Darkness in Lights Shadow

by orphan_account

Summary:

Coruscant. Supposedly, it's the easiest posting in the entire Clone Army. The troopers there are uptight, having nothing else to do between signing forms and guarding the elite. However, it is quiet and it is safe. It is the perfect place for someone like Dogma, who would otherwise be sent back to Kamino to be decommissioned, to be stationed. It is also the perfect place for someone like Barriss Offee, tired of the war and affected deeply by the darkness therein, to recuperate and find serenity within the Force.

Like many things in the middle of War, these are lies.

Chapter 1: The Impressions

Dogma had been on Coruscant exactly two times. The first time was when he had just come from Kamino and had met up with his assigned unit, the 501st. The second was a short leave between campaigns. Both times he had spent in the barracks, not wanting to go out and act like a fool at 79s. Now, it was likely he would never leave the planet again. 

 

He was never one for fidgeting before, but now he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing. Up and down, up and down, tiny movements that were almost invisible to anyone not a clone. However, as the only people in the shuttle with him were about twenty other clones, he might as well have been having a seizure. Finally, he bit his tongue and pressed his arm against his knee to stop from moving.

“Hey,” the trooper on the bench next to him whispered. Dogma looked over just as the other trooper took off their helmet. They were perfectly regulated, from hair to bone structure to eyes. The model clone. The trooper offered him a hand, which Dogma reluctantly took. “I’m CT-7348. Uh, Haunt.”

“Dogma,” he replied. “What, uh… Why were you assigned here?”

Haunt’s previously wide smile cracked and fell into a hard, bitter line. “Apparently did too well. Got assigned here.” He leaned back, propping his helmet in his lap, and shook his head. “Oh, it’s an honor and all that. But I wanted to be on the front. Serve the Republic, blast some droids.” He then looked at Dogma, tilting their head somewhat. “What about you?”

 

Dogma blinked and suddenly found himself staring at the slate-grey floor. “Transfer. I… Medical reasons.” At least, that was the official reasoning for his removal from the 501st. However, when Dogma briefly shut his eyes, a flood of images reminded him of the truth:

A dark, flame-lit landscape.

Brothers in blue and brothers in orange, staring at each other with their helmets off. On the ground around them, dead brothers in blue and orange. Killed by each other. 

 

A towering, dark silhouette leaping out of the Umbaran command tower, blades flashing. A path carved through his brothers, disappearing into the woods. Wrong, wrong, all wrong. 

 

A dead General. Him, holding a smoking pistol. 

 

An elbow from Haunt pulled him back to reality. He wasn’t on Umbara, nor even on the Liberator, being shown the transfer orders by General Skywalker. He was on a shuttle, coming down into Coruscant, talking with a shiny fresh off of Kamino. “Sorry,” he said automatically. 

 

“It’s alright,” Haunt said. “So… What unit were you a part of?”

 

“The 501st.”

 

Haunt’s eyes widened, a sparkle forming in them. “Really?”

“I… I… Yes.” Dogma swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as sand. He didn’t want to think about them. About all the brothers he had left behind. About his batchmate, Tup, whom he was leaving on his own to face whatever horrors came his way. 

 

Even with his helmet still on, Haunt seemingly realized that he was pressing on a sore spot. “Right. Cool… If, you feel up for it… Maybe you can share some stories sometime?”

 

Dogma nodded. He didn’t like to think about them and what would happen in the 501st without him. At the same time, however, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. He had been with the unit for only a few months, but he didn’t think he could ever forget them. “Something to do between stacks of flimsi, right?”

 

That got a chuckle from Haunt. Before he could say anything else, however, the shuttle began to slow its descent. A mechanical whirring beneath his boots indicated the landing gear extending, and Dogma involuntarily stiffened. Haunt seemed to realize what was going on at the same time, and slipped back on his helmet. “Welcome to Hell,” he said, voice oozing with sarcasm. Dogma had to bite back a chuckle of his own. 

 

The ramp lowered, and the troopers within the shuttle clambered to their feet. Some moved with a more relaxed gait, while one or two moved with almost mechanical precision. Dogma had to suppress a shudder as he watched those few troopers move ahead of the others, stiff and otherwise motionless. He… If General Skywalker and Captain Rex didn’t have pity in their hearts for him, that would’ve been him. Those blank slates, acting more like the droids they fought than a proper Vod . 

