit (for the third time in an hour) at the table. Most beings might dismiss the fact that Sev’ika brings out his sniper rifle and dismantles the entire thing for cleaning and maintenance. Weapons maintenance is important to do regularly. But, there’s that dangerous gleam in Sev’ika’s eyes as he puts the rifle back together that’s reserved for combat preparations. He’s mentally preparing himself for a fight.
“But we’re sure that the bunker itself wasn’t in use?” Thir’ika asks again, pausing on the closed entrance for a moment, brow furrowed.
Fox’ika leans back in his spot on one of the couches. “Positive. Jas’buir sent some extra verde down with the collection team and they’re going to inspect it further. But it felt… vacant. Like an abandoned space.”
“So, it’s what, just someone’s secret storage bunker that’s not in use?” Tup’ika is settled in front of Ey’ika who is quietly braiding a portion of his long hair to pin up nicely.
“Nope. It’s exactly what Fives suggested in the recordings.” Thor’ika answers, stepping back into the karyai with a datapad in hand. “I just finished talking to the local leader and her council. After we put in an inquiry yesterday evening, they did some digging. This complex used to belong to aliit Awaud who largely migrated out of Manda’lase post-Dral’han. But, there are some written records about the bunker, once the local council knew to look for them.” He holds out the datapad to Fox’ika who sits up and accepts it.
Skimming the information quickly, Fox’ika nods. “So, this branch of aliit Awaud stayed around long enough after the Dral’han to decide to build the bunker for a future scenario where something like it happened again. But then, they went nomadic and it just got forgotten. Well, aside from whoever was using the passages. But, it could be that someone found the passages more recently, too.”
“It did seem built to survive a major disaster from the outside. I wouldn’t be surprised if the inside is a compact living space but equipped like one of those CSS-1 Corellian shuttles the Republic had that could theoretically be supplied to be out in space for actual years of travel.” Fiv’ika adds. “They would want to plan to hunker down through the worst of the fallout and re-emerge once they ran out of supplies, probably.”
Sev’ika pauses twisting another piece of his rifle back together to glower at nothing in particular. “The question we’re left with is who did know about the passageway. I mean, we can all probably guess, but still…”
Arla bites her lip then speaks up. “They probably want to do something like what was done in Keldabe ten years ago.” Everyone in the room turns their heads to look at her now. She takes a deep breath. Talking about her time with Kyr’tsad isn’t easy, but they need to know the tactics she saw used before so they can prepare for it. “We came into the city in gear that wasn’t openly Kyr’tsad, posing as small aliite or individuals from the surrounding area to the city coming in for business or other reasons that wouldn’t raise many alarms.”
With a rueful smile, she admits. “It’s not like anyone checks all the cargo-carrying speeders that come in and out of a city for non-business purposes. Smuggling the explosives in was easier than you’d think and then we just… slowly planted them until we had some in key locations around the city to maximize the disruption. Attacking after the first few waves of explosions was meant to let us catch the Haat’ade on the backfoot, while you were still reeling from the explosions.” Sighing, she looks down at her hands in her lap. “Kyr’tsad probably planned the same for here. What I’m not sure of is whether the loss of their passageway and a cache of stored explosives will dissuade them or if they’ll still attempt some kind of strike. I can’t even guarantee this is all of the explosives they might plan to use around Kelora Vheh.”
“We’ll just have to be prepared either way.” Sev’ika decides in a quiet voice. Thor'ika and Thir’ika both nod in silent agreement.
Fiv’ika scoots closer to Arla on the couch they’re sitting on and half flops onto her lap. “It’ll be okay. They’ll probably have to scramble to adapt their plans, and that means we’ll have more openings to counteract them.”
There's some collective murmurs of agreement, and they all fall quiet for a time—wrapped up in paying attention to the recordings and combing back over any intel. Every once in a while, one kih’tat or another exchanges infrequent little whispers with one of their vode. It's a series of multiple datapads pinging near-simultaneously that finally breaks the hush. Fox’ika opens the source of the sound on the datapad already in his hands. A slow smirk curls over his lips. “Your jetii is almost here, Kote. Sornell just reported that the Jetiise have contacted the moon’s flight control and they’ll be landing within the hour.”
Kot'ika tears his gaze away from the recordings to look over at Fox’ika. “They're here?”
“Almost.” Fiv’ika says grinning.
Now that seeing his jetii cyar'ika is a more immediate reality, Kot'ika actually looks a little nervous. “Good. Okay.”
“Kot’ika, I don’t think you need to worry.” Arla assures him, reaching a hand down to ruffle Fiv’ika’s hair with one hand since she can’t reach Kot’ika from her current position. Her vod’ika melts silently into the affectionate touch. “You’ve been in regular contact with him for the last ten years.”
A small amount of the tension seeps out of his shoulders as he glances over at her. “I know that. I'm just… it's been ten years since we met in person, and he was so young then. Plus, I remember what he was like as an adult before. I think I'm allowed to be nervous about whether it'll go well.”
“Sure.” Thor’ika agrees. “But if he didn't like you, he wouldn't have stayed in touch. You might have some hiccups, but I think it'll turn out fine anyway.”
Kot’ika’s shoulders slump further as Rex’ika leans over to press their shoulders together. “Thanks.” He murmurs.
Fox’ika leans over to ruffle his brother’s hair. “You’ll be fine, di’kut.”
“Fox-!” Distracted from his worries, Kot’ika tries to shove Fox’ika’s hand away. When that doesn’t work, he springs from his seat and wrestles Fox’ika out of his own spot and onto the ground. The pair of them roll around, trying to grapple each other across the floor. It’s a familiar routine by now. But, Fox’ika’s tactics of getting Kot’ika out of his head almost always work. (Because they’re batchmates, Jess’ika explained once. The kih’tate’s equivalent of their closest siblings. Decanted in the same groups of 32, raised in the same dorms of 16, bonded together by blood, sweat, and tears until the day the war started—if they were lucky—and scattered them across the stars. Especially the kih’tate destined to be commanding officers.)
Thor’ika looks down at them with a condescending expression. “I can’t believe I’m the same age as you.”
Halfway under Kot’ika’s torso, Fox’ika glares up at his vod. “You’re not. We’re older. Generation 1 batch and we lived longer.”
Rolling his eyes, Thor’ika points at Rex’ika who is watching his ori’vode with a mildly amused expression. “If we go by who lived longest, Rex or Kix is the oldest.”
“But, do we count years spent in stasis as years lived?” Ey’ika asks, a mischievous spark in his eyes as he drags up the debate that the kih’tate have never solved.
“Do not start that.” Thir'ika groans, sagging deeper into the cushions beneath him. “Not again.”
“No, no. This is a very important question.” Fiv’ika agrees with his tat, grinning in the face of multiple dirty looks that are thrown in his direction.
Scoffing, Sev’ika slots the last piece of his rifle back into place and stands up. “While you’re all being a bunch of ik’aade, I’m going to go check in with buir before the Jetiise arrive properly.” With that, he marches out of the temporary karyai, Jess’ika and Kix’ika close behind.
Meanwhile, Fox’ika shouts victoriously as he catches Kot’ika in a pin that’s incredibly difficult to get out of without dislocating something. “Yield!” He demands of his batchmate.
“Alright! Alright!” Kot’ika groans. “You win.”
Smiling to herself, Arla just drags her fingers through Fiv’ika’s curls once more and basks in the way he purrs contentedly. Somehow, she feels like there’s nothing Kyr’tsad can do that their aliit can’t withstand one way or another. They’ll be alright. For now, that’s enough for her.
For a second, Rex gets a sense of deja vu when the ramp of the Jetiise’s ship opens and a blur of warm brown and verdant green robes with fluffy red hair comes hurtling out. Obi-Wan wastes no time in flinging himself directly into Kote’s waiting arms, slinging his own around Kote’s neck. They hold each other for a very long moment. Kote has Obi-Wan’s face tucked against his neck where his beskar’gam gives way to the collar of his kute, and presses his own into the soft hair of his jetii. (It’s kind of sweet. He can’t help but be glad that Kote gets to have a version of his General, one that can return the feelings Kote carried close to his chest for most of the war, and beyond its end.)
“Hi.” Obi-Wan finally leans back from Kote and beams at him.
Kote smiles back. “Did you have a good trip?”
The jetii nods. “It was uneventful, but that’s for the best.” His brow furrows slightly. “Though… I did have some strange dreams”
“Visions?”
Obi-Wan hums thoughtfully and considers it. “Could be. I’m not sure if they were something in our future or the other future though? Or maybe the past? Lots of starships. Oh! There was one with some Vode of yours, but their armor was different.”
“Different how?” Echo asks curiously.
Glancing at Echo, Obi-Wan’s expression brightens. “You were there, I think. Instead of being mostly white, the armor was a dark grey or maybe black? With a skull or something. It felt important.” He shrugs, then finally lets go of Kote to hold out his hand to Echo in greeting. “Echo, right?”
Echo smiles and clasps forearms with Obi-Wan. “That’s me. I’m surprised you can tell when you barely met most of us last time.”
“We’ve talked over comms though.” Wrinkling his nose a little at Echo, Obi-Wan’s smile still doesn’t falter. “You’re all different, even if I’m not familiar with how you feel in the Force, yet.”
Rex slings an arm around Dogma’s shoulder where his vod’ika is standing next to him. “Sounds like Clone Force 99. If it was Echo and some other Vode in darker armor with skulls, though I can’t guess why that would be in your visions.”
Someone clears their throat and they all turn to look at the tall, blond Jetii Baji’havur standing at the base of the ship’s ramp. A caught look creeps over Obi-Wan’s face. “Padawan. I can appreciate your enthusiasm for seeing Kote and his siblings again, but there are introductions to be made.”
“Sorry, Master Feemor.” The redheaded jetii sighs and steps away from Kote and Echo to return to his teacher’s side. Once he’s there, he straightens out his posture and smiles with less unbridled enthusiasm—though it’s still there, sparkling in his eyes. “Master Feemor, this is Mand’alor Mereel and his family.” He gestures with one hand from his teacher to Jas’buir, who has been quietly watching with an amused expression since the ship opened up.
“Olarom, Master Feemor and Padawan Kenobi. Welcome to Concordia, one of Mandalore’s moons. Your presence for the upcoming negotiations is deeply appreciated.” Jas’buir says politely.
Master Feemor closes the distance and clasps forearms with the Mand’alor. “It’s an honor to be one of the first Jedi from the Coruscant Temple to officially visit the Mandalorian Sector as an invited guest in centuries.” From the twinkle in his eye, his wording is very intentional, and the Jetiise have some knowledge of their wandering compatriots' visits in the past decade. “If it’s not a bother, while my Padawan is familiar with your family, I am not. Well, aside from a few of your children who stepped in and out of Obi-Wan’s holo-calls over the years. Introductions would be helpful.”
Jas’buir nods. “Not a bother at all. May I suggest we do that somewhere more comfortable than here? There’s plenty of space in the compound we’re using for the duration of the negotiations for us to utilize. After your trip, I’d expect you might like to stretch your legs and then have something to eat that isn’t rations.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Come. I’ll tell some of my people to put together an early midmeal. We’re not expecting the Evaar’ade—New Mandalorians—until this afternoon.” With a motion of his hand, Jas’buir invites Master Feemor to walk alongside him. When the pair head towards the entrance to the compound, it’s with Obi-Wan and the rest of their small welcoming party close behind.
Rex takes up the rear with Dogma and Echo. Echo’s expression is thoughtful. After a few minutes of listening to Jas’buir and Master Feemor make small talk—while Obi-Wan and Kote exchange hushed whispers back and forth with their hands clasped together between them—he bumps his shoulder against Echo’s. “Are you alright, vod’ika?”
“Hm?” Echo blinks and refocuses, looking over to meet Rex’s eyes. “Yeah. I just can’t help but wonder why Obi-Wan would have any kind of vision with the Batch now. It feels like such strange timing.”
“Does anything about the Force make sense?” He asks wryly and squeezes his arm that’s still around Dogma’s shoulder when he hears the youngest of the three of them muffle a snicker.
Shrugging, Echo glances back ahead of them. “No, but, I don’t know… we haven’t had any more Vode arrive since the Corries showed up on Coruscant. Just… sometimes it feels like twelve of us is such a random number, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe. But… we’ve changed the future now. Why would the Force need to keep sending more of our vode?” Dogma murmurs quietly, so only Rex and Echo will hear.
“I don’t have an answer for that either.” Echo sighs in mild frustration. “But, I can’t help but wish more of our vode could have this chance. We all deserved so much better than what we got. So- why us? Why not anyone else? It feels unfinished somehow.”
Rex tilts his head, studying Echo. “I can understand wanting more Vode to have a second chance. There are days I wonder why so many from Torrent Company were sent back and so few of anyone else. Sev and Kote are by themselves, in terms of the units they came from. And the Corries only got three Commanders. But… there’s seven of us from Torrent.” He squeezes his arm around Dogma’s shoulders again, making his vod’ika stumble a little and yelp. “I’m grateful for it. I love all of you. You’re right though… somehow it feels like such a random selection and number.”
Righting himself, Dogma sticks his tongue out at Rex, but then gets serious again. “At first, I sort of expected there to be more of us after another two years. Since that’s what happened before. Sev arrived, and two years later we showed up, and then another two years after there were the Corries. But it’s been ten years with no sign of any more Vode. I can’t see how it would make sense to start again after that long?”
There’s a sad tilt to Echo’s mouth. “I know. Maybe it’s just the Force being strange and me having wishful thinking.”
“I miss them, too.” Rex tells him, wrapping his other arm around Echo’s shoulders so he’s sandwiched between his two vod’ikase. “Trust me. I miss them so much. It’s just… not something we understand or have any control over.”
“No.” Dogma agrees. “But, we’ve also got people we never had before. Like Jas’buir and our ori’vode. It’s not… a tradeoff. Just, I’m also grateful for the things we have now that we didn’t have before.”
Echo glances at Dogma and smiles. “I’m grateful, too.”
Sighing, Rex keeps an eye on where Obi-Wan is leaning up to murmur something into Kote’s ear and feels a squeeze of envy that Kote gets to have his jetii. “My mir’baar’ur would say there’s nothing wrong with grieving the people we lost when the Force pulled us through time the way it did. Even if our vode never existed in this reality, they were real and it’s natural to struggle with that loss. We just can’t let it hold us back from the future we do have.”
“Whatever that future looks like,” Echo says consideringly, “we’ll have each other for it.”
Dogma nods, then drops his head against Rex’s shoulder. “You’re stuck with us, Echo.”
Echo snorts in amusement. “Oh no. How will I ever survive?” He replies, voice laden with sarcasm.
“That’s your problem to figure out.” Rex laughs.
“The horror.”
Late.
The Evaar’ade arrive three hours later than their original projected arrival time. Jango is openly frustrated with having to essentially sit around waiting for them because it’s proper if the Haat’ade leadership are there to greet them when they arrive. Which means they can’t do anything that would prevent them from being able to appear at the entrance to the complex on cue. It’s not even that they land on Concordia and take their time transiting to Kelora Vheh. They just don’t show up on Concordia for three hours longer than they’d told the Haat’ade they would.
What Rex can’t figure out is whether it’s a fluke of poor scheduling, some kind of unexpected delay… or if it’s intended as a subtle but intentional insult. But, they do arrive eventually and, with the Jetiise running interference, getting the initial greetings and transition into one of the larger meeting rooms in the compound doesn’t result in anything more than a few sour looks on Evaar’ade councilors’ faces when they see the number of armored verde that follow the Haat’ade’s Mand’alor into the room. (Primarily, because none of them realize they’re the ade of the Mand’alor and, therefore, part of the discussions.)
That’s about where things begin to fall apart.
Introductions are a disaster in so many ways. Rex really wants to be anywhere else. The Evaar’ade can’t hide their disbelief, confusion, and mild disdain for their aliit when Jas’buir shifts attention from advisors and officials to more personal introductions. (Specifically, their problem seems to be the number of ade. Which is such a natborn thing that several of the Vode have to muffle amused responses.) Collectively, the Vode—plus Arla and Jango, who are both delighted in the chance to partake in some minor chaos-making—take off their buy’cese when Jas’buir asks them to come join everyone at the negotiating table. Without their buy’cese to hide behind, it’s obvious how identical the Vode and Jango are. Eyes linger uncomfortably on all of them, and it makes Rex itch. But, when they get to names, everything goes directly off the rails.
Of course, Arla and Jango’s short introductions go over mostly fine—though Arla’s presence as sibling to Jango and the Vode, but not Jaster’s daughter, clearly confounds the Evaar’ade.
“Then, these are my next several ad’ike—who are around twenty-two or twenty-three…” Jas’buir starts.
“Excuse me. You don’t know how old your own children are?” One of the Evaar’ade councilors asks, with a curve to his mouth that’s bordering on mocking.
Thankfully, Master Feemor is quick to cut in. “I don’t think that’s relevant, Minister Edric. Let’s not start to interrupt each other while we’re still making introductions.” He keeps his voice serene, but his eyes are sharp as he stares down the man in question. “Please continue, Mand’alor Mereel.”
Jas’buir nods an acknowledgement to the jetii and clears his throat before resuming. As he lists names, each vod nods their head or lifts a hand to help match names to faces—not that the natborns among the Evaar’ade will be likely to keep track of all of them by their faces. Aside from Thorn’s bleached hair, Kote’s scar, and variations in haircut, none of the oldest Vode have much to distinguish them facially. (Jas’buir and their ori’vode being able to tell them apart hasn’t made identifying marks on their faces necessary.) If they’re smart the Evaar’ade will match names to beskar’gam patterns. “Fox, Kote, and Sev, all Clan Fett. Sev is one of my ramikade, Fox and Kote are still completing their studies.”
(Which is a nice way to gloss over the fact that Fox’s studies involve the Force and lightsabers more than they do typical educational courses. He suspects that Jas’buir has been taking notes on Kote’s love of the old Kenobi: ‘from a certain point of view’.)
A few faces on the Evaar’ade side of things twist up in variations of confusion, discomfort, or doubt. This time, the councilor who wants to comment—not the same one as before—lifts a hand politely and catches Jas’buir’s eye. When Jas’buir nods to allow whatever response they have, the woman inquires. “I apologize, but is ‘Sev’ short for something? It feels a bit informal.”
An amused look crosses Sev’s face—his smile sharp and ready to cut—and he answers for himself. “It’s short for Seven.” (He leaves off that the seven is also a shortened nickname. Because his designation was RC-1207 in their last life.)
“I- I see.” She drops her hand back into her lap, but doesn’t look very satisfied by the answer. If anything, she’s glancing between Sev and Jas’buir like she’s trying to solve some kind of puzzle.
With that resolved, Jas’buir carries on. How he’s still smiling entirely pleasantly at them, Rex doesn’t know. “The following group of my ad’ike are around twenty years old, we think.” Which doesn’t suggest at all that Rex has lived longer than half the adults in this room, many of them on the governing councils of both factions. But that’s to Rex’s advantage, really. “These are Jesse, Kix, Rex, Thire, and Thorn. Also Fetts. Jesse and Rex are both in the process of completing their studies. Kix is a senior apprentice to one of our best Baar’ure. And, Thire and Thorn are also among my ramikade.”
There’s some rippling murmurs from the Evaar’ade, but none of them seems to have anything worth interrupting Jas’buir to say. Being introduced means there are eyes on Rex again. He has to focus on not moving—beyond a nod of his head when his name is given—to avoid fidgeting at the unsettling sensation of being so closely watched. It feels too much like Kamino. Like being scrutinized constantly because he deviated from the template. A constant threat of decommissioning if he was anything less than perfect. The weight of it always heavy on his shoulders.
He knows that isn't what's happening, but it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable. And, he does stick out. In their age group, only Jesse has opted to have a facial tattoo again. (Not the Republic Cog, but something more abstract. There’s hints of their histories within the design, but of the sort that only the Vode might really catch onto.) Of all thirteen near-identical vode, he's the only natural blond. It’s not like anyone will miss that Thorn's roots are growing in enough that it's obvious his hair is artificially colored.