 

Dogma’s first impression of Coruscant was the colors. Sure, there was a lot of grey from the towering metallic buildings that closed them in from all sides. But in addition, there were signs and holo-boards and speeders, all of which cast out nearly every color he had ever seen and some he hadn’t. It was overwhelming and hypnotic at the same time, drawing Dogma’s eyes in every direction. The noise, thousands of speeders and ships flying about at the same time, struck him moments later, adding to that overwhelming feeling.

He was, finally, drawn out of his reverie by catching sight of his new Headquarters. Unlike the overwhelming color of Coruscant, this was more what he was used to. The hanger they had landed in overlooked a small square, ringed on all sides save one by small, squat buildings. All dark greys and accents of red, albeit a brighter red than he was used to. A few troopers in that same shade of red moved between the buildings, but otherwise, the place almost seemed deserted.

As they disembarked, a small group of those red-armored clones approached the shuttle. Dogma joined the others in forming a square formation next to the shuttle, resting his DC-15 against the ground as the Coruscant Guard troopers approached. As they grew closer, Dogma mentally divided the five of them into three groups.

The first was the largest, which was the three troopers in standard armor. Dogma squinted, scanning the red-painted armor for any sign of personal customization, any small markers of their individuality. He didn’t see any. Just the same, simple pattern of painted plates. That was… While regulation, was becoming more and more unusual. Many units, the 501st especially, prided themselves on the personalization of their armor, showing them to be individuals. The Jedi and officers had encouraged it, and so even Dogma, who believed in following the rules to the letter (At least he did), had a custom design. These ones completely lacked them, and it gave Dogma a strange feeling.

The other two, however, were completely unique. One was wearing an ARF helmet, his armor painted predominantly grey with red markings. The other was clearly an officer with their visor and kama, the scarlet armor they wore being nearly an inverse of the regular troopers. There was something… off about all of them. Dogma looked closely, parsing through the details, and couldn’t come up with something definitive about what was wrong. 

 

Maybe it was the way they moved, slowly and almost silently, like circling predators. Maybe it was the slightly narrower frames, not enough to be noticeable to a natborn but clear as day to a Vod . Maybe it was how tense they were, bodies so rigid and taunt it looked like they might snap. Maybe it was all those things and about a dozen others, but Dogma just didn’t know what any of those small details meant.

“Attention!” the ARF Trooper barked. With years of ingrained muscle memory, Dogma clicked his heels together and brought his rifle up to his shoulder, eyes locked straight ahead. This made him look directly at the Commander, who was scanning the block of troopers as he stalked in front of them. 

 

After moving down the line, studying the troopers from several angles, he came to a stop in front of them. “Welcome to Coruscant,” he said. “I am Marshall Commander CC-1010. Fox, if you prefer. Now, I’m sure many of you have preconceptions about what this posting will be about. That this is a cushy posting, where you’ll be doing nothing but filling out forms and standing around doing nothing.” 

 

The Commander folded his arms behind his back, and even through his helmet, Dogma could feel an armor-piercing glare falling on him and the other transfers. “Let me make something clear. Whatever you heard and whoever you heard it from are wrong. I have a full set of rules which will be transferred to you after you are shown to your quarters, but I will go over the three most important now. Listen, follow them, and you might just survive.”

Next to him, Haunt barely suppressed a scoff. Dogma stood just a little bit straighter, hoping the Commander hadn’t heard. He knew he was on thin ice, even if no one knew why he was transferred to the Coruscaunt Guard; he didn’t want to stir the pot. Even still, he couldn’t help but internally frown. It was Coruscant, as far from the frontline as one could get. What serious dangers could there be?

 

“Rule number one,” Commander Fox said, giving no indication if he noticed Haunt or not. “Follow any orders given to you, especially from a natborn. Do not question, do not resist, do not make a fuss. Just do it.” That made sense. The Grand Army was built upon loyalty to the chain of command. Good soldiers followed orders, after all. 