Rex has the visual difference that is by pure chance. Even with two lifetimes of accepting that his hair color isn't a flaw—he's even grown it out on top into short curls, while keeping the sides trimmed close—being given so much extra attention over it again is deeply unnerving. When he glances down at the table to avoid seeing all the eyes on him, Jesse and Kix both slide their chairs close enough to let them press their shoulders into his. (He suspects that the pair of them taking the seats directly on either side of him was intentional—for exactly this scenario.)
Jesse leans in to whisper in Rex’s ear. “Hey, remember that time on Triple Zero? When Fives and Tup got arrested by the Guard for disturbing the peace. Fives had wanted to take Tup to 79s for the first time, but got the both of them so drunk that they tried to dance down the street while waiting for a speeder to take us back to the shoreleave barracks. And not just normal dancing, but club dancing. The natborns were so offended, but it was Thorn who led the arresting squad and he just laughed and took a holo before even cuffing them.”
That is an evening he remembers. He feels his lips quirk up. Rex sneaks a glance past Jesse to where Thorn is leaning forward, elbow on the table and chin on his hand. Thorn’s eyes cut over to meet his and the one hand that’s under the table silently mimes out a pattern in dadita. I’m still sort of mad that I lost that holo when we came here. It would be amazing blackmail material.
In an effort to not crack up, Rex has to bite the inside of his cheek. Only once he’s sure he’s not going to laugh, he whispers at the pair of them. “You’re both terrible.”
Unfortunately, he tunes back into the introductions at the exact moment that a girlish voice demands. “What kind of a name is Fives anyway?”
Rex looks up and across the table at the Evaar’ade.
It's then that he really first notices her presence at all. Satine Kryze. Young and alive in a way he never saw during the war. Though, she’s not exactly pretty at the moment with the way her face is scrunched up in a mix of disbelief and indignation. She isn’t even wise enough to hold her tongue beyond that first question, instead continuing with her interruption. “Why would anyone want a number for a name?”
“It’s my name.” Fives replies, eyes hard even as he keeps his voice intentionally level. “I don’t care if you have a problem with it, because it’s mine and no one can take it from me. Nobody asked your opinion anyway, Kryze.” Just a hint of disdain slips into the way he says her clan name.
Master Feemor winces and stands up, raising a hand with the intent to diffuse things. But he isn’t quite fast enough.
The young Satine Kryze—she’s supposed to be around seventeen, Rex thinks—goes red in the face. She pushes to her feet and practically shouts, rather shrilly, across the table at them. “But, having a number instead of a name is wrong! That’s for slaves!”
Eyes burning, Fox leans forward across the table with a deep growl in his words. “You think we don’t know that, little Duchess? Who in this room said none of us were ever slaves? Don’t run your mouth about things you don’t understand. Have you ever been owned, Kryze? Do you know what it’s like to be a piece of property instead of a person? Do you?”
Thire’s expression gets a little pinched in the way it tends to when Fox brings his power in the Force to bear. While Rex hasn’t ever been able to feel it like Thire can, he can see the way the air almost vibrates around his ori’vod, a clear sign of Fox’s barely leashed fury. (If someone knows to look for it.) Both jetiise in the room look a little strained, like they’re trying to not react openly to the shift in the room. “Fox-” Rex warns, keeping his voice carefully low and steady.
“Wh- But-...” She blanches and whatever she was winding herself up to trying to argue next visibly dies on her tongue. Satine looks across the group of them—even Arla and Jango, who are both radiating unspoken protective anger—and her mouth opens and closes a few times before clicking shut. Wind taken out of her sails, the teenager drops back into her chair and just stares in unspoken horror at them.
“Listen.” Sev speaks flatly, cutting through the tense silence. “It’s none of your business what kind of lives we’ve lived before the Mand’alor adopted us. But we’d prefer it if you didn’t make assumptions. Maybe we all had numbers. You don’t know. Maybe some of us just reclaimed our numbers, while others chose something else. Those are our choices. Do not presume to have any idea about who we are based on your shallow understanding of how the galaxy works.”
Poor Padawan Kenobi looks like he wants to be able to touch Kote and offer some kind of comfort. His hands clench and unclench on the table. Master Feemor is unmoving, clearly aware that there are things the Vode have a right to say in response to Satine’s thoughtless words. After all, most of the Jetiise know at least a little bit about their histories—a galactic war, a clone army, the Sith, the fall of the Republic. (When Rex briefly catches his gaze, the jetii tips his head in silent acknowledgement, and there’s a touch of sympathy in his eyes.)
Rex glances over to make sure Fives is okay. His vod’ika is stonefaced, and Echo has both arms wrapped around him, murmuring something inaudible to him. Kix looks uncharacteristically angry as he watches the pair of Dominoes protectively. Then, Rex stands up and meets the young Duchess’s eyes for the first time. “Respectfully, you don’t know us, Duchess. None of you know us.” He turns to look at Jas’buir, whose expression is a mess of emotions that are too complicated for him to pick out. “Buir. I think I’m going to get some air and take the twins with me.”
Jas’buir meets his gaze and nods once. “Of course. You know how to reach me if you need anything.”
“I’m going to step out, too.” Arla says quietly, rising from her chair. She gets her own nod from Jaster, and whisks her way around to where the Dominoes are.
As they stand up, Arla curls protective arms around each of their shoulders. It’s simple enough for Rex to take point and lead the way to the door out of the conference room. Satine’s eyes weigh on his back the entire walk there. He shoves the doors open and steps aside to let their eldest ori’vod guide the twins out of the tense space around them. After exchanging speaking glances with Thire, Fox jumps to his feet and hurries out of the room behind them. Once they’re all safely disappearing down the corridor towards their temporary karyai, Rex turns back to the room.
Catching the young Duchess’ full attention easily, Rex speaks in a more even tone—he might even be able to be accused of sounding just a bit too amiable for the situation. (He decides to blame the ghost of General Kenobi for it.) To the room at large, but specifically Satine Kryze, he says. “One more piece of advice, Duchess, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
None of the Evaar’ade so much as move a muscle, all just staring at Rex and the doorway where his vode vanished moments before. Satine visibly swallows hard, her eyes still wide. Without another word, he walks away down the corridor after his vode. The doors of the room slam shut ominously behind him, echoing in the utter silence.
This… is going to be a very difficult couple of days.
(Elsewhere on Concordia)
His last clear memory is fire ripping through everything and the desperate hope that his sacrifice will be enough to save his vode.
But, then, unexpectedly, he blinks awake inside a dimly lit cell he's never seen before. Sitting up, he looks around. The first thought he has is that he must have somehow survived the explosion and been taken prisoner by the Umbarans. It's a little weird that he seems to be unhurt but—not a problem per say—he shelves that for later. Another problem is that the only being he can currently see—standing guard at the end of the hall that contains several cells—looks Human and is wearing full beskar armor. So, not Umbaran.
In fact, the lighting here is all wrong for Umbara.
Hardcase squints at the guard for a moment before deciding he's not interested in trying to convince a Mando to talk to him. Most of the Mandalorians he's met were the trainers on Kamino and very few of them could be classified as personable. They'd probably just be insulting about him being a clone and entirely unhelpful in getting him back to the 501st. (He really hopes Fives and Jesse made it back alright.) Downside of exploding the ship he was on, no one is going to have a reason to think he's alive and needs someone to come rescue him. That's not going to stop him from trying to free himself.
Decided, he gets to his feet and stumbles a little when his limbs aren't exactly how he remembers them. He examines himself and has to let out a borderline hysterical laugh. Somehow, he's a cadet. From his hands, it's hard to tell exactly how young but… he's not anywhere near being an adult. “What the kriff?” Hardcase mumbles.
Well, this is a confusing turn of events, but it doesn't change that he needs to get himself out of here. Hardcase can worry about the implications of being small again after he's free. Taking a breath, he paces along each side of his cell, examining the bars and energy field for any flaws. Nothing stands out immediately. That's fine. This is fine. He'll figure something out.
Unwilling to give up, he keeps pacing around the cell, watching, thinking, and waiting.
Notes:
Fives: Oh, hey, Mandalorians have doomsday preppers, I guess.
Echo: Yeah, with bombs.Fox: I’m the walking solution to our problems sometimes :3
Satine: Numbers aren’t names!
Fives: Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough. Because mine is.
Sev: Mine is, too.
Satine: Only slavers use numbers for names?!?!
Rex: Oh. She has no idea.Fox: I am not going to kill anyone. I am not going to kill anyone. I am not going to kill anyone.
Echo, Dogma, & Rex: I guess we don't get anymore Vode :(
The Force: haha, who said that?
Hardcase: Well... shit.
Translations from Mando’a
ad = child (ade is plural)
ad'ika = little one; child, daughter, son, of any age; may be used informally to a group of adults in a manner similar to “lads” or “guys” (ad’ike is plural)
aliit = clan name, identity, family (aliite is plural)
Alor = chancellor, leader, chief, “officer”, constable, boss
baar'ur = medic
Baji'havur* = should translate to something like a learning guide, in the sense of being a person guiding someone’s learning. (from the words Bajurir and Havur) in this case I'm using it as the Mando'a term for a Jedi Master in the sense of a teacher.
beskar = Mandalorian iron
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart
dadita = tapping code used by Mandalorians, like Morse code
darjetii = Sith or darksider
di'kut = idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on) (di’kute is plural)
Dral’han = Mando’a term for the Mandalorian Excision or the “Annihilation” which was a massive preemptive strike by the Republic and Jedi Order against Mandalorian space that involved bombardment of multiple planets under Mandalorian control to the point of environmental devastation.
elek = yes (shortened to ‘lek as “yeah”)
Evaar’ade = New Mandalorians
eyayah = echo (this is where the nickname Ey'ika for Echo comes from)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
hut’uunla = cowardly
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
ik'aad = baby, child under three (ik’aade is plural)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
jor’lek = affirmative, confirmation
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kih = small
kih’tat = little twin, little double, little clone
kute = underwear, bodysuit, something worn under armor
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
manda = the collective soul or heaven; the state of being a Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit; etc.
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Manda’lase* = Mandalorian Space, basically
mir’baar’ur = lit. brain medic, like a psychiatrist or therapist
motun’bur = thigh armor
Olarom = welcome (greeting)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
ramikad = commando (ramikade is plural)
ru, r’ = past tense particle
shab = derived from shabiir - to screw up (impolite)
tat = twin (or sometimes clone) (tate is plural)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode* = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 14: Arla & Hardcase & Rex | 39 BBY / 698 SrD (Part 3)
Summary:
The Mandalore Mission Era:
The conference on Concordia to decide the future of the Mandalorian Sector finally begins. Hardcase meets his captors. Satine wants to talk to Rex. Nothing goes quite how anyone originally planned.
Notes:
This chapter is, at least partially, brought to you by: the amount I can't stand the New Mandalorians' entire political platform of trying to get rid of their own culture. I work in libraries it’s anathema to my entire everything.
Also, I saw like... a couple screenshots of what Sundari looks like and shuddered even before I started watching the show. (All the little blond children in grey uniforms??? YIKES!)More new characters, some ACTION, and Satine still being... Satine.
Oh, and I've officially learned that around ~80k words and over 300 pages... Google Docs on my phone starts trying to crap out whenever I'm attempting to write via mobile instead of using my computer. NOT FRUSTRATING AT ALL.
CW: references to the canon fate of the galaxy after the Empire took over, references to lots of the horrible things that canonically happened to Mandalore across the Clone Wars AND later canon, references to ALL of Rex's trauma, implied/referenced crimes committed by the corrupt Republic Senate, there is the beginning of a questioning scene including a child character (who is at one point threatened), references to dehumanization of the clones, a clone using their designation in place of their name, references to/discussions of the New Mandalorian's special brand of eugenics and space racism, a scene where one character unintentionally brings up/triggers traumatic memories for another character, debates of pacifism versus standing up against an oppressor (and what makes someone complicit in violence inflicted on people around them), discussions of genocide versus killing an idea, combat scenes, terrorist attacks... JUST A LOT IS HAPPENING THIS CHAPTER, OKAY
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After several hours of opening negotiations, that make little to no progress, their aliit retreats to have a shared midmeal and take a break. As soon as they’re in their temporary karyai, Jan’ika slumps into a chair and drops his head on the table—buy’ce making an audible thunk—as he groans frustratedly. “This is just making me dread being Mand’alor. So much talking in circles without getting anywhere because they don’t actually want to agree to anything.”
Really, Arla wonders how Jan’ika hasn't noticed that when the time comes—even if he's the sole ruler in name—he won't be ruling alone.
Most Mand’alore rely on a group of advisors they trust and handpick for their council, certainly. Whether the people they choose are truly qualified for the demands of governing, beyond running a military, is another question. But that isn’t good enough for the kih’tate. As all of the kih’tate grew up, they started to plan to help Jan’ika build a stable government that could last in a way that Jaster’s own council of advisors simply won't. More than once, Arla has overheard them having hushed conversations about the future of Manda’lase and its government. Conversations she—eventually—became part of, as well.
(It’s when Rex’ika enrolls in the University of Theed—to study Civil Engineering, of all things—that she finally has to know. She catches him alone in the library of Keldabe Keep one evening, slips into a chair next to him, and asks him about it.
Rex’ika gives her a long, speculative look before explaining. “The Manda put us here for a reason, ori’vod. We think we’ve changed enough to stop the future we lived before, but… we haven’t forgotten what it looks like for Manda’lase to be unprepared for the future.” He sighs softly. “You and I both know that most Mand’alore… their councils and advisors rarely last beyond the end of their rules. That isn’t stable though. Our people need to learn to stop trying to muddle our way through running a sector of space using only military training that we reapply to areas that require specialized knowledge. It works, but it’s not going to help Manda’lase rebuild itself to be able to last.”
When he looks at her, she nods. Nothing he’s said is untrue. The Mando’ade have never truly restabilized themselves after the Dral’han. Having the Republic install the puppet government that would become the New Mandalorians made reunification near impossible for a very long time.
“Jas’buir has already changed the face of Manda’lase with his Commando Codex encouraging a modernization of the Canons of Honor and his work toward reuniting the sector.” Rex’ika reminds her. “Why shouldn’t that momentum be carried into the way we build the future for our people? At this point, we all know Jango is probably going to be the next Mand’alor and he will do a good job of it. Just… don’t the Mando’ade deserve to have a structure that works for future generations beyond just the current one?”
She puzzles that over before replying. “Elek, but what would that even look like? We’re a nomadic warrior culture in our hearts, still.”
“So, we adapt the Mand’alor already having advisors and the concept of alii’aliit, but formalize it. Even the House Heads don’t always know everything necessary to run an entire system of space.” Rex’ika pulls out one of his datapads then and starts sketching out a framework before her eyes. Tiers of councils under the Mand’alor to track and manage different facets of running a government. All of the councils work both together with the other councils and separately to handle more specialized areas. Instead of the weight of rulership falling squarely on the Mand’alor, it allows them to delegate things to groups of qualified beings who report back to the Mand’alor. It… makes a lot of sense.
Then, he continues again. “What we’re hoping is to create a structure that keeps with the Mandalorian value of a meritocracy but applies an understanding of the different roles a government needs qualified people to fill. If we build a council system that works and can teach the Mando’ade to pass down the positions we create? Transfers of power between Mand’alore wouldn’t risk important issues falling through the gaps because they don’t know there’s an issue to even worry about. The hope is it would give Manda’lase some of the stability that we haven't had in generations of in-fighting and civil wars. ”
“It’s a big dream, vod’ika. And a big responsibility.” Arla tells him, gently. “And you’re all still young, is it really your burden to carry?”
“Maybe not.” Rex’ika’s expression goes a little haunted then. “But, Arla, I’ve seen what Manda’yaim looks like when it’s glassed. Uninhabitable. What the galaxy is like with the Mando’ade scattered and in hiding. If I have any say, it’s not going to happen this time.”
Looking at him—seeing the ghosts of his past play across his face—breaks her heart for him all over again. He hasn’t let his experiences crush his spirit, or stop him from mostly enjoying having his youth back. So, sometimes it is easy to forget that Rex’ika was one of the few Vode who lived far beyond the others. That he had been one of the last Vode alive, and had kept carrying the weight of what had been done to his vode to the end. Everything had been taken from him and he’d persevered. There aren’t enough words in any language she knows to comfort someone who has been through the things Rex’ika had.
Instead, Arla just folds him into her arms and runs a hand over his soft curls, almost the same color as her own, and just holds him for a while. The weight he’s still carrying on his shoulders looks crushing sometimes, and she wants so badly to take it from him. But, she can’t change his mind and she won’t try to. All she can offer is herself, and try to carry some piece of it along with him. “You don’t have to do it alone this time, Rex’ika.”
“I know.” He whispers into her embrace. “Thank you.”
“No debt, vod’ika. If you need me, I’m here, too.” She promises.
After a moment he’d pulls back to shoot her a look with a hint of amusement. “Careful or we’ll assign a role on one of the councils to you, ori’vod.”
Smiling at him, she rolls her eyes. “You’re assuming I wouldn’t already want to be on one of your councils to rebuild Manda’lase.”
“Mhm. No takebacks.” Rex’ika warns playfully.
“Never.”)
Thorn’ika shrugs and pats Jan’ika on the shoulder sympathetically. “Even if they deny it, they’re still Mando’ade, ori’vod. That means they’re going to be just as stubborn as any of us about the things they believe. It’ll take time to make them see reason. And probably more time to get them to accept it.”
“The Duchess didn’t want to budge at all during the war before. Not even when it got her people killed. Changing their minds will be hard. But… we have to try. Especially now that we finally have them at the table and listening to us.” Kot’ika sighs as he sits down next to Jan’ika and bumps their elbows together. “Besides, even if they don’t listen to us now, they can’t escape the reality that they’re losing their political hold. The harder they fight us, the more they stand to lose in the end.”
“We’re just as stubborn as they are.” Thir’ika says decidedly, before shoving one of the covered serving dishes of tiingilar across the table to Sev’ika. “All you have to do is be patient and outlast them. Like a siege. But it’s more verbal than physical. The mentality is the same. Trust me. Even politicians have breaking points.”
Jan’ika lifts his head and looks at Thir’ika. “Learned that from your time with the Republic Senate?”
Their vod’ika grimaces. “Among many other things.”
“I sort of wish we had blackmail material on them, like we did the Senate.” Fox’ika grumbles from where he’s settled on one of the couches with Fiv’ika and Rex’ika curled half on top of him in a pile of partially armored bodies. “Even if we didn’t use it… it would be more satisfying.”
“What kind of blackmail did you have on the Senate?” Tup’ika asks, turning to look curiously at the three Corrie kih’tate.
Thorn’ika grins nastily. “All kinds. They weren’t exactly trying to hide their crimes from us. Since they didn’t consider us a threat to their power. If we’d survived the war, the Guard was going to leverage it to get all of the Vode some rights. We figured they wouldn’t want us to air their dirty laundry about all the ways they broke Republic law for fun to all of their constituents.”
Jess’ika raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Whatever you’re imagining… it was ten times worse.” Thorn’ika tells him.
No one approaches Hardcase’s cell for what must be hours. The lights dim at one point to indicate a night cycle, and then brighten again after a long stretch of time, so he feels like it’s safe to assume it’s the next day. He’s almost certain this is a Death Watch facility, since all of the armored figures he’s seen have been mostly indistinguishable in their similarly painted armor. They all move a little differently though and—after years of telling apart Vode—he’s been able to track one or two that he suspects are the same people rather than new individuals.
Finally, a figure in slightly different armor and wearing a distinctive helmet walks up to stand outside of the energy barrier and stares at him, with a few other soldiers flanking them. After a long moment, the central figure removes their helmet to reveal Pre Vizsla. Somehow, Hardcase isn’t surprised—though Vizsla looks a bit different from the last time he saw him when the 501st and 212th assisted the Duchess. (More hair, maybe?) Still, Vizsla doesn’t say anything for a while, just frowning down at him.
Hardcase folds his arms over his chest and glares right back. He’s not going to break first, even if he looks like a cadet again. Cracked growth tube or not, he knows how to deal with interrogation tactics and Vizsla isn’t going to get anything from him. It’s clear his silent defiance irritates Vizsla from the way the man’s eyes pinch in the corners and his mouth curls. (Mandos really are terrible at hiding their nonverbal cues after spending so much time hiding behind helmets.) Tilting his chin up in further challenge, Hardcase sets his jaw and says nothing.
“What I want to know,” Vizsla starts in accented Basic, voice low and strained with poorly hidden frustration, “is what one of Mereel’s brats was doing outside my facility. How did you find us?”
Unmoving, Hardcase keeps himself carefully blank. Mereel? That name doesn’t mean anything to him, beyond that it was what Trainer Skirata named one of the Nulls. He’s never even met the Null clones though. Which means he has nothing to do with Mereel Skirata. And is not his brat, or whatever. Vizsla doesn’t need to know any of that though.
“I asked you a question.” Vizsla’s expression darkens after Hardcase remains silent for several dragging minutes.
“My designation is CT-4014. 501st Battalion.” He answers flatly. The correct, trained response to interrogation for any vod from the GAR.
The armored figures on either side of Vizsla shift in clear tells of confused surprise. Their leader’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t mean anything to me. Why are you here?”
Hardcase doesn’t budge. Instead, he repeats himself deliberately. “My designation is CT-4014. 501st Battalion.”
“501st Battalion of what, kid?” One of the Death Watch Mandos behind Vizsla asks.
He doesn’t answer them. If they’re going to pretend that they don’t know what the Grand Army of the Republic is, he isn’t going to play along. Deadpan, Hardcase just maintains his trained response. “My designation is CT-4014. 501st Battalion.”
Vizsla snarls wordlessly down at him and drops a hand to a weapon at his side. “I could just kill you and send your body back in little pieces to your buir.”
That… makes Hardcase blink, then furrow his brow in confusion. Everyone who knows anything knows that the Vode don’t have buire. Without really thinking about it further, he finally drops his trained reply to respond honestly. “I don’t have a buir. You’re not that di’kutla, are you, Vizsla?” He sneers up at the leader of Death Watch.
“Don’t lie to me!” Snaps the Mando terrorist. “I know all of you Fetts belong to Mereel and his insipid faction of verde who want to reject the glory of an ascendant Mandalore.”
Hardcase laughs rudely. “A Fett? You really are a di’kut. When General Skywalker and Captain Rex find out you have me, you’re a dead man.”
Something about that response makes Vizsla falter, expression twisting with confusion. One of his followers interjects again, posture revealing the uncertainty that’s masked by their vocoder. “Who?”
“General Anakin Skywalker of the 501st Battalion. The Hero with No Fear? One of the most famous Jedi Generals in the GAR? Former student of High General Kenobi? Are all of you stupid?” He suppresses the urge to take a step back, because there’s a tone to their seemingly genuine confusion that makes his guts twist. What if he is the one that’s missing something? But, what would he be missing? Surely the Generals are still around? Almost everyone knows who they are. And Hardcase knows Pre Vizsla has met General Kenobi before and fought him.
Vizsla steps back, brow furrowing. “Jetii Generals? I don’t know who either of those people are. There aren’t any Jetiise in Manda’lase except for the ones invited by the Haat’ade.”
“Maybe we should have a baar’ur check that the ad isn’t dini’la, Alor. Nothing he’s saying makes sense.” A Death Watch soldier suggests in a hushed tone—clearly trying to not be so loud that Hardcase can hear them and failing at it.
“I’m not crazy, shabuir.” Hardcase curls his hands into fists.
The leader of Death Watch opens his mouth to say something but, before he can, alarms start to blare in the facility, followed by the lights shutting off and plunging them all into darkness. With the lights, the barrier over the cell entrance hisses out of his existence. There’s no time to think, so Hardcase just launches himself for the opening and starts moving. A gauntlet-covered hand grabs for him and misses, allowing him to slip out of the terrorists’ reach and sprint down the hallway.
Blasterfire starts up behind him right as he slides through the open doorway out of the cellblock and into a dark corridor that he can’t see much of. Behind him, there’s a snap-hiss of a lightsaber. Kark. Even though he’s moving entirely blind, Hardcase doesn’t stop for a second. He runs like his life depends on it. (It really, really does right now.)
Blindly, he stumbles through several corridors, with only blaster bolts and bouncing lights from the Mandos’ armor behind him to illuminate things at strange intervals. Ahead of him, he catches the sound of arguing voices. Difficult to comprehend at first, but… they sound like clone cadets. Are there other Vode here? What if they’re real cadets? Hardcase has no choice, if they’re Vode, he has to get to them and get them out of here with him.
“What were you thinking? You’ll get us all killed, revealing our presence like that.” Hisses one cadet’s voice in sharp, angry tones.
Another cadet’s voice answers. “We can’t just leave a vod in the hands of Death Watch! I’m not going to leave any of our vode behind. It’s a mistake we already made once. I won’t do it again!”
“He’s not our vod-!”
“Someone is coming. Shut up.” Snaps a third cadet’s voice.
Hardcase trips around one more corner and through an open doorway, into a room illuminated by a fusion lantern sitting in the middle of the floor. The room itself appears, from what little of it is still visible in the shadows, to be some kind of central control room with screens to project security holo footage, multiple consoles that are dark from the power being shut down, and various other pieces of equipment. Four unfamiliar clone cadets turn to look at him as he enters. At a glance, they’re bigger than he is—possibly an entire standard year of accelerated growth, bigger. All of them stare at him, while he stares right back, for a few heart-pounding seconds.
“Uh. Hi. Um… I might have some very angry Mandos after me?” He manages awkwardly. “Any chance you have some weapons to spare?”
A blaster model he’s never seen before is unceremoniously shoved into his hands. “Welcome to the team, vod. No. We don’t know what’s going on, but we’re assuming it’s what one of our other vode used to call ‘Force osik’.” The cadet who spoke third—his longer than regulation hair reminds Hardcase of Tup immediately—tells him with a clap on the shoulder. They carry themself enough like an officer that Hardcase can’t really bring himself to question them. “Introductions later. Right now, we need to deal with Death Watch.”
“You’re not Echo.” One of the other cadets says, sounding disappointed.
“Uh. No. Sorry?” The only Echo that Hardcase knows of died in the Citadel on Lola Sayu. But, if he’s alive somehow… He forces himself to take a deep breath. There will be time for an existential crisis about everything later.
Any further conversation is cut off by the sound of Pre Vizsla’s voice loudly carrying from somewhere down the corridor Hardcase came from. Most of his words are in Mando’a—not for the first time in his life, Hardcase regrets that he was just a couple of generations of Vode too late to have real fluency in the language compared to Captain Rex or Commander Cody—but the intent of them is clear. If Death Watch finds them, they’re in danger. The vod who seems to be something of a leader to this small group shuts off the fusion lantern and grabs Hardcase’s forearm to drag him with the rest of them to hide behind some of the crates along the walls of the room. A fifth child is hiding behind the crates already when Hardcase is shoved down by the long-haired vod. It’s too dark to make anything out about them, except that they’re even smaller than Hardcase is.
From the sound of it, most of Death Watch runs past the room they’re in. But, three pairs of heavy boots enter and cross over to where the consoles and controls are. There’s still a hand on his forearm, and he can feel the forefinger of that hand tapping noiselessly to him in dadita. Not yet. Wait.
Hardcase slows his breathing and waits.
Four days into the negotiations, Rex is ready to go home. The Evaar’ade and Haat’ade have made only the barest bones of progress in coming to any kind of agreement. But that isn’t even the main reason he wants to leave. No. What’s slowly grinding him down is the near constant feeling of eyes on him.
He sticks out amongst the Vode and it makes him a focal point of the Evaar’ade’s attention far more than he likes. Sometimes he just wants to shout at them to stop staring or put his buy’ce back on so they’re at least not able to see his face. (It’s poor manners for a meeting like this, though, so he refrains and quietly grinds his teeth instead.) All of his vode can tell it’s bothering him. They run interference between meetings, to keep any of the Evaar’ade who look like they might want to approach him away, and he’s rarely without someone’s shoulder or knee or hand pressed against him somehow in silent support. None of it fixes the problem. But, he appreciates the effort.
The greatest offender is the little future Duchess herself.
Satine makes no real attempt at hiding the way her eyes stick to Rex instead of paying attention to what's being discussed between their two factions. Jas’buir and the Duke can be in the middle of a tense debate about the framework for their agreement—how they’ll establish it in a way that can last beyond both of their leadership—and she’s just looking at Rex. Once he’s aware of her, Rex feels like the hair on the back of his neck is always standing on end, because her focus is laden with things he isn't sure he wants to understand.
But, infuriatingly, the Evaar’ade aren’t opaque. He has a very good guess of what's going on in her head. Because, Jas’buir has told Duke Kryze six times in four days, that an arranged marriage is absolutely off the table. He isn't going to ask such a thing of any of his own children. The Duke is being difficult and doesn't seem to grasp why Jas’buir won't infringe on their autonomy like that. (Not that he’s saying it in those words.) More confusingly, the Duke keeps trying to frame it as a valuable Mandalorian tradition and emphasizes how the aliite of the great verde long past bound themselves together with the riduurok.
(It makes Rex want to be sick. The way the Evaar’ade turn their noses up at almost all of their culture of birth, but when there’s something that benefits them? Then, they’ll start harping about the value of this tradition or that tradition and how it brought peace. Or whatever.
He almost wants to tell them that he’s Near Human and not a pretty piece of Human breeding stock like they want him to be. That any ade he might someday have won’t be Human either. Just to see what they do with it. Maybe it would shut them up for a while.)
After four days of the Evaar’ade talking them all in pointless political loops and knots—even with the collective help of the Corries, Kote, and the Jetiise negotiators—and four days of avoiding unwanted private conversations… Rex ends up finally caught off guard. On the morning of the fifth day, when he slips out to walk around the grounds alone, his luck runs out. His hope—that it’s too early for most other beings aside from their guard patrols to be awake yet—dies a rapid death, when he sees the figure approaching him. But, Rex has to accept, he’s been avoiding her for days and openly running away from a teenage girl is not something he plans to do. He was a commanding officer in multiple wars, for kriff’s sake, he’s not going to let her continue to scare him off. So, he reluctantly stops walking and waits for her to catch up.
“It was Rex, right?” The girl—who would someday be Duchess—asks with wide blue eyes fixed on his face. She’s in a blue dress that kind of reminds him of the elaborate outfits she wore during the war. Though it’s more understated than any of those were and lacks a high collar or eye-catching hair ornamentation. It’s the color that's familiar. He wonders if she's using color symbolism from Mandalorian culture or the Core-worlds.
“Elek. That's me.”
Satine clasps her hands in front of herself and smiles up at him through her eyelashes. “Nice to meet you. I'm Satine.”
He bites back the reflex that wants to tell her, I know. And just forces a small smile. “Understood.” Is what he says, fully aware that it's the tight kind of acknowledgment he would have used during the Clone Wars when Kote passed down orders from higher up that Rex disagreed with but knew were non-negotiable.
Her brow furrows briefly before she's back to looking at him with barely concealed interest again. “Have you ever been to Sundari, Rex?”
“Once.” Rex admits carefully. (Technically, it’s true. It wasn’t the current version of Sundari, but he’s seen enough holos to know it’s not that different now than it was after being rebuilt multiple times.) He pushes down the idle thought that Kyr’tsad has bombed out places like Sundari a lot less in this version of the timeline than they did before.
“Oh!” Satine’s expression lights up with delight. “I’d love to know what you think of it? We’re very proud of all our innovations and improvements.”
Rex swallows the first few responses that come to mind. I hate it. It's so sterile and uniform it reminded me of Kamino. Where are the species that aren't Human? “It's, uh, nice. I think I'm used to the more colorful styles of Keldabe and other traditional cities or towns under my buir.” That's diplomatic enough, right?
She seems uncertain how to interpret that answer. “Oh, well, we prefer things a little more orderly there. I think it's calming compared to the chaos in some parts of the Mandalorian sector.”
At the very least, she doesn’t do anything to point out that Kelora Vheh is absolutely one of the cities that’s vibrant in a more traditional Mandalorian fashion. They both know it is. Even as she’s saying it, though, Rex can see a large wall of the compound with a mural depicting the jungles of Mandalore the way they were before the Dral’han. As pretty as it is, he doesn’t think she’ll appreciate it since the focal point is a rampaging Mythosaur with a group of armored verde facing it down with beskar lances.
“Chaos and mess are part of life.” He tells her, honestly, shrugging one shoulder.
“They don't have to be. We're more than capable of being better than that.” She disagrees, though her tone is more careful than it was on the first day.
Pursing his lips, Rex considers what would be the best way to respond without giving into the sharp, irritated feelings still stirring under his ribs. Breathing out, he words his response with care. “I never said either of those things were bad. Though, I'm told that even the Jetiise value balance, meaning that both chaos and order can co-exist.”
That makes her wrinkle her nose at him. (It should not be cute, but it kind of is?) “I'm pretty sure their code says ‘there is no chaos, there is harmony.’ So, surely that can't be the case. We should strive for harmony just as we strive for peace.”
“That is one version of the Jedi Code.” Rex concedes, keeping his voice and expression carefully neutral. “Another version is, ‘Passion, yet Serenity. Chaos, yet Harmony.’ Personally, I find that version more realistic.” In his mind’s eye, he can see a young Togrutan Jedi Padawan who grew into a wise and capable woman and verd in the middle of a war. Even if he never sees her again, he'll never forget who Ahsoka Tano once was.
“Oh. Is that something you’ve learned in your studies?” Satine asks, tilting her head slightly with visible confusion on her face.
“My-?” Right. He is enrolled in the University of Theed’s remote education program and that’s public knowledge. (Jas’buir even told the Evaar’ade that he’s completing his studies. Though he never mentioned what Rex is studying.) Rex huffs out a breath. “Not exactly. I’m not studying religious philosophies, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Satine just stares at him wide-eyed for a moment. “Religious-... no, I just thought maybe that you heard it from another student. Or took an elective, perhaps.”
Burying his urge to scoff at her, Rex shrugs. “I don’t talk to other students much. It’s a remote program with a lot of self-study.”
“I see.”
There’s an awkward silence between them. He glances back towards the mural on the wall and tries to figure out what to even say to her. Why is Rex—the former Captain of an entire Legion, a clone who led an underground network to save his vode from the Empire, a Commander in the Rebellion—so unable to find anything to talk to Satine Kryze about? All of his skills and accomplishments, and one teenage girl has effectively disarmed him because he can’t tell her what he really thinks. It’s annoying, mostly.
After the silence has stretched too long for comfort, Satine clears her throat and tries again. “I noticed, you seem to really care about your siblings. You all seem… close.”
“‘Lek. We’ve-... we’ve been through a lot together. Mostly before Jas’buir adopted us.” Rex hedges, sticking to the truth, but avoiding details. She doesn’t need to know that we’ve been through a lot together is code for we fought a galaxy-wide civil war as property of the Republic and died for it. He must go distant for a moment, because when Satine shifts her weight, making her skirts rustle, he can't catch himself before twitches in surprise, then jerks his head around to look at her again a little too quickly to be normal.
She winces a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories, Rex.” Her use of his name itches when he knows he didn't exactly give her permission to call him that. It would be just as easy—and more polite as near strangers—for her to use his clan name.
“No. You don’t need to-... it’s not your fault.” Shaking his head, he struggles to find the right response. “I have a lot of bad memories. You have no way to know what will or won’t bring something up for me.”
“Oh.” Her eyes go a little wide. “Was- was your life before being adopted really that bad?”
Osik. Probably, he shouldn’t have said that. “I survived it.” Rex offers lamely.
Internally, he grimaces when he sees the way her expression falls. His evasive response apparently gave up more than he would have preferred. Not that it involved any details. Satine steps a little closer and puts a hand on his vambrace. “I am sorry then. That you went through so much and still have to fight-”
“Don’t.” He hears the way his voice goes sharp with warning and forces himself to breathe deeply before continuing. “I fight because I choose to, Kryze. Because it’s the right thing to do. No one is forcing me to do anything.” (Except to attend these negotiations, Rex thinks wryly.)
Satine’s expression pinches as she replies. “I don’t understand why you’d think fighting is the right thing to do.” Her voice wavers—as she probably fights to contain her own reflexive response to the topic.
“Because, I’ve seen what happens when good people don’t fight back. When they lay down and just let bad things happen to themselves and their own people because they think it’s better to accept death than protect themselves.” Rex tells her, fighting for control of his tone. It’s a losing battle.
He swallows hard as his mind flashes—from Maridun—across so many planets he saw the suffering of during his previous life—all the way to a glassed Mandalore. The empty space where Alderaan should have been. “I’ve chosen to fight and protect people so they can have the choice whether they want to fight or not. Because I’m not going to lay down and take it when I see cruelty or corruption. Turning my back on that just makes me complicit in the harm done to others.”
“Violence just begets more violence. You become complicit when you participate in it.” She snaps at him, both of her hands curling into fists in the material of her skirts.
“And when you don’t?” Rex asks her, deadly soft. “When your people are starving and sick, poisoned, killed by the hundreds, the thousands, the millions in a blink of an eye… what then Kryze? When a darjetii shows up and demands you hand over control of your government? When your planet gets bombarded beyond viability? You’ll just let it happen? Can you live with knowing that all of the lives lost are lost because you did nothing? Can you turn your back on all the beings trapped in slavery, right now, because the only way a slaver will learn is if they’re dead?”
Satine’s expression twists in anger. “There are no darjetii anymore, Rex Fett! You don’t know that any of that will happen! There are other solutions than fighting. And- and, anyone can be reasoned with.”
“Can they?” Kote asks suddenly, from behind them both. He sounds polite, but when Rex turns, he can see the flickering anger behind his eyes. (Because Kote was forced to attempt to kill the man he loved in the name of someone else’s evil. Lived as a tool used to spread that evil across the face of the galaxy before he woke up. That’s not something a person can forget easily.)
“Of course they can!” She nearly shouts, flinging an arm out. “We’re all talking, aren’t we?”
That makes Kote’s expression go flat. “Your people don’t seem willing to listen to anything we have to say, Kryze. We know what you think about our faction, you paint us as barbarians and bloodthirsty things that go bump in the night.” He scoffs softly, but his expression is still carefully controlled. “Rex and I, and our vode, have all seen worse monsters than you could ever dream of.”
Kote’s voice goes smooth and almost friendly as he continues—but in that very unnerving Kenobi way that means he hates the person he’s talking to. (Kriff, when did Kote start picking up Kenobi’s quirks? Was he doing that back during the war and Rex just never noticed?) His ori’vod makes it even more unsettling by keeping his face very, very blank. “Besides, the darjetii aren’t gone. They’ll never really be gone. You can kill people all you want, but you can’t kill ideas. Beliefs. Philosophies. Those will always come back one way or another, even if they look a little different.”
“Kyr’tsad is gone, aren’t they? That’s an idea that your people killed!” Satine answers him, her face going red with her frustration.
Like the terrorists themselves heard her, that is the moment when something outside the compound explodes in a burst of flame and sound. Without a pause to think, Rex is moving. “Get inside, Kryze!” He grabs Satine bodily in his arms and races for the nearest doors. Even if he and Kote are armored and armed, the young Duchess is horribly vulnerable. She shrieks in his ear, somewhere between fear, indignation, and shock. Rex can’t really hear it though, not when his mind and body has fallen into the honed focus of a trained veteran.
Behind them, he can hear the report of several blasters. When he reaches the door—Satine nearly slung over his shoulder—Rex catches one backwards glance of Kote. His ori’vod is shouting into his wrist comm and fumbling to get his buy’ce on while verde in black and blue beskar’gam drop into the walls of the compound. Their guards have already sprung into action, returning fire. But they’re outnumbered horribly. Rex forces himself to focus on shoving his way through the door.
“Put me down!” Satine’s fists beat helplessly on his backplate. It would likely be funny in any other scenario. But he does set her on her feet, without letting go of her entirely.
“Come on, I need to get you somewhere safe.” Rex snaps impatiently at her when she tries to dig her heels in. “That’s my vod out there and he’s going to be in danger if we don’t hurry. Save it for after we’ve protected your shebs.” Even when she continues to struggle feebly against him, he’s stronger and hauls her along through the corridor.