 

Without skipping a beat, Commander Fox continued, “Rule number two. Do not identify yourself. Only give your number when asked, and keep your helmet on at all times. This is the only time you can refuse an order from a natborn.” This gave Dogma pause. Fives had made a specific point about them being men, not droids. He, looking back on it, had been right. Dogma’s blind obedience had led to him supporting a traitor nearly until the end. It made sense with the completely uniform paint, but something about it didn’t sit right with him.

“Rule number three. Get rest whenever you can. You will be expected to work long hours with tiring, tedious work. Contact your CO if there are any issues.” The Commander brought his hands out from behind his back, letting them fall next to his holster pistols. He turned his head ever so slightly to one of the troopers before flicking it at the block. “Take them in.”

 

“Yes sir,” the trooper said. “Alright. Follow me. I’ll take you all to the barracks. And you can get the last full night of sleep in your miserable lives.” 

 

As the formation dissolved and the troopers fell in behind the Corrie, Haunt and Dogma finally got a chance to exchange a look. Judging intent and feeling through their helmets was another skill clones picked up on Kamino. Haunt was obviously annoyed and dubious of some of the Commander’s claims. Dogma himself was a bit uneasy, but tried to get across a desire to proceed with caution. It seemed to work, as Haunt nodded and began to march away. 

 

Dogma was about to do the same when a voice called from behind him, “CT-6922!” Dogma froze, whipping around and snapping off a salute. The ARF Trooper was approaching from his left, side-eyeing him like a slab of fresh meat. “Take off your helmet.”

The request caught him off guard. “Sir?”

 

“Just take it off,” the ARF said, impatience obvious. “Let me get a good look at you, Frontie.”

 

Not knowing what else to do, Dogma reached up and pulled off his helmet with one hand. Instantly, the trooper grabbed his face, tilting his head to the side and examining his tattoo. The ARF hummed and leaned closer, sending cool sweat running down his temples. As soon as some of it began to pool and dampen his hair, the trooper let go and backed away.

“Lucky you,” he said, mirth obvious even through his helmet’s voice filter. “There’s no way you’re going anywhere near the Senators.”

 

“Isn’t… Isn’t that our job, sir?” Dogma asked.

“Along with filling out useless forms, right?” Dogma schooled his face into a neutral expression, but something of his nerves must’ve bled through, as the ARF simply laughed. “I’m just messing with you. And yes, technically, it was. Now, we’ve got a half dozen other jobs on top of it, and only get fresh meat twenty at a time!”

 

“Sergeant,” Commander Fox said. He hadn’t moved from where he had addressed Dogma and the other transfers, though now he was studying a datapad. “Reign it in.”

“Yes sir,” the Sergeant said. He turned back to him, and Dogma could almost see the feral grin hidden beneath his helmet. “Welcome to Hell, little Itsu . Dismissed.” He tapped the back of his hand against Dogma’s breastplate before turning on his heels, marching in the direction of Commander Fox. 

 

Dogma this time was unable to conceal his confusion. Itsu? That… Many of the old Mandelorian instructors had been phased out for bounty hunters as he got into more advanced training, so he was not as familiar with Prime’s language then the older troopers. But he knew enough, picked up from the remaining Mandelorian trainers and some of those older troopers. That didn’t sound like Mando’a, which begged the question of just what it was.

“Itsu? Sir, what–?”

 

“Dismissed!” the Sergeant called over his shoulder, still making a b-line for the Commander. Dogma frowned, but remembered Commander Fox’s first rule. He… He was done just blindly obeying orders, but he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of standing around. So, he merely sighed, rubbing his temples to sooth an already present ache, and slipped back on his helmet. 

 

As he turned to leave, he noticed the two other troopers that had come with Commander Fox and the Sergeant to meet them. They hadn’t moved a muscle since stopping, heads locked straight ahead and blasters held at low angles in front of them. As he began to move away, heading towards the slowly disappearing pack of clones entering the barracks, he heard two soft, monotone voices. 

 

“Okshi sudzuy ijulvuvûts?” one asked. 

 

The other shrugged, replying, “Uy stsul tuyûk.”

 

Dogma blinked, shooting a look over his shoulder at the two troopers. There was no indication that either had spoken, both standing perfectly at attention as Commander Fox talked to the Sergeant. No, not technically at attention: Dogma saw the two tilt their heads to look at him, ever so slightly. He took a few halting steps away, then jogged to catch up with the other new arrivals. All the while, a single thought came to the front of his head:

That was definitely not Mando’a. What were they speaking? And why?

Chapter 2: The Barracks

Dogma’s eyes fluttered open, being greeted by the grey slab of the bunk above him, and felt like he was being watched. A chill raced up his spine, that feeling of being watched only growing as he lay there. The bed was no more uncomfortable than the bunks on the Liberator, but everything seemed to ache. It was as if there was something in the walls, in the building itself, that was sapping his strength. 

 

He was finally pulled into full consciousness by a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, jerking away from the touch as he nearly slid off the opposite side of the bunk. “Hey, hey!” a voice said. Turning, he saw a brother… Haunt, it was Haunt. He held up his hands, slowly approaching as if Dogma were a feral animal. “Are you alright?”

 

“Y-yeah,” Dogma said. He looked around the barracks room, watching as the other new Coruscant Guards slowly stirred. The barracks were otherwise almost entirely empty, only a few troopers in their blacks slumped on bunks or even simply passed out on the floor. They slept fitfully, unheeding of the transfers as they slipped on their armor. 

 

While slipping into his armor, Dogma reached down to grab a small datapad. It had been waiting on his bunk when he had been guided through the empty, cold barracks to the bunkroom. It had his number on it, signifying that it was his. He… hadn’t necessarily had something of his own before. It felt… nice. An almost warm contrast to how everything else felt cold around him, even his thermo-regulated armor.

He looked around the barracks, really studying it for the first time. He swept over the array of bunks, running in ordered rows with only a narrow gap between each row, to the only area in the whole room that wasn’t dominated by bedding and the related paraphernalia. It was a small rec area of sorts, complete with a pair of ripped-up old couches and a low table. Two troopers were sitting there, full kit on even in the comfort of their barracks, one playing some kind of solo card game while the other was reading something.

Haunt followed his eyes, landing on the two troopers and snorting. “Seriously? Even here?”

 

“Commander Fox d-did say at all times,” Dogma said, shrugging. “Maybe some take it more literally than others?”

Haunt shook his head. “Why me…?” he half-muttered, before pulling up the datapad that had been waiting on their bunks when they arrived. Dogma had one as well, now tucked into a spare magazine pouch on his belt. It was a simple thing, small and obviously of Republic make, but it was still HIS. He’d never really had something that was his. It felt… Good. “My shift doesn’t start for a few more hours. Want to go see if we can get the lay of the place?”

 

Dogma knew that he was in the same starship, having studied the regulations and other information present on the datapad after arriving. He nodded somewhat, looking past the rows of bunks to the two troopers. A wave of nerves seemed to churn in his gut at the thought of talking to them. Eventually, however, he swallowed down his nerves and stood. “Alright.”

 

The two of them moved swiftly down the alley in the bunks, coming out into the small corner where the two troopers were sitting. The one reading the datapad looked up, cocking his head as he saw them approach. “Well well well,” he said, setting the datapad down and reaching up to pull off his helmet. As he tossed it onto the couch next to him, Dogma was greeted with an almost picture-perfect image of a clone trooper. The only thing that prevented it from being completely perfect was the heavy bags underneath his eyes, sagging and purple like a forming bruise. “I almost forgot we had fresh blood arriving.”

 

“Hey,” Haunt said. 

 

The trooper grinned, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back on the couch. Now much closer, Dogma could see that the thing had definitely seen better days, with a variety of stains and tears in the fabric marring its surface. “Where… Where’d you get this thing?” Surely it wasn’t regulation, especially since while the other couch was as ratty as the one the first trooper was sitting on, it was a different design.

 

“Found it in the lower levels,” the trooper said, patting the armrest. “They were just sitting in an alley, so me and a few buddies worked to bring them up here. Commander Fox was upset, but I think it was more about the wasted time than the couches.”

“No,” the second trooper said, not looking up from his card game. “He was definitely upset about the couches. He just stopped caring about it after a few days.”

 

The first trooper shrugged. “Anyway, welcome to the Coruscant Guard. I’m Castor. And this–” he tapped the other trooper on the helmet, eliciting a groan that almost resembled a growl through the troopers vocoder, “– is Rictus. Take off your bucket, Itsu . Show the new blood some respect.”