Fox appears, already kitted in his beskar’gam, with several other verde close behind. “What’s happening?” He asks, still moving quickly to intercept them. His buy’ce hangs in one hand, not yet covering his face, which means Rex can't miss the urgency in his face.
“I’m fine. It’s Kyr’tsad. In the courtyard. Kote’s out there and he’s outnumbered, Fox.”
He hates that he can see the flash of fear in Fox’s eyes before it firms into determination. “Not for long. Get the Duchess further in. And don't forget to put your buy’ce on for kriff’s sake!” His ori’vod scolds him as they pass each other in the corridor.
“I know!” Rex calls back. Behind him, he can hear the snap-hiss of Fox’s lightsaber igniting and it feels like a gasp of relief in his body to know Fox will be with Kote soon.
In his arms, Satine has gone mostly limp, but she turns a shocked expression towards Rex. “Your brother is a Jedi?!”
Rex doesn’t have time to explain that to her, so he doesn’t, he just keeps pulling her with him while he uses one hand to grab his buy’ce and awkwardly seal it into place. He races them through several corridors, winding towards the heart of the compound. Other Haat’ade rush past them and it takes a great deal of his control to stick to his task and not run to help his ori’vode. They’ll be fine for a little while. They have to be.
When the doors to one of the more fortified central rooms open before them, Rex gives himself a single moment to take one long, deep breath. At the same time, he passes Kryze into Tup and Dogma’s waiting hands—because they’re still young enough that they agreed to be part of the final line of defense if anything did happen during the negotiations. Tup whisks her further away into the room, checking her over for any sign of injuries—aside from the likely bruises left by Rex manhandling her, but he’s not really sorry about that. A few bruises are a small trade to ensure her survival.
Dogma steps closer to Rex and grabs his shoulder. “Are you alright, ori’vod?” He asks, pressing his buy’ce against Rex’s in a quick kov’nyn.
Rex bumps his buy’ce back into Dogma’s once. “I’m fine. I have to get back out there. There were more of them than we expected. If you have to, take everyone into that secret passage. The gotabore figured out how to open it—and seal it, if we need to—so it’ll be the safest place to hide the Evaar’ade and ne’kaane with us. I’m going to send a packet to your HUD so you can get in. As far as we know, Kyr’tsad only knows it leads somewhere up into the compound, but not where the inside entrance is. So they shouldn’t be able to find you right away.”
Rex’s gut twists and sours with fear for his vod’ikase who aren’t even fully adults again, yet. Every time they see battle, he can’t help but worry that one of the Vode who came back won’t survive. “Promise me, Dog’ika. If something happens. You and Tup have to take care of each other.”
“You’re not allowed to die, Captain.” Dogma growls back at him, fingers digging almost painfully into the nape of Rex’s neck under the edge of his buy’ce. “But, I promise. We’ll take care of each other, and if the fighting gets further inside the compound, we’ll move everyone into the hidden passage.”
“Jate’kara.” He says, patting the side of Dogma’s buy’ce with one gloved hand before finally pulling back. “We’ll be in touch over comms.” This, he directs, at least partially, towards the Duke and his people.
Dogma wavers in place, like he doesn't really want to let Rex go and is holding himself back from clinging. “Be safe, ori’vod.”
“You, too, vod’ika. Stay safe.”
Undeterred by the gravity of anything about their situation, Satine pulls away from Tup and turns back towards where Rex is, near the door. “You didn’t answer me about your brother! He’s a Jedi?!” She demands, “Since when do the Haat’ade allow their own to be Jedi?”
“There's a battle outside, you could have almost died, but what you care about is whether or not our ori’vod is part of an esoteric religious order?” Rex asks her incredulously.
Tup catches her arm again, and Duke Kryze appears to collect his wayward daughter. But, it’s Dogma who—rolling his buy’ce to indicate an eye roll—looks back at Satine to say. “The Jedi don’t have a monopoly on the Force or lightsabers, Duchess.” That shuts her up, though her expression is still full of confusion and disbelief.
Rex turns and shoves the doors open again. Glancing back at Dogma and Tup—the room full of Evaar’ade, some of the Haat’ade who aren’t fit to fight, and a few other verde to guard them—he feels like his heart is in his throat. He can’t quite tear his eyes away from his two youngest brothers. “You’ll be alright?”
Tup steps away from the huddle of Evaar’ade, and puts a hand on Dogma’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay. Go, Rex.”
He doesn’t want to, Rex wants to stay and defend his two youngest vod’ikase. But, his ori’vode need him, too. Rex breathes out silently under his buy’ce and steps through the doorway, into the corridor. One more time, he lets himself look back. Then, he salutes his two vode silently.
Both of his little brothers salute him in return, and he forces himself to turn away and run back down the corridors towards the courtyards.
Notes:
Jango: Ugh. Being the Mand’alor is going to be so hard.
The Vode: Oh? You thought we were just gonna let you do that by yourself?Jesse: No. Really. What kind of blackmail did you have on the Senators? I gotta know.
Thorn: What do you want to hear about? Secret dealings with the Seps? The illegal drugs? The secret investments in slavery? Putting out hits on each other?
Jesse: … um. Somehow I thought there’d be more fun blackmail options than those.
Thorn: Oh. We had fun blackmail, too. Let me tell you about the time…
Jesse: *walking away later unsure whether to think the story was funny or horrifying* …Vizsla: Why is the Mand’alor’s kid sneaking around near my hidden base?
Hardcase: *canned response*
Vizsla: WHY are you HERE?
Hardcase: *canned response*
Vizsla: So about your parent…
Hardcase: Never had one of those, di’kut.
Vizsla: ????Hunter: Okay, we’re in. We’re getting Tech holo-net access. And then we’re getting back out. Agreed?
Tech: *checking the security feed* Oh no. They have a vod in their cells. We have to help. :(
Crosshair: No. We don’t.
Wrecker: But what if it’s Echo? We’re missing Echo.
Hunter: … Okay. We’ll help them.
*a few minutes later*
Wrecker: This isn’t Echo.
Hunter: Too late now. I guess we’re adopting a new Reg.
Hardcase: Wait. Don’t I get a say in this?Satine: Wow. Surely this hot blond man must be the love of my life! He’s so interesting and smart and cares about his siblings!
Rex: NOPE. No, thank you. Someone please save me from this conversation.
Kyr’tsad: You rang?
Rex: NOT LIKE THAT.
Translations from Mando'a
aliit = clan name, identity, family (aliite is plural)
Alii’aliit = meeting of the clans (the closest thing to a government or parliament, lit. clan of clans)
baar'ur = medic
beskar = Mandalorian iron
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
dadita = tapping code used by Mandalorians, like Morse code
darjetii = Sith or darksider
di'kut = idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on) (di’kute is plural)
di’kutla = useless, stupid, worthless
dini’la = insane
Dral’han = Mando’a term for the Mandalorian Excision or the “Annihilation”
elek = yes (shortened to ‘lek as “yeah”)
Evaar’ade = New Mandalorians
gotabor = engineer (gotabore is plural)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
jate’kara = luck, destiny (lit. good stars, a course to steer by)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kih’tat = little twin, little double, little clone (used like “mini-me”, e.g. “where’d you find this little kih’tat? They look just like you!”)
kote = glory
kov’nyn = head-butt
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mando’a = the Mandalorian language
Mando'ad = Mandalorian (Mando'ade is plural)
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Manda’lase = Mandalorian Space, basically
Manda’yaim = the planet Mandalore
ne’kaan = non-combatant (ne'kaane is plural)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
riduurok = love bond (specifically between spouses), marriage agreement
shabuir = extreme insult, “jerk” but much stronger (probably like “asshole” or “motherf*cker”)
shebs = backside, rear, buttocks (also used for the rear of a building, etc)
tiingilar = blisteringly spicy Mandalorian casserole
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode* = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 15: Arla & Hardcase & Rex | 39 BBY / 698 SrD (Part 4)
Summary:
The Mandalore Mission Era:
The battle happens. Clone Force 99 and Hardcase realize they’re further from their own time and place than they expected. Pre Vizsla gets a reality check of the explosive variety and is a hostage to several children. Familiar faces are found when the Haat’ade go to investigate a nearby Kyr’tsad base. It's someone else's turn to be a buir.
Notes:
This chapter... I don't really have a brought to you by line for this one. It did fight me every step of the way though! Good grief.
CWs: combat scenes, mentions of Kyr'tsad's terrorism and general horribleness, mentions/references of what happened to Echo, the Jedi purge, the fall of the Republic, etc., explosions, children in combat and/or warfare scenarios (because the tiny Bad Batch isn't about to sit around and wait for rescue), references to the Cuy'val Dar and the horrible way they treated the clones, also mentions of the fact that most clones during the Clone Wars would've died relatively anonymously without any kind of burial or recognition, references to the way the 501st and Torrent Company treated Dogma before Umbara/early on during the Umbara campaign, mostly unserious threats of bodily harm between sibling characters... that should be the main ones?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Everything is in chaos when Arla makes it out to the courtyard. Chunks of debris from the nearby explosions are serving as temporary cover for Haat’ade and Kyr’tsad alike as they fire upon each other. The two Jetiise spring across the battlefield, pushing enemy verde from their temporary hiding places, and forcing them back from vulnerable or wounded Haat’ade. Sometimes they stop to bat barrages of blaster bolts aside to protect verde who can’t evade fast enough. Both Jetiise pose a formidable threat to Kyr’tsad, even with the beskar’gam that some of them have—though few have enough beskar content to really withstand more than a few strikes of a lightsaber.
Fox’ika, however, is truly deadly. Unlike the Jetiise he’s wrapped in beskar’gam and knows how to evade a Mando’ad in hand-to-hand. Like any Mando’ad, he knows the weak points and gaps in a suit of beskar’gam well and he knows how verde in beskar’gam tend to move. He moves like a predator, or a storm, hurling himself with the force of a lightning strike into tight clusters of enemy verde and scattering them with vicious swings of his burning orange blade. Few verde from Kyr’tsad are foolish enough to try to engage him at close range. He’s also willing to use tactics that an actual jetii would consider underhanded. (Apparently, turning their blades off and on in the middle of combat is too deceptive or some nonsense, Arla thinks it’s just clever because it throws Fox’ika’s opponents off balance when the blade appears or disappears unexpectedly.)
When Kyr’tsad finally uses their sen'trase to take the fight into the sky—an attempt at evading the three different lightsabers cutting them down—it creates a new challenge. Fox’ika can follow them up into the air with his own sen'tra, but Master Feemor and Obi-Wan are very much grounded beyond some high leaps that most other beings could only dream of. Some Haat’ade follow Kyr’tsad into the air, but others utilize the vulnerability of their enemy leaving cover to strike more effectively.
Arla is focusing on firing up at their attackers, when Sev’ika speaks to her in a direct comms channel. “Cover me, ori’vod?”
She glances over to see him setting up with his sniper rifle, at the edge of an overhang that provides him with cover, and immediately understands. “Gladly, Sev'ika.” Adjusting positions to temporarily block him from the view of most of their assailants, she lays down more intense covering fire than if she was trying for accuracy to hit them.
Once he’s in place, Sev’ika wastes little time hitting sen’trase—sending Kyr’tsad members flying out of control or outright knocking them from the sky—if they survive the potential explosions when he hits a fuel line or other vulnerable point. A string of downed verde is enough to convince what’s left of Kyr’tsad to stay on the ground and fight because flying has become a death sentence. Trapped between the Jetiise and Haat’ade’s combined strengths, the battle still takes time but is a clear victory when it’s done.
After, when clean up has begun, Arla looks across the battlefield and feels a sense of disappointment that Pre Vizsla hadn’t even had the courage to fight alongside his own followers. He really was as much of a huu’tun as his father, if not more so. How anyone could follow him after everything, she just didn’t understand. So many former captives like herself had been freed or escaped in the last ten years, which means that most of what remains of Kyr’tsad now are true loyalists.
Then, one of their verde reports in, when they find the landspeeders that Kyr’tsad had used to get to Kelora Vheh, and one still has the coordinates to another location on-planet programmed in as if for a return journey. Coward or not, Pre Vizsla has a nasty surprise coming now that the Haat’ade know where his hidden base on Concordia is.
“Nice to know he doesn’t have the Force even though he has a lightsaber.” Hardcase mutters, staring down at Pre Vizsla’s unconscious body. “Really kriffing weird lightsaber, too. What do we do with it?” Scooping up the strangely shaped hilt, he turns it over in his hand.
One of his new companions, with grey hair instead of the normal dark black-brown of most clones, kicks the limp leg of one of the two soldiers who had entered with the terrorist leader. “Who cares? Just don’t give it back to him or stab yourself with it.”
“Be at least a little nice, Crosshair!” The smallest child—a little blonde girl that somehow seems to know these other clones, which makes no sense—scolds as she climbs out from behind the crates and skips over to Hardcase. “Hi! I’m Omega! Who are you?”
“Hardcase. I’m Hardcase. But, I’m not normally a cadet.” He is definitely bigger than Omega, but noticeably smaller than any of the other four. Unsure about the lightsaber, he just sticks it through his belt. Better to not leave it laying around.
Cheerfully, one of the other four tells him. “Neither are we! But, it seems we are cadets again now and, currently, probably the only clones around. Since it’s still seven more years until the test batches and first generations will be decanted.”
This announcement makes the one with longer hair stop to look at the one who just spoke. “You couldn’t have mentioned that sooner, Tech?”
“Well, you asked me where we were, not when we were. And I was going to tell you before we noticed Hardcase here on the security feeds.” Tech—apparently—replies with a shrug. “Saving him seemed more important.”
“S-seven years before the first clones are going to be decanted? How- how could that happen?” Hardcase feels like the others are unusually calm about this. He’s pretty sure he’s going to panic. “I died! This shouldn’t be possible!”
The long-haired clone sighs irritably at his brother before turning to look at Hardcase. “Like I said, our vod would call this ‘Force osik’ or something. Before you got here, Tech found out we’re in a Death Watch base on Concordia. A moon of Mandalore. Oh, and I’m Hunter. That’s Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair. We’re Clone Force 99.”
Following Hunter’s gestures to each clone when he names them, Hardcase learns that Wrecker is the biggest of the four—somehow he’s bulkier than any of them, and it looks like it’s mostly muscle. Crosshair is the one with the grey hair—and he’s kind of slender compared to the average cadet, Hardcase thinks. Tech is also kind of slim and fairer in complexion. Hunter looks… normal, probably? Aside from the haircut—but, plenty of clones had different haircuts.
“Hardcase, from the 501st. Um. How did you pick up an extra kid?” He can’t help but wonder about her. Omega is, well, small and blonde, and doesn’t look like a clone. She seems pretty familiar with the others, though. Maybe she came back in time, too?
“Ah.” Tech pulls his gaze away from the consoles that he’s already powered back up. “Omega is also a clone. Just female. She’s also the only other unaltered clone, aside from Prime’s son.”
Blinking, Hardcase turns to look at her again. Well… if he looks at her long enough, she does have pretty similar features to the other clones, just not identical. He decides to shrug it off. It’s not the most important thing to worry about for now. Instead, he looks to where Wrecker is dragging the two Death Watch soldiers—that aren’t Pre Vizsla—and tying them to each other with some thick cabling and grappling hooks that they both had attached to their armor. “What are we going to do with Vizsla?”
Crosshair glances up from pulling hidden weapons off one of the soldiers. “What are we going to do with the terrorist, Hunter?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But, he’s a valuable asset. We can, at least, probably use his life to barter for some way off this moon and maybe some supplies.” Hunter shrugs and returns to tying up Vizsla separately. Then, Hunter glances over at Hardcase. “Mind watching the door so no one sneaks up on us?”
He nods in agreement and shifts to face the door into the room so he’ll see it if the door opens. (It seems like Tech is turning the power back on and sealed the door while he was at it.)
Tech hums from where he is at the computer, clearly pulling various things up on the screens. “We could also hand him over to the other Mandalorians. Strange… There is a third faction that I do not remember existing by the time the clones were around. Does the Haat’mando’ade mean something to any of you? True Mandalorians, in Basic, I think?”
Pausing again, Hunter cocks his head at Tech. “Wasn’t that Prime’s faction? Before it got wiped out? Who’s their Mand’alor? If it’s Prime, we shouldn’t risk it.”
“No. Prime is not the Mand’alor. Someone named Jaster Mereel is.” Tapping away at the screens, Tech appears to be simultaneously sifting through various holo-news articles, surveillance footage from somewhere other than the facility they’re in, and downloading the contents of Death Watch’s servers onto a stolen datapad.
“Oh. Does he have children?” Hardcase is beginning to see a possible picture coming together to explain why Vizsla called him ‘Mereel’s brat’. He had made it sound like there was more than one though. Did Prime have siblings? It wasn’t something Hardcase had ever paid attention to or cared about before.
There’s a minute or two of Tech skimming through information. Somehow, he seems to read really fast. Or, at least, Hardcase can’t keep up with him. “That is harder to tell. I mean, he has children from what I can see, but there is not really a consistent number and aside from them being known as part of Clan Fett, it seems like most of their lives are kept private.” He looks rather put out by the lack of information. “All that is clear from the holo-news is that his heir is Jango Fett, but Jango is not the only child he has. If we had more time I could probably dig things up.”
“No time.” Hunter shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to. We don’t know the lay of the land and we don’t know how many more Death Watch verde there might be.”
“That I do have some idea about! From what I can see here, they sent several squads to another part of Concordia to attack a gathering of other Mandalorians.” Tech shuffles some more articles around on the screens. “The, um, Haat’mando’ade and the New Mandalorians—I think—are supposed to be trying to establish a written agreement. Maybe a treaty? Lots of holo-news articles about it since they do not generally get along aside from disliking Death Watch. And there has been a lot of fuss since they invited Jetiise to mediate. Oh! Hey, one of them is General Kenobi!”
Looking over, Hardcase moves closer to try to see, with Omega close on his heels. (She’s been staying out of the way while Crosshair, Hunter, and Wrecker handle their prisoners. And kind of sticking close to Hardcase. Watching him with interest. He doesn’t know what to do with that.) Sure enough, there’s a holo of what looks like a very young General Kenobi standing with another Jedi close by.
General Kenobi even still has his Padawan braid. Wow. So, really young. There’s also someone who does look like a younger Jango Fett in the holo, but he’s turned towards the General, which makes it hard to make out much about his face. Something about him is familiar, though, and not because of Prime. He opens his mouth to ask about it, when Omega speaks first.
“So, if you’re from the 501st, did you know Captain Rex and Echo?” Her eyes are wide and she looks very, very hopeful.
“I did. Uh, Captain Rex was my commanding officer in Torrent Company and I remember Echo from before he died at the Citadel. Why? Did you meet them at some point?” Hardcase can’t help but find it a little weird that this group of clones has met both Captain Rex and Echo, but he doesn’t recognize them.
Crosshair makes a disgruntled sound and steps over to hold out several of his pilfered weapons for Tech, Omega, and Hardcase. “He didn’t die. Echo survived. I take it you weren’t around by the time we went to Anaxes with the 501st.”
Disbelieving, Hardcase just shakes his head. “I died on Umbara. Uh, what do you mean Echo didn’t die? They told us there was an explosion.”
“What I just said. He didn’t die.” The grey-haired clone shoots him a condescending glance.
Hunter steps in, rolling his eyes at his brother as he tucks some vibroknives and beskar daggers from Vizsla’s kit into his belt. “Echo ended up in the hands of the Techno Union and they made him into a living computer, of sorts. Kept him in a vat so they could take information out of his brain. But, he figured out how to signal for help and we were called in to help Captain Rex and the 501st rescue him.”
Hardcase feels his stomach turn. “Oh.” He grimaces and accepts a vibroknife and pistol when Omega grabs them from Crosshair and holds them out to him. “Thanks.” Swallowing around the nausea that wells up imagining being turned into a human computer—or whatever the kriff happened to Echo—he tries for a lighter tone. “I bet Fives was happy to have his batchmate back.”
Both Hunter and Tech visibly have strange reactions to that comment that they try to cover up. Crosshair is really hard to read with how grumpy he looks. But, Wrecker and Omega look sad about it. It’s Hunter, though, who puts a hand on his shoulder and quietly says. “Fives was dead by the time Echo was rescued. He ended up joining our team because… he didn’t really fit with the other Regs anymore.”
“Fives-...” The words won’t even leave his mouth. Trying to imagine Fives dying feels impossible. Of course, he knows that Fives is a clone like any other and all of them could die at any time… but the ARC Trooper had been one of those clones that seemed like nothing could stop him. Invincible by sheer force of will. “Did Fives make it off Umbara, at least?”
“He did.” Hunter reassures him. “And, we first met Captain Rex and a bunch of other 501st vode when we rescued Echo. There was this one vod with a tattoo.” He gestures broadly at his face. “What was his name again?”
Tech looks up from closing all the various pages and tabs on the consoles in front of him. “Jesse? The one who asked about your mutation? And there was Kix. The medic, I believe he was?”
“Jesse also punched Crosshair.” Volunteers Wrecker.
Shrugging, Hunter glances back at Hardcase, like he’s waiting for Hardcase’s reaction.
“I knew Jesse and Kix. We were friends. Jesse was with me and Fives when we attacked the supply ships over Umbara with stolen fighters. Pretty sure I died when I blew up the whole ship I was on.” Hardcase offers awkwardly. It is something of a relief to know that Jesse and Kix were still around later in the war.
Snapping his fingers, Tech turns and looks at him. “I think I do remember Captain Rex mentioning you and some others when we were traveling together after the war.”
“After? We won?” That’s good news, he thinks. Though, again, he gets a series of strange reactions—Tech and Wrecker grow serious, Hunter looks away, Omega gets that sad expression on her face again, and Crosshair stomps off to go shove at Pre Vizsla’s limp form. Glancing nervously between all of them, Hardcase asks quietly. “We- we did win. Didn’t we? The Jedi-...”
“Died. The Jetiise died.” Crosshair snaps viciously.
Shooting his brother a look, Hunter frowns. “Crosshair, don’t. Listen, we’ll tell you about it later, vod. Right now, we should wake Vizsla up and get out of here.”
“We should destroy this facility on our way out. From what I saw, nothing good happens here.” Tech murmurs. “And… Death Watch has lost their signals to all of their squads over in that city they were meeting in. Which means, we only have to worry about the verde already in the facility. Thankfully, Vizsla only kept a small group here. He did not seem to think anyone would find them here.”
“Let’s not test that theory. Wrecker, let’s find you some explosives.” Hunter decides, setting his hands on his hips. “Want to stay here and monitor things for us, Tech? If you’re using the security cameras, you can probably warn us before we run into most of the remaining verde here.” He leans over the slowly stirring body of Death Watch’s leader and tugs a comm free from the man’s vambrace. “We can take their comms so we’ll stay in touch.”
Wrecker grins. “Yes! I was hoping we’d get to blow some things up.
“I can help. I was a heavy weapons specialist with Torrent. I know a few things about explosives.” Hardcase offers. Anything to save him from the way his thoughts are spinning out of control.
They lost the war. The Jedi were- were dead? All of them? It feels like it shouldn’t be possible. None of it adds up. He thinks, once they’re out of this place, he might be sick. And, he really needs to know what else he missed when he was dead, since it sounds like a lot of it wasn’t good at all. Maybe, if they’re in the past-... No. Hardcase shakes off the thought. First, they have to survive this, then he can worry about the future.
“Sure! I don’t mind your help, vod.” The largest of the group pats Hardcase on the shoulder—hard enough to make him stumble a half step forward under the impact—and turns towards Hunter. “That’s okay, right?”
Hunter nods. “Fine with me. I think Crosshair, Tech, and Omega should stay here, keep an eye on things and guard each other. Then, that leaves Hardcase, you, and me to go find their weapons storage, rig up some explosives, and double back here to get the others before we leave.”
At least Wrecker looks happy as he leads the way to the door and back out into the corridors. Hardcase isn’t sure how to feel about anything.
Following the coordinates scraped from the computer of one of Kyr’tsad’s landspeeders is easy enough. It's almost laughable that they attacked from another part of Concordia, because getting there in a group of starfighters equipped for a rapid aerial assault takes less than an hour. A lack of intercepting fire or responding ships from the hidden base is enough to make Sev tell them to hold back on an immediate shelling in favor of a few more flyovers while waiting for surveillance and sensor data from the larger support ship following them.
Rex isn't sure how he feels about hesitating, but he knows it is possible that there are captives in the base that they should try to extract before reducing the facility to rubble. (There could also be intel if Kyr’tsad haven't wiped their consoles before they can get inside.) Just, it’s right there and he likes to imagine that one of these days he'll kill a member of the Cuy'val Dar in an attack like this. Payback for how they treated the Vode in another life. (For how they're probably treating their kidnapped trainees in this life.) Give them a nameless, unmarked death like so many Vode in the war.
With six starfighters—only two of which are flown by non-Vode—it would be so easy to blast the little facility into rubble. But, before their support ship can catch up, Rex watches as a signal pops up on the comms panel of the ship he’s co-piloting with Kote. He pauses and stares at it, fingers hovering in indecision. Who would be hailing them with non-Haat’ade patterns? Even stranger, there’s something about the coding pattern to the signal that’s… familiar?
“Is- is the Kyr’tsad facility trying to hail us?” Fives asks in disbelief over the group comms channel between starfighters.
“That’s what it looks like.” Thire answers. “Sev. What do you want us to do?”
Sev is silent for a long moment. “Answer it. Plug it through a group channel so we can all hear it. I know it’ll mess with the stability, but Fox is giving me that look that says he has a feeling about it.”
“A feeling?” Kote questions.
Fox sighs audibly into his comm. “I don’t know. It’s just a sense of anticipation. Like it’s important for more than just one pair of us to hear. I can’t explain it better than that.”
“Good enough for me.” Thire says.
There’s a moment as Rex waits while Thire and Fives work together to establish a linked channel with their squad of starships and the hailing signal from the facility. Once it’s set up, the line crackles for a couple of seconds. It stabilizes. The line goes very quiet. No one speaks. Until, abruptly…
“Oh. Good. I am glad to inform you that you are right on schedule!” A familiar but young voice carries over the shared channel. Rex knows it immediately based only on the cadence.
Echo beats him to reacting, when he shouts in everyone's ears. “Tech?!”
Scrambling sounds—like a couple of bodies shuffling to rearrange themselves—come from the other end of the channel. “Echo! Is that really you?” Demands Hunter’s voice, also young sounding.
“Well. Kriff.” Kote says on the private channel for their starfighter, turning his buy'ce slightly to glance over at Rex—probably making an incredulous face by the way his head tilts.
“Yes, it's me.” Echo is silent for several long beats before he asks. “Wh- how- why are you hailing us from what is supposed to be a Kyr’tsad base?”
“Well, Corporal, we woke up nearby and Tech wanted to know where we were and why—since, you know, we're not supposed to be here.”
Rex groans into the group channel. “Hunter.”
“Hi, Captain Rex!” A little girl's voice that can only be Omega pipes up. “Hi, Echo!”
“Su'cuy, ‘Meg'ika.” Rex wants to smile at the sound of her voice, but he's still stuck on the implications of what Hunter just said. “Hunter, please tell me you didn't break into an unknown facility just to steal access to the holo-net.”
“Uh. Okay. I won't tell you that, Captain” The former Sergeant agrees.
There's a muffled voice somewhere far from the comm receiver. Inaudible beyond that it's vaguely recognizable as the voice of another young vod.
“We heard that.” Grouses Crosshair distantly in response, clearly also further from the comms than Tech, Hunter, or Omega.
Tech takes back over, sounding very pleased with himself as he reports. “We are about to blow this place up, so I would suggest staying back. We were planning to do it sooner but then the sensors caught your ships. Give us another twenty minutes, at most. Then, we would appreciate a ride off this moon. If that is an option.”
“A shame the Marauder didn't come back with us.” Hunter adds slightly mournfully. “But we found some flares that we can send up once we’re clear.”
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be disappointed in all of you or proud of your ingenuity.” Kote mutters across the shared channel.
There’s a beat, and then Hunter’s voice sounds very close to the comm receiver. “Commander? Is that Commander Cody?”
Fox laughs, unabashedly amused, in the channel. From his seat, Rex can see Kote twist around in an attempt to make eye contact with Fox between starfighters. Unashamed, Fox makes a crude gesture from his own seat in the starfighter he’s piloting together with Sev. Kote scoffs, then he tells them. “Yes. You’re talking to Commanders Fox and Thire from the Coruscant Guard, myself, Captain Rex, Lieutenant Jesse, Sev from Delta Squad, Corporal Echo, and Fives. Plus four other verde of the Mand’alor.”
“Huh.” Tech makes a sound like he wants to start asking questions, before he’s cut off by Hunter.
“Later, Tech. It’s good to hear your voice, Commander. We’ve got a facility to detonate, but… once we’ve done that. I really want a sitrep.”
It’s Sev who promises. “You’ll have one. Ori’haat. We’ll get you when you set off the flares.”
The channel goes dead. Then, the facility signal disconnects entirely. Thire clears his throat. “I’m letting Arla and Jango know to be ready to follow the flares when they get here. And for Kix to be ready for possible injuries when we land. But, uh, it looks like we have some more Vode?”
Kote sounds deeply tired when he replies. “Clearly.” He pauses for a moment, then continues. “I suspected that Obi-Wan had to be having visions about our vode now for a reason. Looks like I was right.”
“Even better. Sev, you get some other commandos, finally!” Fives cackles.
“...Let’s get some altitude before they actually set off whatever explosion they’ve apparently rigged up.” Sev orders, somehow sounding just as tired as Kote.
They all pull up the noses of their starfighters and circle even further from the facility. Rex can’t help but lean to look out the side of the cockpit and wonder what kind of joke the Force is pulling by bringing Clone Force 99 into the past. And why them specifically? He also can’t help but see the irony of having told Echo he was stuck with them only a matter of days ago. Apparently, they’re going to be stuck with the Bad Batch now, too. This… was going to be interesting.
Fifteen minutes later, as the support ship carrying their ori’vode, Thorn, Kix, and some other verde, draws near to where they’re all maintaining careful distance, there’s a massive explosion below them. It spits fire and debris skyward on a level that makes Rex almost nervous that the Vode from Clone Force 99 might not have gotten enough space to be safe from it. He swallows hard against his twinge of fear and forces himself to breathe. When flares streak up from the edge of the forest, almost a klick away from the facility, he audibly sighs in relief across his private channel with Kote. Kote’s head tips towards him briefly, but there’s no hesitation as he angles their starfighter in the direction the flares came from.
When Rex tugs off his buy’ce, then drops out of the fighter and onto the ground, it's to the sight of a tiny Omega squirming her way out of Wrecker’s arms so she can fling herself at him with a delighted yell. “Captain Rex!” He catches an armful of excited baby sister and holds onto her tightly.
“Hi, ‘Meg’ika.” Rex murmurs into her soft hair. It's a relief to see her and all four of the original members of Clone Force 99 alive and well—even if they're in the bodies of children.
Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker follow Omega up to Rex—Crosshair trails further behind with a sour look on his face. All of them, except for Omega, appear to be around the age of 10 or 11 developmentally. Omega herself is probably around 5 or 6. On some level, they all appear to have kept their unique mutations. (Not that Hunter’s was ever visible.) But… aside from Crosshair’s hair color, their variations seem overall subtler. Wrecker is still a little taller and bulkier, Crosshair is still lean, and Tech is a bit smaller, more slender, and a little fairer, sure, but not to the same degree that they had been before. More puzzlingly, Tech isn’t wearing his goggles and doesn’t seem impaired by it at all.
“Fascinating. Did you come back in time as an adult?” Tech asks, looking at Rex with unabashed curiosity.
“No.” Kote replies, dropping down a few paces away. “We've been in the past for about twelve years and aged like natborns the whole time.”
“Marshal Commander Cody. It is good to see you…” Hunter inclines his head to look up at Kote with some amount of exasperation on his face. “But, why am I not surprised there's somehow Kenobi-Skywalker shenanigans written all over this? How many of our Vode have come back?”
“You’re the third vod to say that. And, there were twelve of us before the five of you turned up.” Fives is leaning against the fighter he shares with Echo, expression intrigued, as he answers the question.
“Ah. Right. About that. There are actually six of us.” Tech says with a bit of glee. “We found what would likely qualify as, hmm… a stray vod of yours, Captain.”
Rex raises his eyebrows and turns to look at the rest of the young Vode. “A vod of mine?” But, only the Vode of Clone Force 99 are present. “Where exactly are they?” At that moment, Omega wriggles to be put down, so he sets her on her feet.
“Guarding our prisoner.” Hunter tells them, looking just a touch smug.
“Prisoner?”
Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Let’s just show them.”
Omega tugs at Rex’s hand. “This way!”
He spares a second to check that everyone is accounted for. Sev, Fox, Kote, Fives and Echo, Thire, and Jesse. The remaining verde from the starfighters have occupied themselves making sure there’s a clear area for the support ship to touchdown, but that’s fine. Then, he’s being pulled along by Omega into the treeline, with the rest of their adult vode following close behind the Batch.
“We could not know for certain if there were more Death Watch nearby, so we did not want to keep him somewhere visible. But, it seemed important that we bring him with us. Have a chance to catch a terrorist leader, might as well take it, right?” Tech says, walking alongside Echo and smiling brightly.
Echo’s expression is fond as he listens. Though, his expression shifts into surprise and concern. “You- you captured Pre Vizsla?”
“Yeah!” Wrecker looks pleased with himself—probably because of the explosion.
Past a few more trees, tucked behind a boulder, they find a speeder—undoubtedly stolen—with one very irritable looking Pre-Vizsla sitting in the backseat. Both his wrists and ankles have been cuffed and then tied up with climbing cables, he’s been gagged, his buy’ce is gone, and he’s obviously disarmed. Sitting on the side of the speeder—hilt of the darksaber clutched in both hands—is another young vod. This vod is around 8 developmentally, has a buzzcut, and he looks up when the group of them appear, with a nervous expression on his face.
At a glance, there is something familiar about him, but Rex feels like he's grasping at thin air to figure out why. There's too many Vode from the 501st unaccounted for to leave an obvious choice. But… he’s almost certain that Tech calling him a stray vod of Rex’s must mean that he’s from the 501st. Unless he’s from the Underground? But that feels unlikely just from looking at the way the little vod’s eyes widen when he sees Rex, Jesse, Echo, and Fives. His attention seems to skip over the others, maybe pausing briefly on Kote, but not with the same level of interest.
“Err, hi.” He looks, plainly, very uncertain of himself. “I'm still not sure I know what's going on.” Admits the lone vod. (Crosshair rolls his eyes from where he's standing next to Wrecker.) “But… this seemed important.” Hopping down from the side of the speeder, he walks up to Rex and holds out the hilt of the darksaber.
From the corner of his eye, Rex can see Fives, and Jesse both studying the additional vod. So, he's familiar, in some way, to them as well. “Hey, vod'ika. You’re from the 501st?” Carefully, Rex takes the saber hilt from him.
“Torrent Company. Yes, sir.” Falling back into his old role of sorts seems to give the vod comfort and he smiles more easily, even as he stands at some semblance of attention. “Though, I guess the GAR doesn't exist yet, huh, Captain?”
“No. It doesn’t.” Jesse agrees with a chuckle.
Squinting up at Jesse, the smaller vod murmurs. “You’re really, really familiar.” He puts his hands on his little hips and stares intently for a long moment. “Jesse?”
Jesse crouches down to be closer to his level, and looks right back at him. “That’s me.”
“You got rid of your cog tattoo?” His little head tilts in confusion.
“Nah. Our tattoos didn’t come back with us.” Fives explains. “Probably for the best in Jesse’s case, since a son of the Mand’alor having the symbol of the Republic on his face would be a little weird.”
That makes the small vod’s brow furrow. “Son?” One of his hands comes up to touch his own face, like he’s reaching for a tattoo that isn’t there anymore. It digs at the edges of Rex’s memory in a way that’s irritating.
“Elek. Mand’alor Mereel adopted all of us, since we’re clones of Jango and Jango is his first son.” Kote tells him. He rubs his chin thoughtfully as he watches the young member of Torrent with just as much interest as Rex and his vode do.
“Hold up.” Hunter steps over, hands held out as he looks visibly thrown off by Kote’s words. “Prime’s father adopted you? All of you? And Prime’s-?”
“Right here.” Jango says evenly as he steps into view while pulling off his buy’ce, making the six new Vode startle. Pre Vizsla goes a bit red in the face, but whatever he wants to say is lost in the material of the gag in his mouth. Their ori’vod doesn’t even glance at him, just scanning over the new arrivals instead. “Though, I don’t have any of his memories. I didn’t travel through time. Just your vode, as far as we know.”
Hunter stares up at Jango with a leery expression. Wrecker scoots a little closer to where Omega is, like he might try to put himself between her and Jango. Tech and Omega are just openly curious. Crosshair scowls—but it’s Crosshair so Rex is not sure that it means much. The Torrent kih’vod creeps over to keep Jesse’s body between himself and Jango, though his eyes clearly dart to Kix for a moment, before returning to focus on Jango. (Apparently, he’s decided Jango is the biggest threat. Rex can’t blame him. They all remember what it was like to meet this version of Jango for the first time and have to grapple with the differences. It’s probably going to be harder for these Vode because Jango’s an adult now and just that little bit more like Prime in a way he wasn’t as a teenager.)
Fox rolls his eyes. “Maybe don’t sneak up on them, Ori’vod.” He then steps over to Rex and nudges him with an elbow. “Can I see the saber?”
“Sure.” Rex hands it to him without any hesitation. If any of their vode is going to glean something from it, it’ll be Fox.
Thoughtfully, Fox turns it over in his hand, then murmurs. “Interesting.”
Arla places a hand on Jango’s shoulder—he looks a little guilty at realizing he’d briefly forgotten, after ten years, how much work it had taken for him to win the Vode over previously—and smiles brightly down at the six new Vode. “I’m Arla. Jango’s ori’vod. If he bothers you, I’ll help you beat him up.” She grins sharply, but there’s enough humor in her expression that it’s clear she isn’t really going to hurt her brother… badly. “What about all of you?”
Crosshair squints suspiciously at her. “Prime has a sister?”
“She looks a lot like Omega.” Tech points out.
Echo sighs and steps around to place himself behind the Batch, putting one hand on Hunter’s shoulder and another on Wrecker’s. “Ori’vode, these are Clone Force 99, plus Omega, and, um, you haven’t told us who you are yet, vod’ika.” He looks down at the Torrent vod’ika who has been pulled into a careful hug by Jesse. The kid just looks relieved to be close to someone he recognizes.
“Hardcase.” Fives says before he can introduce himself. “That’s Hardcase.”
Hardcase jerks his head up to look at Fives in surprise, followed by a smile. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” Arla tips her head and looks thoughtfully at Hardcase for a moment—she’s heard stories about most of Torrent by now, so Rex doesn’t doubt that she’s connecting him to something she’s been told at one point or another. “Nice to meet you then. So, we have Hardcase.” Then, she points at each of the Bad Batch with careful guesses. “Omega, obviously, and her ori’vode, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair. Right?” She correctly pinpoints all four of the commandos, much to their barely hidden disbelief, aside from Crosshair. (He just rolls his eyes, like it should be obvious.)
“That’s us.” Tech nods in agreement. “Can you tell all of our vode apart like that?”
Arla huffs out a laugh. “Sure.” To prove her point, she gestures to each of the adult Vode. “Sev was the first one to arrive, and then Kote, Rex, Jesse, Kix, Fives and Echo showed up on Saluecami with Dogma and Tup. After that, Fox, Thire, and Thorn arrived not long before they rescued me from Kyr’tsad. It’s not as hard when they’re all in their beskar’gam, of course. But I can do it when they’re out of armor, too.”
Wrecker’s jaw drops. “But, how do you-? Natborns can never tell the regs apart!”
“We live with her. She figured it out.” Fives snickers, clearly enjoying the surprise of the newly arrived Vode.
“Tup and Dogma are here, too?” Hardcase asks Jesse, one hand gripping onto his kom’rk. Jesse visibly winces at the manner Hardcase says Dogma’s name. There’s something in the way Jango’s gaze sharpens that tells Rex their ori’vod heard it, too.