 

There was that word again. He remembered when the Sergeant had called him that yesterday, and he still hadn’t recalled where he had heard it before, if he ever had. Before he could put much thought into it, however, the Rictus pulled off his helmet and threw it at Castor before turning back to them. Dogma had to blink back his shock at seeing a trooper that differed so vastly from the typical template he was expecting of the Coruscant Guard. 

 

They were mostly bald save for a short, spikey mohawk that ran along the top of their scalp. A ragged scar ran up from his chin, cutting across his right cheek to end at a mangled ear. What was most striking, however, was the large tattoo that dominated the upper left side of his face. It was contained by invisible lines running from his mohawk and the bottom of his nose, dominating the upper left side of his face and curving around the horizon of his skull. The design itself reminded Dogma of the curling, jagged vines of Umbara, turning and forming intricate yet chaotic designs.

Rictus must’ve realized he was staring, as he looked over, making eye-contact, and began to grin as well. “What?” he asked. “I got something on my face?” He laughed at his own joke before returning to his cards.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” Castor said. “He’s just tired, but’s he’s always been a bit anal.”

 

“You work in the Senate,” Rictus said, collecting and beginning to shuffle his cards. “That’s your job. Why you’re so squeaky clean.”

 

“What does that mean?” Haunt asked. Dogma folded his arms, wondering the same thing. 

 

Castor sighed, placing his head in his hands. “Nothing. My friend here likes to think he’s a comedian when he can’t sleep.”

“I’m always hilarious,” Rictus replied.

Shooting him one last glare, Castor turned back to them. “Anyway, enough about us. You two have names?”

 

“Yeah,” Haunt said, giving a small wave. “I’m Haunt.”

“Dogma,” Dogma said quietly, still a bit nervous about this new unit. He breathed in deeply, readying himself. He could do this. “So… How long are you off-duty?”

 

“Oh, I’m still technically on rotation,” Castor said. “But Flenser — Our CMO; Don’t piss him off or you’ll live to regret it — wanted me to clear out while he handled something. I can be called back in at any time in the next…” He briefly put his helmet back on to check the chronometer, before taking it back off just as quickly. “About two and a half hours.”

 

Rictus shrugged. “I’m off duty. Just couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Are the hours really that long?” Dogma asked. “I mean, I only have one shift, and it’s not super long.”

“Because you just got here,” Castor said as if he were explaining something to a tubie. “Sure, we could throw you in the deep end, but I think the Commander would prefer not to have to drag you back here. Anyway, yes, they can be. It’s actually not that bad at the moment. I think Commander Fox actually got some sleep last night.” Castor shook his head, waving off a concerned frown from Haunt. “Anyway, what do you two have?”

Dogma pulled out his datapad and flipped to his shift tab. Now that he looked at it, there was a lot of slots that were open for each day, and while most of them were blank, he could easily see how they could be filled rapidly. It was his duty to do his best in service to the Republic, of course, but even this seemed excessive. Maybe he could figure something out with the Commanders? Switching back to the topic at hand, he looked at the current shift he was scheduled for. “Uh… Administrative work under Commander Thire.”

 

“Ah, lucky you,” Castor said. “You got the stereotype. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. What about you?”

“Senate duty,” Haunt replied. Dogma could hear the bitterness in his voice. “Just… Is all I’m supposed to be doing just standing around doing nothing?”

“Not really,” Rictus said, looking up and staring at Haunt. The tired, joking tone was gone, replaced by a dead seriousness. “You’re standing guard for some of the pettiest, most vicious people in the galaxy. They’re the reason we’re fighting this war, after all.”

“That’s not fair,” Dogma said. “The Republic–”

“Kark the Republic,” Castor interrupted, stunning Dogma into silence. “Anyway, Senate Duty is serious. I know you just got here and have no reason to belief the rules, but do so. Follow them. Even if you don’t know why, follow them. Trust me.” He leaned forward, seemingly ready to counter Haunt’s disbelieving look with a more thorough explanation, when the nearest door hissed open. 