Rex catches his eye and shakes his head once, subtly, and watches Jango force himself to relax, though there’s still something in his eyes that isn’t entirely happy. “Hardcase died before… he wasn’t there.” He tells Jango, keeping his volume low so the words won’t carry to the bound Kyr’tsad leader who is being dragged out of the speeder by two of the Haat’ade’s verde.
Hardcase clearly catches the exchange though and furrows his brow at Rex. “What? I wasn’t there for what, Captain?”
“We’ll tell you later. But… be nice to Dogma. He- he had a really hard time after Umbara.” Kix interjects before he crouches down next to Jesse and runs his scanner along the side of Hardcase’s body.
Dissatisfied, Hardcase frowns at the medic, before sighing. “Okay.”
From his periphery, Rex can see Kote tip his head at him and gesture quickly in battlesign to indicate they should leave. Rex grimaces a little, but he knows Kote is right that they shouldn’t hang around near the destroyed facility. Not with six Vode turned children who all fell through time at some point recently and probably need more than just a field medic check. Plus they have a prisoner. “C’mon. Let’s get all of you somewhere safer and we can figure things out. Jas’buir will want to meet you once he knows you’re here.”
“He’s not allowed to adopt them.” Arla says suddenly, making all of the Vode—adult and ade—turn to look at her in confusion.
“Arla?” Jango asks, brow furrowing.
She looks at him with a serious expression. “Jan’ika. He’s about to retire in a few years. Jaster doesn’t need six new children who are going to require more attention than he can give them. Not on top of everything else. You know, as well as I do, that new kih’tate aren’t a small responsibility for anyone to take on.”
“I know that, ori’vod. But what-... we can’t not take them in.”
“I didn’t say that we wouldn’t take them in.” She folds her arms over her chest and stares Jango down.
Rex looks at the six young Vode, then back at their older sister. “Then… what exactly are we going to do with them?”
Decisively, Arla announces. “I’m going to adopt them.”
Notes:
Feemor & Obi-Wan: *Jedi chaos across the battlefield*
Fox: Rules for how to use a lightsaber? HAH, I make my own rules. *uses Tràkata*
Kyr’tsad: We have miscalculated. We have miscalculated badly.The Batch & Hardcase: *opens fire*
Pre Vizsla, who is not a force user: SHIT
Hardcase: Dang, he didn’t even try to block those bolts. Worst lightsaber user ever.Hardcase: Echo didn’t die? Wild! I bet the war went great after I died if Echo and Fives were back together. The Jedi totally won, right?
Hunter: Oh. Are- are you in the right headspace to receive information that could possibly hurt you?
Hardcase: ???
Hunter: Nevermind, time for that later.Tech: Heyyy, so I know we’re going to blow this place up, but their sensors just picked up incoming starfighters… that are not Kyr’tsad. So, they’re probably Haat’ade?
Hunter: Can we call them? Preferably before they drop bombs on us.
Tech: Hold please.
*dial-up noises*
Tech: Hello?
Echo, Rex, & Cody: WHAT THE KRIFFJango: So, we’re keeping them. Everyone agreed?
Arla: Yes. On ONE condition.
Arla: I get to be the Buir now.
Translations from Mando'a
beskar = Mandalorian iron
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
Cuy'val Dar = "those who no longer exist", the Mandalorian instructors recruited for training the clone army
elek = yes (shortened to ‘lek as “yeah”)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
hut’uun = coward (worst possible insult)
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
kih = small
kih’tat = little twin, little double, little clone (used like “mini-me”, e.g. “where’d you find this little kih’tat? They look just like you!”)
kom’rk = gauntlet
kote = glory
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
Mando'ad = Mandalorian (Mando'ade is plural)
ori’haat = it’s the truth, I swear (lit. big truth)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
sen’tra = jetpack (sen’trase is plural)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 16: Arla & Hardcase & Rex | 39 BBY / 698 SrD (Part 5)
Summary:
The Mandalore Mission Era:
There are further reunions and more introductions for the newly arrived Vode. Hardcase and Dogma both struggle with their shared history in different ways. The older siblings of the Fett clan worry.
Notes:
This chapter is brought to you by, Dogma's eternal issues with internalized guilt. Haha, y'all really thought that someone who died on Umbara coming back wasn't going to mess with our boy Dogma? Alas. Dogma has been doing his best but there are some things he still hasn't forgiven himself for. Someone HELP him.
Also, I think the next chapter should be the last chapter of the Mandalore mission era, but the characters are on a roll, so they might drag another one out of me whether I like it or not. After that though, we have plenty of forward jumping to do again! A Future Jedi Watchman for Mandalore? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK.
CWs: references to the really horrible ways that the clones were raised on Kamino, references to the Cuy'val Dar and Kyr'tsad training practices and child abuse, references/discussion of Umbara and what happened there (especially Hardcase's fate and Dogma's fate), mentions of Krell, a character goes temporarily missing on purpose, references to Dogma's trauma from Umbara and self blame around the events there, Hardcase talking about and treating Dogma the way the 501st canonically treated Dogma pre-Umbara/early in the Umbara Campaign, references/implications related to the ways that being in the past for longer periods of time will have resulted in characters being different people than they were when they arrived.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time they get back to Kelora Vheh, Arla is the proud buir to five of the six newly arrived kih’tate.
It had taken a little arguing to convince the kih’tate from Clone Force 99 that they needed to have one. But, Hunter had seen reason when Kot’ika pointed out that even if they remembered being adults, they were now in the bodies of ade and in a version of the galaxy that was nothing like the one they remembered. Even if it was more a formality than anything else until they grew back into adulthood—which would take much longer than it did for them before—there would be too many barriers for them if they didn’t have a legal guardian of some kind. And of the Fetts or Mereels old enough to be responsible for ade, Arla would know better than any of them how to raise a little girl like Omega the way a Mandalorian dalyc'ad should be raised. After that, only Crosshair grumbled, but he didn’t reject the gai bal manda.
Hardcase is a different story…
(Still in the forest, Rex’ika sets his jaw in response to Arla’s announcement and tells her. “No.”
“No?” Jan’ika parrots. “Rex?”
“You can have Clone Force 99 and Omega if they agree to it, Ori’vod. But Hardcase is my vod. I was-... he’s my responsibility. If we’re not letting Jas’buir adopt them, then I’m adopting Hardcase.” Rex’ika puts his hands on his hips and glares at both Arla and Jan’ika daring them to argue with him.
As much as a part of Arla whispers that he’s only twenty and raising an ad is a huge responsibility, she sighs and accepts it. “Okay. If that’s what you want, Vod’ika.” Because she hasn’t forgotten. Rex’ika lived longer than most of the other kih’tate. By a long span of time. He looks twenty, but he’s lived a total of at least forty years across both of his lifetimes. If any of the kih’tate would be qualified to be a buir already, it’s Rex’ika. And, the reality of it is, even if she’s adopting five kih’tate and he adopts one, neither of them will be raising their new ade alone. There are already ten kih’tate who are adults and both Jaster and Jan’ika will contribute where they can, too.
He seems almost surprised at the immediate acceptance, but his shoulders sag in silent relief. “It is. It’s what I want.” Rex’ika turns to where Jess’ika is still crouched down with Hardcase and smiles tentatively at the little verd’ika. “If you’re okay with that, Hardcase.”
Hardcase looks between them, clearly unsure. “Um. Okay? I don’t mind that. I don’t really know what having a parent means.”
“It just means Rex is the boss of you again.” Fiv’ika tells him with a snicker.
“Oh. Yeah. That’s fine.” The ad shrugs. When Rex’ika picks him up, Hardcase has a moment of visible confusion—suddenly, Arla remembers when Jan’ika told her that the kih’tate were only held by droids as ik’aade, that none of them seemed to know what to do with affection from adults when they first arrived and she just hurts for him—before hanging onto his former commanding officer and relaxing.
Rex’ika looks quietly pleased and carries Hardcase the entire way back to their ships. Thor’ika trades off to help pilot the starfighters back so Rex'ika doesn’t have to separate from his newly returned verd’ika for even a matter of minutes. He spends most of the flight back, huddled with Hardcase in his lap while he and Kix’ika hushedly bring all of the newest kih’tate loosely up to date with the overall situation they’ve found themselves in.
Arla knows she made the right choice when she sees the way Rex’ixa rests his cheek on Hardcase’s buzzed hair, purring contentedly.)
The problem that immediately presents itself as the Haat’ade disembark from their ships and return to the compound being used for negotiations is, there’s no hiding the appearance of six unexpected ade—five of whom are nearly identical to Jan’ika and his older kih’tate—out of seemingly nowhere, from the Evaar’ade. Not even their prisoner is sufficient distraction for that kind of peculiarity. Jaster is waiting with some of their other verde when they arrive, but so is Kryze, some of his councilors, and his two daughters. (Even though Jaster isn’t expecting more kih’tate, he’s quick to shift from startled to amused, because this is something he’s more or less grown used to before.)
Of course, the Jetiise are there, too, but they know enough that even if it’s a surprise to see more kih’tate, it's not a total impossibility in their minds. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to hurry to meet Kot’ika, and look him over to be sure he’s unharmed, before glancing at the group of new kih’tate.
“Hello there. I’m-”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi. We know.” Hunter tells him wryly.
Obi-Wan blinks. “Oh. Well… you have me at a disadvantage, then.”
Arla huffs a laugh and puts a careful hand on Hunter’s shoulder. As the Mand’alor—followed by Tup’ika and Dog’ika—walks closer to greet them a little more privately, she announces proudly. “Jaster. Congratulations. You’re a ba’buir now.” To her quiet pleasure, Hunter doesn’t pull away from her touch. In fact, he leans into it, his side brushing against hers even though—with her beskar’gam—it can’t be the most comfortable.
“Oh?” Jaster looks from Arla to Jan’ika, and back again. “Who decided I didn’t get first adoption rights anymore?”
“Arla.” Sev’ika tells him without any hesitation. Then, he stares at the Evaar’ade just past Jaster and grimaces. “This is going to go well.” He mutters to himself.
When Jaster looks at her expectantly, Arla curls her lips at him. “Mand’alor. You already have thirteen ad’ike. Did you really think I was going to let you have the first claim if more of them showed up when I'm old enough to adopt them instead?”
Jaster sighs, and looks rather exasperated but fond. “Couldn’t you have talked to me?”
“No.” She replies. “I thought it more imperative that we have some form of cabure in place before exposing them to the Evaar’ade's scrutiny. And you put the rules in place about discussing new ad’ike arriving over comms.”
The Mand’alor sighs again, and shakes his head. “Well. You have me there. Can I be introduced?”
Kot’ika shifts from where he still has his arm loosely wrapped around Obi-Wan to stand closer to Jaster’s side. “Jas’buir, meet Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, and Omega. Arla did adopt all of them on the way here. But, Hardcase is Rex’ika’s.”
That makes Jaster raise his eyebrows and turn towards Rex’ika. Rex’ika smiles without any trace of apology. “He’s another Torrent, Buir. I couldn’t let Arla have him.”
As introductions are made, Arla can see the way Tup’ika’s expression brightens and he steps past Jaster to reach Rex’ika and Hardcase. The way Dog’ika’s face falls into a blank mask makes her gut twist with worry. She doesn’t understand the reaction, but she did hear the way Hardcase had said the other kih’tat’s name before. While everyone is still talking, she watches as he shrinks back into himself silently. Whatever history is between the two… she suspects it’s not a kind one.
“Clearly.” With an amused glance at the ad in Rex’ika’s arms, he turns then to look at all six of them—one at a time—before spreading his hands slightly. “Welcome to the Haat’ade and to House Mereel. I understand that you weren’t acknowledged by my people before, and I apologize for that. We cannot change what has been done to you before you arrived here… but it’s my goal to give each of you the lives you deserve from now on. Even if I’m not your buir.” He shoots Arla a look that’s exaggeratedly offended, before looking back down at the new kih’tate. “If there’s ever anything you need, or that I can do for you, all you have to do is ask. I’m sure Kix’ika has already told you that you’ll need to be cleared by our baar’ure and that we prefer it if you see a mir’baar’ur for at least a little while.”
Kix’ika nods in confirmation, because he had told them that on the trip. (Crosshair’s expression of disgust about the mir’baar’ur juxtaposed with Wrecker’s open confusion about what that was had been a little bit funny, but mostly just sad, in Arla’s opinion.) The young baar’ur pats Hardcase on the back as he passes Rex’ika. “Don’t worry, buir. I’ve given them a rundown of expectations and we did our best to get them filled in on the basics.”
“Jate.” Jaster studies all of them again once more. “I look forward to getting to know all of you.”
Omega bravely scrambles from where she was waiting between Tech and Wrecker to stand in front of the Mand’alor then. “You’re really Prime’s buir? Our ba’buir?”
His expression goes soft. “Elek. I am.” The Mand’alor very carefully gets down on one knee to be closer to her level. “You must be Omega. Rex’ika, Ey’ika, and the others have told me so much about you and your ori’vode. It’s an honor to be your ba’buir, verd’ika.”
“What kind of things did they tell you?” Crosshair asks, a touch suspicious as he peers from Rex’ika, to Ey’ika, and then over to Kot’ika.
“All sorts.” Jaster replies, glancing over at him. “Crosshair, yes?”
“Yes.” The silver-haired ad nods, but his suspicious look doesn’t fade, it simply turns to Jaster and hones in.
Unruffled, Jaster carefully puts a hand on Omega’s head to smooth down her short blond hair while he continues to talk to the boy. “I’m told you’re an impressive shot. When you’re cleared by the baar’ure for blaster training, I’d love to see how you do on our training ranges.”
His expression twitches, then melts into mild surprise. “I-... Yeah. I was modified to have better vision. So, I’m good at sniping.”
“Hmm. Sev’ika is very good at that as well, but I don’t think he has the same modifications. Maybe you’ll have to see if you can beat his scores.” The Mand’alor suggests calmly, though there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes. (Arla can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing, disarming the ad by offering him something he’s good at and someone to potentially bond with over it.)
Crosshair turns to look over at Sev’ika, cocking his head thoughtfully. “I’m probably better. Or, will be, when I’m big enough to properly handle a rifle again.” The beginnings of a smirk tug at his lips. It makes Arla have to look away to hide her own smile.
Jaster nods. “I look forward to finding out.” Then, he holds his arms open for Omega in invitation. She takes it, and allows him to scoop her up, before he stands back up to his full height. Sighing, he glances over his shoulder at the distantly hovering Evaar’ade and winces. “I suspect we won’t be able to explain this one away, ad’ike.”
“No.” Fox’ika agrees. “But… negotiations have been stalling. Maybe it’s time we tell them the truth anyway. More of it, at least.”
Sev’ika looks from Fox’ika to Kot’ika, a question in his eyes. Kot’ika runs a hand over his sweat damp curls and frowns silently. Jan’ika interjects. “No. You shouldn’t have to tell your stories as a negotiation piece, vod’ikase. That’s not fair to you.”
While Arla’s new ade and Hardcase look surprised by his response, the rest of the kih’tate seem resigned, if appreciative of his concern. Silently, Arla agrees with Jan’ika. They shouldn’t have to share their histories with anyone who hasn’t earned them. But, she can see Fox’ika’s point and Jaster is right, there’s no hiding that the new kih’tate look like Jan’ika in the same way the older kih’tate do. Only Omega isn’t obviously another kih’tat.
Rex’ika shifts Hardcase into Tup’ika’s arms, and steps closer to Jan’ika. “Ori’vod. Some of us have been biting our tongues for the last few days to not start telling the truth. If they won’t listen to reason, maybe they’ll listen to the same warnings from our future that the Haat’ade and the Jetiise did. Not even they can possibly want to see the kinds of things we’ve lived through happen again.”
“I hate it.” Jan’ika complains quietly. “I really, really hate it.”
“We know you do, Ori’vod.” Kot’ika offers Jan’ika a small, brittle smile. “But… What else can we do? They’ve already seen the new ad’ike. Even if we don’t tell them everything, we have to tell them something or they’ll just keep asking questions.”
Fox’ika adds grimly. “If we don’t, they might accuse Jas’buir and the Haat’ade of things that no one here is responsible for. It looks suspicious for even more identical ade to show up. I think it’s our best choice. But not all of us need to be in the room for the conversation.”
“I want to be there.” Hunter speaks up, looking at Arla with expectation in his eyes. “I-... someone from my team should be there. We survived like Rex and Echo did. Saw things…” He pauses and there’s grief clouding his features. “Experienced terrible things.”
Slowly, telegraphing the motion, Arla lifts her hand from his shoulder and slides it around his back instead, bringing her other hand up to run fingers through his long hair. “K’uur. You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready to, verd’ika. But if you want to be there, because it does concern your experiences just as much as any of the others, then it’s your choice to be there. I won’t tell you no, if that’s what you want.”
His expression crumbles and Hunter turns into her side, hiding his face against her hal’cabur. There’s no audible sound of crying—and she only knows his shoulders tremble because she’s holding him—but he stays there for a few long moments, seeking some form of comfort and protection. Arla gives it to him, just keeps one arm around him and strokes his hair with her free hand. Tech and Wrecker both move to stand closer, offering silent support just by being there. After a little while, where everyone else is quiet to allow him the space for his grief, he pulls his face back and looks back up at her. “Thank you… Buir.”
She can’t decide if she wants to melt or break in half for him. Instead, she leans down and hugs him just once, and only briefly, before loosening her grip again so he knows he’s free to move away whenever he wants to. “I won’t control you, Hunter. Not any of you. I’m not- I’m not one of your trainers.” Arla takes a deep breath and looks across the small group of her new ad'ike. (Kriff, she’s responsible for ade. What was she thinking? But, they need her.) Hunter is pressed up against her, Wrecker and Tech are within arm’s reach, Crosshair is lingering on her other side, and Omega is still balanced in Jaster’s arms.
The next thing she tells them will always hurt to have to talk about it aloud, but she needs them to hear it. It’s context that they deserve to have so they can understand her and the ways that she already understands them. “Rex’ika and Kix’ika probably didn’t mention it, but-... some of your trainers. Priest, and a few others. Maybe even verde who trained your trainers. They trained me when I was captive with Kyr’tsad for nine years. So, I never want to treat you the way they treated me or any of your vode.” She sees the moment it clicks in Hunter and Crosshair’s eyes. That she, in some ways, is like them.
“My job, as your buir, is to protect you as much as I can and support you while you grow and figure things out. That’s it.” Gently, Arla explains herself further, then offers them the cultural knowledge that they deserve to have. “If I ever did hurt you, I’d be dar’manda. No longer worthy of being a Mandalorian and you could declare me your dar’buir. Disown me. It’s your right to do that. A buir cannot disown their ade in Mandalorian culture, but ade can disown their buire, especially if they deserve it. You have every right to walk away from me if I ever fail you like that.”
Tech puts a timid hand on her shoulder, next to Hunter. “I do not think you will. Because… you have been hurt like we have been hurt. It is not exactly the same, but…”
“It’s parallel.” Crosshair says lowly. “Similar but different.” Arla nods at him, and offers a small smile. He nods back at her.
There’s a small frown on Jaster’s face. “I will see if I can stall the questions for a little while. The ad’ike probably need a chance to eat and rest anyway. And we’re still cleaning up here from the attack.”
“I’ll help.” Kot’ika offers.
“I will, too. Let the Vode who know the ad’ike better have a little while longer.” Sev’ika agrees.
The Mand’alor smiles at all of the kih’tate once more, gently passes Omega to Ey’ika, then turns to Kot’ika and Sev’ika. “Jate. Let’s see what we can do about redirecting attention until we’re slightly better prepared to talk about this, at least.” Squaring his shoulders, Jaster turns and walks back towards the waiting Evaar’ade—with Kot’ika, Sev’ika, and all three Corrie kih’tate close on his heels. Whatever he says when he reaches the Duke, it’s enough to make the Duke sneak one last look over at the rest of their aliit but, after that, he nods to Jaster. Then, he turns and motions for the rest of the Evaar’ade to leave.
After the Evaar’ade are gone and their aliit is safely back in their temporary karyai, Arla notices—with a sinking feeling in her gut—that Dog’ika has disappeared.
She sees Rex’ika look around for him, before his expression twists with a mix of emotions. But, the most prominent one is worry. He turns to Fiv’ika and whispers something to him. A couple of minutes later, Fiv’ika leaves the karyai—presumably, in search of their missing vod’ika. The tension in his shoulders, as he steps out the door, reinforces Arla’s earlier suspicion that Hardcase is one of the many ghosts that always seem to haunt Dog’ika when the kih’tate talk about their previous lives.
Unfortunately, this ghost is in the flesh again and an exorcism isn’t really an option.
Rex tries to keep his attention mostly on Hardcase and the other new kih’vode. He really does try. But Dogma’s retreat and prolonged absence is hard to miss. It gnaws at the back of his mind. He's a little angry with himself that—in his initial relief and delight at having another Torrent vod returned to them—he hadn't considered how one of the 501st vode who died on Umbara might impact Dogma. For all the progress Dogma has made with his trauma, Rex knows his vod’ika still carries a deep sense of guilt about the lives that were lost in that campaign.
His unsettled feelings only get worse when Fives comes back to the karyai—shortly before the typical time their aliit has latemeal—with Dogma’s buy’ce and right vambrace in his hands. Which means Dogma left both pieces of his gear with a tracker or comm behind. He doesn't want to be found, but that only makes Rex more anxious. If Dogma is by himself somewhere, letting his guilt eat him alive…
When Fives makes eye contact, Rex can tell that he’s feeling the same worry. “I can't find him, Rex.” His former ARC trooper murmurs softly—once he's close enough to speak at a low enough volume that Hardcase is less likely to notice. Echo and Tup have been entertaining him with games on a datapad for the past two hours. (It’s allowed Rex to pace infrequently behind the couch where they're sitting without disrupting any of the new ad’ike.)
Unfortunately, Jesse hears from where he's leaning over the back of the couch to watch Hardcase and asks—much less quietly. “Where would he even go? We're not in Keldabe. He doesn't know the area any better than the rest of us. If he's not in the compound...” Jesse trails off, then pushes himself up from the couch to step closer and take Dogma’s vambrace from Fives and turn it over. Like he’ll find answers just by examining it.
“I don't know.” Fives’ brow furrows as he cradles Dogma’s buy’ce. “I asked the verde on patrol to keep an eye out and let one of us know if they see him, but none of them have seen him recently either. Just-... what if he gets lost or is hurt somewhere and we won't know because he left us no way to contact him?”
“Why are you all so worried?” Hardcase asks, puzzled. “Dogma was always going off on his own. It's not like he liked being around our vode in Torrent most of the time.”
Jango’s head raises from where he was looking over a datapad—filled with the intel Tech stole from the Kyr’tsad facility before it was destroyed—with Fox, Kote, and Thire. “What.” From the way their ori’vod’s voice is nearly entirely flat, Rex knows they need to tread carefully.
“Dogma isn't the same as you remember him, Hardcase. I told you a lot happened to all of us after you died.” Rex tells him gently. “He doesn't wander off on his own like this usually. Not anymore. Not since we arrived in the past.”
That makes Hardcase stare at him blankly. He’s not understanding. “It’s Dogma. He's probably fine.”
“You don't know that.” Fives shakes his head at their little Torrent kih’vod.
Hardcase looks between Fives, Jesse, and Rex, still openly confused. “You're all being weird. What the kriff happened that made any of you care about him so much? Tup was the only one in Torrent who tolerated him before.”
“He killed your aruetii of a temporary General—who had been sabotaging all of you and used Dogma like a pawn—then spent the last year of the war in solitary confinement. Dogma was alone. That's what happened.” Jango snaps, setting the datapad on the table before he stands up abruptly. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, before speaking again. “I'm going to go get Grunt Squad to look for him in the city. He has to be somewhere.” Without another word, their ori’vod picks up his buy’ce and stomps out of the karyai.
“I'm going to help Jango.” Fox mutters, and leaves almost as quickly as Jango had.
Hardcase is unmoving, face a little pale as Jango’s words settle in. “Oh.” He whispers.
“This isn't how I wanted to tell you… and there's more to the story than that, but-... he's never forgiven himself for Umbara. For what happened there.” Rex says, trying to be gentle as he puts a hand on Hardcase’s shoulder. Breathing out carefully, he admits. “Dogma probably blames himself for your death.”
That makes Hardcase furrow his brow at Rex. “It was my choice to sacrifice myself. He tried to stop us from going against orders. That doesn’t-... My death wasn’t his fault. If what Jango said is true, none of that was Dogma’s fault. It was all on Krell for being a traitor.”
“Try telling Dogma that.” Kote mutters before turning off the datapad on the table. “He practically called himself a dar’vod for the first year we were here.”
There's significant confusion in the way Hardcase looks at Kote. “Dar’vod? Why?”
“I think,” Jesse says tiredly, “we may as well tell Hardcase the whole story of what happened on Umbara after he died.”
Fives grimaces and Tup stares at Dogma’s buy’ce in their vod’s hands. But, Kix quietly agrees. “He deserves to know the extent of Krell’s betrayal.”
Reluctantly, Rex adds, “and how he manipulated all of us.”
Hardcase can't sleep.
He's tucked comfortably between Rex and Kix—with Jesse’s arm slung over Kix so his fingers nearly brush Hardcase’s side—listening to Rex’s quiet breathing. Tup and Echo are somewhere just past Kix and Jesse, and Echo is making a rumbling sound in his chest that Hardcase doesn't recognize at all but finds very comforting. Kote and Clone Force 99 settled on the other side of Rex—with a sleeping Arla Fett included on the far side of their cluster. Last he'd seen, Prime’s sister had Hunter tucked against one of her sides, Crosshair against the other, with Omega on top of her. The vod pile like sleeping arrangements should make it so he falls asleep quickly—he always did before.
But, well, he's hyperaware of the natborns. Of the soft way the Mand’alor snores, and that Prime is here. Somewhere else in the massive sprawl of blankets and cushions—giving Hardcase and the other new cadets space—Jango Fett is asleep, surrounded by the four Vode who weren’t 212th or 501st. (Including natborns in their sleeping groups feels deeply alien to him. Only Commander Tano was allowed in the Torrent vod piles.) Yet, none of the Vode who've been here for years see that as strange. They almost treat Prime and Arla like they're Vode.
The only one not asleep is Fives, who is at the table in the area of the karyai reserved for mealtimes, doing something on a datapad. Monitoring for a notification if Dogma is found by the True Mandalorian patrols, probably. Hardcase would go sit with him, but… it’s not exactly a secret that everyone was upset when Dogma didn’t turn up before nightfall. Fives wouldn’t blame him or take it out on him, he knows, but still. It feels a little bit like it’s his fault?
Instead, his brain keeps whirling through everything the other Torrent vode told him about Umbara. Some of it, he can imagine. Like Dogma trying to stop the others from treason—even if it was the right thing to do. He was always tightly wound like that. Others are almost unimaginable in their sheer horror. Jesse and Fives in front of a firing squad for their part in taking out the supply ship. Vode tricked into killing Vode. A Jedi turning their lightsabers on their own troops. It’s all wrong.
At some point, the door into the karyai slides open almost soundlessly. It's only the cast of dim light from the corridor, and the shifting shadow of a person entering, that really alerts Hardcase it's open. He cranes his neck to try to see who it is, though once the door slips back shut, it's almost impossible to tell beyond that the figure is wearing most of a set of beskar’gam—minus a helmet.
“Where were you?” Fives’ hushed voice demands, making the figure stop and go a little stiff. He practically appears near the entrance, steps close to Dogma—like Tup, Dogma is a bit shorter than Fives and carrying less overall bulk or muscle—and catches his wrist with one hand before he can try to escape again.
The shadowed shape of Dogma’s shoulders drops slightly. “I just-... I wanted to be alone for a bit.” He sounds unsure of himself, like he doesn't fully believe his own words. There's a rasping, raw element to Dogma’s voice… like he's been crying.
“Did you? Or were you exiling yourself because you still think you should punish yourself for what Krell did?”
“Fives.” Dogma exhales softly, breath shaking. “Please…”
Fives shifts further into Dogma’s space. “Dogma. You know Jesse and I forgave you years ago. We all did. So stop doing this to yourself. Please.” One of his arms moves in the dark, hard to make out but, seemingly to comfort Dogma in some way. “You scared us, vod’ika. Jango was a wreck when they didn't find you out in the city after a few hours of searching. We all were scared something happened.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset anyone.”
Their shapes slowly move along the edge of the karyai—casting strange shadows as they go—heads bent close together so Fives’ voice stays low enough to not disturb the sleeping beings in the room. Hardcase has to strain to hear what he’s saying. “K’uur. I know that. But we care about you and not knowing where you were-…” A door into one of the side rooms off the karyai slips open and for a moment there’s a wash of light before it slides back shut—Fives and Dogma on the other side, with their voices now muffled.
The sound of voices from the other side of the door rises and falls in a way that sounds like it could be an argument. Carefully, Hardcase sits up from the tangle of limbs around him. He isn’t sure why he even feels bad. It wasn’t like he’d said anything to Dogma. Dogma didn’t even give him a chance to say anything. Just… disappeared shortly after finding out Hardcase was with the others when they came back from the Death Watch base, without even a word.
Still, there’s a painful twist in the pit of his stomach from watching the growing worry in the others’ faces all evening. He doesn’t get up from where he is between Rex and Jesse, but he can’t convince himself to lay back down. Unknown minutes tick by, and the arguing quiets into only one voice speaking and some muffled sounds that are indistinct from his place in the karyai. Maybe he should go back to sleep, Hardcase considers.
Before he can lay down again, Hardcase becomes aware, slowly, of eyes on him. Uncomfortable, he shifts to look around in the darkened room until he finds the pair of half-opened eyes watching him silently across the sleeping space. Commander Fox is still, breathing evenly in a way that appears he's sleeping. If it weren’t for the weight of his gaze, Hardcase might be fooled into thinking he was. But his amber eyes are fixed on him and reflecting a hint of the light from the side room where Fives and Dogma disappeared.
Frozen in place by the former Commander’s attention, Hardcase swallows hard. Then, he glances back towards the door Fives and Dogma went through, if only for an excuse to not look at Fox. Somehow, the Commanders have all retained some of their intimidating-ness that they had back during the war. Some of them, like Captain Rex or Commander Kote, were more approachable once you got to know them… but the ones who weren’t familiar? Hardcase could never quite shake a sense that they could just look at him and see all of his strengths, weaknesses, and how to best utilize him in the field, and knew things about him without being told. (Obviously, they had his file, like they had any other clone’s files, but they just… carried themselves differently.)
Behind him, there’s a sigh and the sound of someone shifting in the cushions of the karyai. Then, silent as a shadow, Fox crosses around the edges of the room and pauses near the still closed door. He looks back at Hardcase, something expectant in his face. When Hardcase doesn’t move at all, the older clone turns away without a word. Soundless, he slips the door open and steps through, before sliding it back shut, as he joins the other two in the side room.
Uneasy, Hardcase settles back down into the cushions and curls a little closer to Rex. Somehow, he feels like now isn’t the right time for him to talk to Dogma. Maybe he just isn’t ready to talk to the other vod.
He doesn’t know what to say to him.
Even with their brief shared history in the 501st, he doesn’t feel like he knows Dogma at all. And, Hardcase is already realizing that all of the clones who have been living in the past are different. They’re the same people at their cores—he thinks—but they’re different, too. Some of it, he can attribute to no longer being at war—not in the same way they were before, at least—but there’s also changes that must have happened over time. All of them have had time here to grow and change and become people outside of their lives in the GAR. (Some of them had already lived beyond the GAR and experienced other things before they came to the past.)
Strangely, as much as he still isn’t sure what to think of Dogma being here, it’s slowly occurring to him that this version of Dogma could very easily be a complete stranger. He’s had more than twelve years to live a life outside of the regs and orders of the GAR. It’s with this thought that Hardcase finds his eyelids growing heavier, until he slips off into a restful sleep—warm and safe—between two of the clones he trusts the most.
Maybe he and Dogma should just start over. That’s kind of what this is, isn’t it? A new life for them.
Yeah, that feels right.
Notes:
Arla: I am buir now.
Rex: Hold up. This one is mine.
Arla: … acceptable.Hardcase & CF99: What’s a parent anyway?
Fives: A commanding officer… kind of?
Arla: Absolutely not.The Vode & Haat’ade: *wandering back with six new children*
The Evaar’ade: What.The Torrent Vode: Hardcase is back! :D
Dogma: Ah. And now I feel terrible.Arla: *is nice to Hunter for less than an hour*
Hunter: This is my mom and no one can take her away ever again. T^T
Crosshair: She’s a cool mom, too.Rex: Dogma’s gone? Oh no.
Fives: I can’t find Dogma!
Jesse: We’re worried about this right? This is something to worry about.
Kix: Very worried.
Hardcase: But why?
Jango: Because he’s BABY.
Fox: He is definitely baby. We’re gonna find him.Dogma: *sneaking back in*
Fives: There you are!! *drags Dogma into another room to make sure he’s okay* I’m not allowed to ground you but I just MIGHT.
Fox: *judgmentally staring at Hardcase to go fix it*
Hardcase: ???? *frozen under the eyes of a Marshal Commander*
Fox: Ugh. Fine. I’ll do it myself. *goes into the other room*
Fox: DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED WE WERE?!
Dogma: I’m sorryyyy T^T
Translations from Mando'a
ad = child (ade is plural)
ad'ika = little one; child, daughter, son, of any age; may be used informally to a group of adults in a manner similar to “lads” or “guys” (ad’ike is plural)
aliit = clan name, identity, family (aliite is plural)
aruetii = traitor, outsider, foreigner
baar'ur = medic
ba’buir = grandparent
beskar'gam = armor
buir = parent (buire is plural)
buy'ce = helmet (buy'cese is plural)
cabur = guardian, protector
dar = gone, temporary; no longer
dar’buir = no longer a parent (legal term - parental divorce by child)
dar'manda = No longer a Mandalorian, someone who has lost their heritage and with it their identity and soul
dalyc’ad = daughter
elek = yes (shortened to ‘lek as “yeah”)
Evaar’ade = New Mandalorians
eyayah = echo (this is where the nickname Ey'ika for Echo comes from)
gai bal manda = adoption ceremony (lit. name and soul)
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
hal’cabur = chest armor
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
ik'aad = baby, child under three (ik’aade is plural)
jate = good
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
karyai = main living room of a traditional Mandalorian house (composed of a single big chamber for eating, talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack)
kih = small
kih’tat = little twin, little double, little clone (used like “mini-me”, e.g. “where’d you find this little kih’tat? They look just like you!”)
kote = glory
K’uur = hush
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Mand'alor = supreme ruler of the Mandalorian people
mir’baar’ur = lit. brain medic, like a psychiatrist or therapist
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
verd = soldier, warrior (plural is verde)
verd'ika = Private (military rank), affectionate term when used for a child "little soldier"
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
Chapter 17: Hardcase & Rex | 39 BBY / 698 SrD (Part 6)
Summary:
The Mandalore Mission Era:
Hardcase and Dogma finally talk. The negotiations must go on, off screen. Satine tries to understand.
Notes:
This chapter is brought to you, belatedly, by… the scene that made me fight for months to write it, before deciding to just cut the dang thing and post the chapter because the rest of it was done. It means it’s a bit of a shorter chapter, but this is the end of the Mandalore Mission Era… which means, after this chapter, you can expect more forward hops through time!
Potentially interesting for readers, I tried to use my tumblr again for a hot minute before my mental health totally crashed and burned, and posted a few scraps of my writing related to this fic (deleted or alternate scenes!) that you can check out right here
CWs: references/discussion of Umbara and what happened there (especially Hardcase's fate and Dogma's fate), mentions of Krell, references/discussion around Dogma’s trauma from Umbara and self blame around the events there, discussions of neurodivergence and some internalized shame/ableism about it, references/implications related to the ways that being in the past for longer periods of time will have resulted in characters being different people than they were when they arrived, references/discussions of Order 66 and the chip (especially the repercussions of mind control, the events on the Tribunal, ), references to the Dral’han/Mandalorian Excision, references to the really horrible ways that the clones were raised on Kamino, discussion of pacifism and self-defense in the face of an enemy without morals, discussion of the Clone Wars and canon events (especially the nasty things the Separatists did), mentions of the horrors of the Galactic Empire (Alderaan, the Death Star, Mandalore being glassed, etc.), survivor guilt, and mentions/implications around how changing the timeline means most of the Vode will never exist at all.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
During firstmeal, Hardcase is willing to let things lie. Dogma looks tired when he finally wakes up, and seems only half-aware of anyone else in the living space, anyway. Jesse sets himself at Dogma’s side at the table, shoulders touching in a show of physical contact that never would have been allowed by the Dogma that Hardcase remembers. Not by someone who wasn’t Tup.
From his seat, Hardcase simply observes as several members of the family take a moment to lean close to Dogma and have hushed interactions before some of them leave to meet with the New Mandalorians.
(Jango stops first, and presses his forehead to Dogma’s in a keldabe. His voice is too quiet to hear over the other conversations happening around them, but the soft look in his eyes makes Hardcase’s stomach feel like it's being tied in knots. It’s one thing to be told that this version of Jango Fett is nothing like Prime. But seeing how he treats Dogma and some of the others… It's jarring.
Next, is Rex who warmly wraps his arms around Dogma in a hug. “You scared me, vod’ika. I’m glad you’re okay.” Whatever Dogma says in response is lost because it’s mumbled into the fabric of Rex’s flight suit. But, Rex smiles, leans back, and then bumps his forehead against Dogma’s before letting the younger vod go and turning to the task of putting on his armor.
Fox slips a few extra pieces of sliced fruit on Dogma's plate and smiles secretively at him before slipping away just as quietly as he'd appeared. Force osik, Hardcase decides. He's still baffled by the knowledge that Vode can have the Force. The lightsaber is pretty neat though.
“Please, if you need space again, take a comm with you? For emergencies.” Kix entreats quietly with Dogma when he settles his hands on Dogma’s shoulders.
“I will. Sorry for upsetting everyone.” Dogma looks genuinely contrite.
Sighing, Kix smooths a hand through Dogma's hair and gently presses their foreheads together. In low, soothing tones the medic reassures. “I wasn’t upset with you, Dog’ika. I was worried because we had no way of knowing where you were if something happened. Especially so soon after being attacked.”
That reminder makes Dogma wince. “Sorry.” But, Kix just shakes his head once, smooths a hand through Dogma’s curls a second time, and moves on to get ready.
Dogma actually laughs aloud when Fives whispers something in his ear. The satisfied smile on Fives’ face speaks volumes for how much he cares. He always was trying to keep morale up with his pranks and jokes. It was part of the way Fives supported their vode. By keeping smiles on their faces.
Even Marshal Commander Cody curls an arm around Dogma’s shoulders and gives him a silent squeeze. No words are exchanged, but Dogma smiles up at Kote. Kote suddenly ruffles his hair, making a mess of the curls that Kix just smoothed out. Instead of whatever reaction Hardcase might have expected, Dogma snorts in quiet amusement and shoves the older vod’s side with one hand. There’s an inordinately pleased expression on Kote’s face as he finally walks away.)
After firstmeal, the three vode from Clone Force 99—that didn’t go to the meeting with the New Mandalorians—are restless and eager to do something. So, Echo and the two remaining Corries agree to take them on a walk around the Mandalorian compound—with a promise to stop by the temporary training ground to inspect what types of weapons are on offer over a decade and a half before anything they would be truly familiar with will exist yet. (Hardcase still has questions about how close the members of Clone Force 99 seem to be with Echo.) Once they’re gone, Hardcase is left with Jesse, Tup, and Dogma.
There's a dragging, awkward silence between all four of them before Jesse gets up and claps his hands together. “This feels like a vod pile and mindless holo-show kind of morning to me. C'mon.” Before Hardcase can come up with a reason to protest, he's being led back to the comfortable cushions and blankets at the heart of the living area while Tup starts flipping through channels on the holo-screen.
Baffled, Hardcase allows himself to be pushed into the center of the cushions. But he doesn't know what to do when Jesse starts wrapping him in a blanket. “Lieutenant?” He tries, only to have a second blanket wound around him.