 

A trooper walked into the room, once again in full kit. Even though he understood the rule and even some of the necessity for it, Dogma couldn’t help but find all the Vod walking around with their full armor on to be a bit creepy. The trooper put a hand on Castor’s shoulder, leaning down. “ Vexok Savaka. ” After that was said, the trooper stumbled off towards one of the bunks, peeling off his armor as he went. 

 

Those two words were enough to spur Castor into action. “Kark,” he said, grabbing his helmet and slipping it back on. “Sorry, new blood. I’ve got to go. Good luck on your first shifts. You’ll need it!” He looked especially at Haunt, his eyes hardening into diamonds for a single second. “I mean it, Haunt. Don’t step out of line.” With that, he sprang off the couch, making it to the door in a few rapid steps before breaking into a run as he entered the hallway outside the barracks. 

 

Haunt squinted at Castor as he took off, eyes following the path he was likely going even after he disappeared from sight. Dogma was likewise frowning, still confused by that language that was definitely not Mando’a and yet was spoken with such seeming fluency. “What was that?” Haunt asked. “I mean, what did that mean?”

Rictus shrugged, not even bothering to look at them. “You’ll learn soon enough, fresh blood. One way or another. It’ll help, but you’ve got to learn it yourselves.”

 

Before Dogma could question what that meant, the comm on Rictus’ gauntlet went off. He looked between him and Haunt, having the decency to look sheepish, before he hit the answer key. Instantly, a voice on the other end spoke, harshly but so quietly Dogma almost didn’t hear it: “Jedi in the Barracks.”

 

—<>—<>—<>—

 

Barriss Offee had never been to this part of the Senate District. She had rarely been to the Senate District in general, usually only attending meetings in the Rotunda with her former Master. While, after she had been knighted, she had spent most of her time on Coruscant, she had mostly spent that within the Temple. The only reason she was even in the area was because she was doing a favor for Commander Gree.

Pulling back on the controls, she pulled her speeder to a stop just before the Coruscant Guard compound. It was nowhere as expansive as the main GAR base on Coruscant, but was still broken up into several areas. Most of those were dominated by two large hangar bays, in which she could see several Consular-class Corvettes and dozens of gunships. Other buildings ringed the main building in a large circle, making her feel even more claustrophobic than Coruscant normally made her feel. 

 

She sighed, slipping off the speeder and walking towards the entrance. She took note of a few troopers loitering near one of the hangars, watching her. Not like other troopers she had worked with, who watched Jedi pass with a cool respect pulsating in the force. No, these men were still calm, but seemed to be holding something back. She was too far away to get a good feel for what it was exactly. She turned away as one of them brought their arm up to talk into their wrist-comm.

The door hissed open automatically, allowing her entrance into a basic lobby. There were two benches against the same wall as the door, with branching corridors leading off deeper into the barracks. As soon as her boot touched metal, a rush of emotion flowed up and slammed into her.

“General?” The voice pulled her from her tumultuous thoughts. Sitting behind a transparisteel window in a booth, a Corsucant Guard trooper was staring at her. She lowered the hand that had unconsciously been brought to her head, frowning at the taint of emotion across this building. “Is there… Something I can help you with?” The Trooper sounded uncertain. Confused… Scared . 

 

“Y-yes,” she said, regaining her composure. She stepped forward, pulling her identicard from her robes. “I am Jedi Knight Barriss Offee. I am here to retrieve four troopers from the 41st Elite Corps that are in custody here.” Even with his helmet on, Barriss could feel the trooper tense. “Commander Gree is busy, so I was asked to retrieve them.” 

 

The trooper sat back down, typing something into his console. “I see… Yes, I see them. If you’ll just wait a moment, I will summon an escort for you.”

“Escort?” Barriss questioned. She had been in numerous Republic Military facilities throughout the war, mostly with her master but sometimes by herself. Never before had she been required to have an escort. It was… One of the privileges of Command. So the sudden requirement was almost startling.

“Yes, sir,” the trooper said. “It’s standard practice for Non-Guard personnel. If this is an issue–”

“No no. That is alright. I can wait,” Barriss said. She backed away from the front desk, sitting down on one of the provided benches. They were completely flat and uncomfortable, but Barriss ignored it as she brought her knees up under her, bowing her head in meditation.