“No lieutenants here. Just vode.” Jesse says in an extra cheerful voice. Then, he's gently nudging Dogma until the vod—that Hardcase always believed to be reclusive—is comfortably pressed against Hardcase in the heaps of cushions. A third blanket is then settled over Dogma's shoulders and draped over Hardcase by association. Satisfied with his efforts, Jesse drops himself behind Hardcase and Dogma, then shuffles himself up to cuddle them both. (And trap them next to each other.)
“What do you think, ori’vod, Exploring Wildspace, Designing the Dream Home: Naboo Edition, or The Grand Alderaanian Bake-Off?” Tup pauses flipping holo-channels to look at them.
Jesse makes an exaggerated show of considering his options, going so far as to rub his chin the way General Kenobi used to stroke his beard when thinking. “I vote that we watch Exploring Wildspace for now. Alderaanian Bake-Off always makes me stressed because I don't want to see my favorites get voted off.”
Dogma makes an amused sound, that's rather like a hushed laugh, but his mouth snaps shut the second he notices that Hardcase is looking at him. Kark. Hardcase forces himself to look at the screen instead as Tup selects the channel where a voiceover is narrating facts about a planet he's never even heard of.
Tup flops himself over Dogma's legs, and puts his head in the other vod's lap. “Don't think I've seen this episode before.” When Dogma starts braiding Tup’s hair absently, the long-haired vod practically melts.
“What's this show about?” Hardcase asks after a few minutes of panning holo-footage of vivid alien landscapes while the voice is still offering factual information about the planet.
In a quiet voice, Dogma answers. “Every episode is about a different uninhabited planet or moon in Wildspace and what kinds of creatures live there. It's a documentary series.”
Oh. Well. Not really Hardcase’s personal choice of preferred entertainment, but Tup and Dogma both seem fairly transfixed and Jesse is slowly relaxing at their backs. Maybe he'll just nap. Settling in to get to get more comfortable somehow results in his head leaning on Dogma's shoulder but, surprisingly, Dogma doesn't move or say anything. He doesn't do anything about it at all.
While the other three are watching the show, Hardcase finds himself observing Dogma… for the second time that morning. He tracks the way Dogma's eyes reflect the glow of the holo-screen. How this Dogma looks far more at ease in his own skin than Hardcase can ever recall him being. A soft rumbling sound seems to originate somewhere in Dogma's chest and makes Hardcase’s muscles all want to go loose, while something in his ever racing brain settles. It's… nice. Like the sound scratches an itch he wasn't aware of until it was gone. (Rex made a similar noise, too… and Echo. Hardcase has no idea what it is.)
Because he's paying attention, he catches the way Dogma's lips twitch with barely concealed humor when Jesse's chin slumps forward onto the top of Dogma's head. (A quick glance up reveals that Jesse is soundly asleep. It's been less than half an hour.) Tup is still sprawled over Dogma's lower half, and a rumble to echo the one coming from Dogma picks up slowly from Tup.
Hardcase tilts so his ear is pressing against Dogma's collarbone. There, he can feel the vibrations coming from the other vod. Something about it loosens his tongue. He speaks quietly, trying to not disturb Jesse. “My death wasn't your fault, you know. I made my own choice.”
For a moment, the words hang in the air between them. Tup shifts slightly in Dogma’s lap but stays silent. He watches Dogma glance down at him—so quick it would have been easy to miss—almost like he's afraid to look at Hardcase directly. “I'm still sorry. It-... I should've-...” Dogma swallows, sighs, and starts again. “You shouldn't have had to die. Krell kriffed us all over. And, I let him.”
“How could you have known, Dogma?” Hardcase disagrees firm but kind, lifting his head to stare at him. The vibration has stopped, anyway. “We were all being manipulated. You just… ended up on the wrong side of things.”
“Yeah, ‘coz my brain sucks.” Dogma mutters bitterly.
That makes Tup twist on Dogma's lap and grab his hand. “No. Dogma, no. Your brain is different.” Tup's eyes are wide and hurt. “But that doesn't make it bad. Don't talk about yourself like that, vod.”
Dogma pinches his lips together, silently frustrated. “Tup…”
Tup shakes his head fiercely and squeezes Dogma's hand tight. “I won't let you talk like that about yourself. Nu draar.”
“My brain is different, too.” Hardcase points out. He knows what it's like to have a mind that doesn't work like everyone else's. Finding out Dogma is like that, too? It explains a lot and almost makes him sad that they hadn't realized it before. Could they have been friends if they'd noticed it? “I don't know what yours is like, but mine is different. From other Vode.”
“My brain… I need… stability. Regs and orders, they gave me structure and predictability. Without them… it sometimes felt like everything might explode in my face. It made me anxious.” Dogma avoids looking at either of them, staring blankly at the holo-screen but not actually seeing it. “So, when Umbara was… bad, I fell back on what felt safe. I needed the Regs to still work… Or, I'd be lost. I just made a mess of everything though.” Dogma's lips quirk into a weak imitation of a smile. “I did the right thing at the end, I guess. Me making the kill shot meant Rex was safe. Torrent needed Vode like Rex or Fives or you more than it needed me.”
Making a wounded sound, Tup reaches for Dogma, only to have Dogma catch his shoulder gently and stop him. “Dogma…” Tup protests softly.
He sighs and admits. “I know there wasn't much I could have actually done. I do. But, it feels like it sometimes. Like- like I missed something somewhere and if I look for it long enough I could find it.”
“Don't we all feel that way about something?” Jesse asks, startling all three of them. (He must have woken up at some point, but Hardcase isn't sure when he did.) The former Lieutenant tilts his head to look down at Dogma seriously. “Hells, sometimes I tell myself there must have been a way for me to fight my chip. To- to stop myself from being taken over somehow. Rex fought it long enough to warn Commander Tano. Why couldn't I do it? But, it's not like that. We never could've stopped what we didn't see coming. Traitors, chips, the big Sith plan… blaming ourselves can't change what happened. Or fix it.”
Dogma releases Tup, letting the other vod crawl the rest of the way up to hug him tightly. “Yeah. Maybe. I don't know.”
“Dogma.” Tup smooshes his face into his vod's shoulder affectionately. “You really think Fives doesn't wish he'd shot Krell right where he stood when the General pulled his lightsaber on him? That Rex doesn't regret it that he didn't take the shot before you did? Or that one of them hadn't turned back to look for Echo at the Citadel? I wish I'd gone to Kix instead of writing things off as a headache when I started feeling weird. Depths, Fox has the Force and he still couldn't prevent himself from shooting Fives when his chip was active. We all kriffed up at some point. Life is like that sometimes. People kriff up.” Tup leans back to grab Dogma's face gently and force him to meet his eyes. “Look at me, vod. We're not there anymore. Please stop punishing yourself for things we did in another life.”
Expression crumpling, Dogma looks back at Tup. “I thought I had. I thought-... then, Hardcase was back and I just-...” He closes his eyes with a sigh. Tears start to trickle down his cheeks slowly.
“It brought you back there.” Fills in Jesse kindly. “And that's okay, Dog'ika. If Commander Tano ever shows up, I’m pretty sure that I'll be a wreck for a bit. But, the point is, we're here for you. We're always going to be here to pick you back up, brush you off, and remind you to keep moving forward. Because you're our vod and you're just as important to Torrent as any other one of us. Don't you dare think otherwise. I’ll fight you… aggressively, with cuddles. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll sic our vode on you. Like you and Rex told Echo a week ago, you’re stuck with us.”
Hardcase curls into Dogma's side cautiously, wrapping his arms around him. “The other thing I wanted to say was… I think it would be nice to start over. Get to know each other this time. For real. Without… war and stuff.”
“Cin vhetin.” Tup says, smiling.
“Huh?”
Dogma laughs wetly, then explains. “It means ‘white fields.’ Or Mando'a for a clean slate. Fresh start.”
Jesse ruffles Dogma's hair and rubs Hardcase’s back. “It's a good idea. We all deserve one after what we've been through. Now hush up, I wanna hear about these funky alien lizards with way too many legs. What's up with that?”
“What now?” Hardcase turns back to the holo-screen to find that Jesse has accurately described the odd creatures being filmed. “What are those?”
“They don't have a name, I bet. Being a new species and all.” Dogma shrugs, wiping his cheeks with one hand.
Tup giggles. “That means we get to name them.”
Dogma snorts in amusement. “The kark are you going to call that thing, Tup?”
“Don't they sort of look like that one pirate from the mission with…”
By the time the rest of clan Fett returns for midmeal, Hardcase and Jesse have come up with increasingly strange names for all the different creatures in the show, making both Dogma and Tup laugh. And, Hardcase is pretty sure that he and Dogma are going to be okay. They're doing that whole fresh slate thing.
Cin vhetin?
Yeah. That.
Finally, the last day of the negotiations arrives. The Haat’ade and the Evaar’ade have managed to craft an agreement that both sides can live with, even if the Evaar’ade don’t particularly like it and some of the Haat’ade feel it’s still too lenient to allow them near complete autonomy on Kalevala and in Sundari. It turns out that getting a reality check from the future is effective in convincing the Duke and most of his council that they might want to rethink some things. Even if they won’t give up their beliefs.
For Rex, it’s just a relief that it’s almost over.
While he’s settled in the shade of the compound courtyard not long after midmeal, he hears the sound of soft footsteps approaching him. For a moment, he doesn’t tear his gaze away from watching Omega ride around on Fives’ shoulders as she squeals in pure delight. (She’s the happiest of the Batch, simply pleased to have most of her familiar vode again and many new ones to learn about.) Not far behind them, Hardcase is trying to goad Dogma into some kind of game. He’s really glad they figured things out.
To one side of the courtyard, Jango and Knight Feemor are standing with their heads bowed together, conferring in low tones to not be easily overheard. The sight is one that's recently become common, in the downtimes between negotiations. Ever since Jango asked Feemor about the Jedi Service Corps, they've been scheming how to arrange for the AgriCorps to come to Manda’lase. (With or without Senate approval.) There's been a handful of calls with the Jedi High Council and the Jedi who run the AgriCorps, too. If it works, it won't just be about repairing the effects of the Dral’han. They'll build new bridges between ancient enemies to find common ground and work towards a better future for everyone in the galaxy.
Whoever it is that has approached him clears their throat politely. The former Captain glances up and carefully keeps his expression blank when he sees it’s the young future Duchess. “Kryze. Can I do something for you?”
“Um. May I sit?” She asks, looking more unsure of herself than she has for most of the past three weeks.
“If you want to.” Rex gestures widely at the courtyard as if to point out that he doesn’t have a monopoly on the large space.
Hands clutching at her skirts in an attempt to keep them in order, the girl sits down next to him. “I- I want to understand.” Satine tells him after a dragging silence between them while he observes her from the corner of his eye.
“About?”
“I don’t-” There’s a soft huff, like frustration, and she twirls her fingers against one palm in her lap while she tries to decide what she wants to say. “I can’t understand. You and your siblings, all of you were made to be soldiers and were the same as slaves. Why- why wouldn’t you want to lay down your weapons and have peace?”
Oh. He shifts to sit a little more upright and look directly at her. At the very least, this is something she seems to want a real answer to. Even if he doubts she’ll ever completely understand it—she’s stubborn, he’ll give her that much—Rex knows the answer to this better than most of his other vode. “Because that’s not always an option, Satine.”
“Why not? Talking works. Our people just made peace with each other by really talking for the first time in a long time.” She points out, clearly trying to not let herself get caught in her own passion.
Rex sighs and smiles sadly at her. “Sure. But we had to defeat Kyr’tsad for that to even be an option.” He sees her open her mouth to respond and shakes his head at her. “Just listen. It’s not a bad thing to want peace. I had vode, even back during the war we were made for, who chose to desert and seek out their own lives. But- if we’d all done that? It would have been at the cost of millions of other sentient lives and their planets. The Separatists didn’t want to talk.”
“They showed up with blasters, tanks, starfighters, and cannons. Biological weapons. Horrors beyond your imagination.” He remembers the sheer dread that the defoliator had inspired. The idea of a weapon that could wipe out entire units of clones, entire villages, and leave anything non-biological behind. “Trying to talk to them usually ended with a blaster in your face and countless beings taken prisoner. Or a Sith cutting down anyone that got their way. It didn't matter to them if someone was a soldier or not, they killed because they could. They even attacked the planet where all our younger siblings were growing up. None of them were soldiers yet and they died anyway. Choosing neutrality didn’t protect anyone that much either. Pacifism can’t work when the other side doesn’t want it to be an option.”
Satine is looking at him, brow furrowed as she tries to comprehend what he’s telling her.
Glancing back at his vod’ikase who are still enjoying themselves in the sunshine, Rex steels himself. “I fought my first war because it was what I was made for, yes, but also because the galaxy’s regular people needed someone to protect them. We couldn’t save everyone, but we tried our best.” And for what? That’s a question he asks himself still, even though the war won’t happen again. “Our best wasn’t enough when the deck was rigged from the start. So, I fought again, as a rebel. The Empire… it took all of my siblings from me. Just-... they were just gone. Their bodies were there, but their minds weren’t.”
He can see her go a bit pale and mournful looking. It makes him turn his eyes away, staring at the ground near his knees while he continues. “When your enemy is simply evil because they want to be… there’s no viable option for pacifism unless you want to watch your people starve to death, be poisoned, dragged out into the streets and murdered because of something they said or some circumstance of their birth, like having the Force. Or simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Rex shifts to meet her eyes again. “I saw them create weapons that could destroy entire planets.”
“Whole planets, Satine. Alderaan was gone, just a bunch of space rocks and dust when it was over. No one on the planet survived.” Helplessly, he shrugs his shoulders. “Mandalore was glassed. No one could live there anymore. Our people scattered across the galaxy, and were hunted into near extinction only because they tried to stand up for themselves and what was right. The Empire didn’t care as long as it had power and—even if that came at the price of blood—they took it. For two decades, they bathed the galaxy in blood. No where was truly safe.” Rex falls silent, his eyes shifting to gaze off into the distant sky.
In his mind’s eye, he can see it all again. Planets shattered or stripped bare for natural resources. Innocent children hunted and slaughtered across every planet by his chipped vode. The reports of his vode waking up from their chips, only to kill themselves in their grief at what they’d done when their bodies and minds weren’t their own. Never truly knowing what happened to all of them. Whether they died in battle, were cut down by their own beloved Jetiise as the cost for survival, or became the subjects of experiments by cruel beings like Hemlock.
That awful, blank way his vode had behaved on the Tribunal as they hunted Ahsoka across every deck and level. How he had felt in those horrible moments when he was under the chip. His terrible certainty that she was a traitor and he would kill her if he found her. And what price he had paid for her life in the end. Rex has no doubt he’d do it again—he’d make the same choice, every single time—but it still makes him heartsick that it was a decision he had to make at all. (Only Jesse has come back. Which leaves thousands more souls lost to the void. Every single one of them had been relying on him. And he’d traded their lives for Ahsoka’s. He failed all of them.)
“Rex?” A hand on his shoulder makes him aware that there are tears dripping down his cheeks. Satine’s eyes are wide and full of apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-...”
Shaking his head a little, he tells her. “I know. I know you didn’t.” Rex rubs a hand over his face to try to wipe off the dampness. “Listen, I don’t think pacifism is a bad idea—in theory. I’ve just never seen it work because the other side didn’t have enough of a heart to even consider sparing lives. They hurt people because they could, because they wanted to… whether they had a real reason or not.”
She looks at him sadly, there’s a growing understanding in her expression that hadn’t been there before.
“Sometimes I wish your dream were possible. I’m sorry to crush it.” He manages what is probably a very shaky smile. “But, it’s not. Not in this galaxy. We’ve done what we can… but we can’t fix everything. There’s millennia of wrongs and hurts still out there.” Rex sniffs quietly. “Even for this version of the galaxy, there was a price. Most beings won’t understand it. Just-...”
Satine shifts a little closer to his side and murmurs. “You lost your siblings?”
Helplessly exhausted and somber, he can only nod and drop his head into his hands. “There were over six million of us deployed in the Grand Army, and we have eighteen.”
“I am sorry. Do you-... you must miss them.” Her hand hasn’t moved from his shoulder.
Rex huffs and shrugs awkwardly. “I didn’t know all of them. But whether I knew them or not, they all mattered. I’m glad none of them will live the lives we lived before… just- why me? It’s not fair. None of it is fair.”
“Can you tell me about them? The- the ones you did know. Who aren’t here?” Satine suggests softly. She drops her hand from his shoulder and curls both of her hands together in her lap. “If- if I remember some of them with you, then… they can be a little more eternal, right? Mhi su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, mhi partayli, gar darasuum.”
Startled, he looks at her closely for a moment. There’s nothing dishonest about her offer. If anything, she looks like she wants to know their stories. Rex swallows hard. “Okay. Um.” It takes him a minute to even decide where to start. “Well, one of my brothers. His name was Ponds and…”
So, he tells her. In no particular order. About Ponds. Bly. Gree. Bacara. Neyo. Grey. Wolffe and his Wolfpack. Seventeen and Fordo. Davijaan. Doom. Monnk. Jet. Theo. Faie. Keller. Blackout and the crew from the stealth ship. Blitz, Colt, and the rest of Rancor Battalion. Nax. Vaughn. Hawk. Coric. Jinx. Attie. Gunner. Charger. Zeer. Denal. Ridge. Joc. Appo. Ross. Kano. Checkers. Sterling. Cut Lawquane and his family. Hevy and the missing Dominoes. 99. Gregor. Howzer. Fireball. Nemec. Samson. Greer.
They sit there, with him telling stories and Satine listening. Her attention never wavers and he gets the sense that she really is committing every single vod he tells her about into her memory. Maybe she’ll succeed at it. Stars know she’s stubborn enough for it. The sun is dipping close to the horizon when his comm chimes—to inform him it’s time for latemeal—and interrupts his second story about Alpha-17.
Rex goes back to Mandalore the next day with her comm code saved and her resolute promise to remember every story he tells her replaying in his mind.
Notes:
Jango: *being an affectionate ori’vod for one (1) minute*
Hardcase: What???
Dogma: *accepting affection*
Hardcase: WHAT?!?!?!Hardcase: …
Dogma: …
Jesse: OK! We’re cuddling and watching reality TV until everyone feels better.Dogma & Hardcase: Autism 🤝 ADHD
Hardcase: Brains are kriffing weird sometimes.
Dogma: I know, right?Rex: *minding his own business*
Satine: Heyyyy soooo…
Rex: *under his breath* shitMe: I am not going to write Rex/Satine. I am not going to write Rex/Satine. I am not going to write-…
Satine: *asks Rex to tell her stories about his vode*
Rex: … I might have to rethink my opinion about her.
Translations from Mando'a
cin vhetin = fresh start, clean slate (lit. white field, virgin snow) - term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards
Dral’han/Dral’Han [noun] = Mando’a term for the Mandalorian Excision or the “Annihilation”.
Evaar’ade = New Mandalorians
Haat'mando'ade = True Mandalorians (may be shortened to Haat'ade), traditional Mandalorian sect, (lit. “true children”)
'ika = diminutive suffix written as ‘ika; also added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form (e.g. Jan’ika - Little Jango)
jetii = Jedi (jetiise is plural)
keldabe = as in, keldabe kiss (an affectionate version of a headbutt)
kote = glory
Kyr'tsad = Death Watch (lit. Death Society), Mandalorian sect
Manda’lase* = Mandalorian Space, basically
Mando’a = the Mandalorian language
Mhi su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, mhi partayli, gar darasuum. = Satine is bastardizing the Mandalorian daily remembrance of those passed on “We’re still alive, but you are dead. We remember you, so you are eternal.”
Nu draar. = No way. Absolutely not. Never in a million years. Not on your life. (lit. Not never. Mando’a uses double negatives for emphasis.)
ori'vod = big sibling, older sibling, special friend (ori’vode is plural)
osik = dung, shit (impolite)
vod/vode = sibling/siblings, comrade(s), close mate(s)
Vode = the Clones as a group specifically
vod'ika = little sibling, dear friend (always a term of endearment) (vod'ikase is plural)
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