She contemplated those emotions she felt spilling out of the building. Powerful emotions could give a place a certain feel within the force. The emotions most associated with it would become echoes within the Force, and a Jedi could feel those emotions. The Jedi Temple was cloaked in calmness and serenity. The hive beneath the weapons factory on Genosis was shrouded in mind-deep loyalty and ravenous hunger. And the Headquarters of the Coruscant Guard? 

 

Exhaustion. Bitterness. Firm attachment to one another to the point of exclusion of outsiders. Barely controlled anger. Fear. So many emotions, writhing and boiling beneath a shield composed of obedience. 

 

So much darkness allowed to fester within such a short distance of the Jedi temple. If there was ever an example of the failings of the Jedi Order, this was it. Barriss had been feeling such things for some time now, especially as the war dragged on with seemingly no end in sight. It was like nothing was being done as the Order she had devoted her life to strayed further and further from what it was meant to be. It was why she had left the frontlines for Coruscant. But if there was such powerful feelings coated in the Dark Side on Coruscant itself? What did that say for the state of the Order?

“General Offee?” The firm yet polite voice drew her from her thoughts. Looking up, she saw a Clone Commander. Their armor was colored an inverse of the standard Coruscant Guardsmen she had seen in the Senate Dome before; red paint where there was bare white armor on them, and vice versa. A Commander’s kama and helmet visor further distinguished him from the rank-and-file. She reached out to feel him, and was surprise by the resilience of his mental shields. Feeling for his emotions was like brushing against a stone. “I understand you wished to release some troopers?”

 

“Yes, Commander,” she said, slipping off the bench and approaching him. Even getting closer, which normally helped her in reaching out to sense something, only yielded a blankness that was almost concerning. She wondered if he had trained under a Jedi to develop shields so strong before remembering the Coruscant Guard had no Jedi.

“Right this way,” he said, turning on his heels and marching down one of the hallways. She fell into step beside him, unable to keep from staring at him. “I have to say, General, we weren’t expecting you.”

 

“I take it you don’t get Jedi visitors very often?” she asked. 

 

The Commander folded his arms behind his back, rubbing his thumb over his palm. “No sir. Mostly General Vos, but I haven’t seen him in some months.” A brief crack in his facade; distrust and fear. It was gone before she could really get a good feel for it, but it still shook her. “The most common visitors we get other Clone officers. Usually fulfilling the same duty you are, as a matter of fact.”

 

She nodded, asking, “Is that right?”

 

“Yes sir,” he replied. He made no further attempt to continue their conversation, and so Barriss let the topic go. 

 

As they walked through the maze of corridors, they passed other troopers. Always in groups of at least two, either moving a languid march or racing past and forcing them to sidestep the group. Always, she encountered shielded emotions, with exhaustion being the only emotion that bled through. The shields were weaker, and she likely would’ve been able to break through them if she focused. However, they moved on too quickly, leaving her to keep moving.

“Is… Are things usually this busy, Commander?” she asked. The Commander adjust himself, somehow standing even straighter if that were at all possible. 

 

He slowed briefly, finally turning to look at her. She had always had a distaste for Clone helmets and the way they hid their faces. She preferred to get a feel for a beings emotion through their eyes, but with those black visors, she couldn’t get anything. No additional gap in his mental barriers, no nothing behind that blank-faced helmet. With the lack of emotion in the force that all beings radiated outward, they almost seemed to blend into the scenery around them. They were more like droids than the other clones Barriss had been around… A thought which revolted her as soon as it formed within her head.  

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours of moving through the maze that was their Headquarters, they arrived in the cellblock. Like the entryway, it was a central room with several hallways branching off of it. Two of those halls held deep-set metal cells, likely older by centuries then the clones themselves. Others, including ones where she could hear the heckling shouts of other clones, held more modern cells fitted with ray-shield doors.

 

The trooper sitting at the entrance to the cellblock shot from his seat and snapped a salute. “Commander! General!”

 

“At ease,” the Commander said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other duties to attend to. CT-2108, call another trooper to escort General Offee out when she is done signing the troopers out.”

 

“Of course, Commander,” Barriss said, watching as he saluted her before turning and leaving. As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Barriss let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. There was something oppressive about that heavy shield the Commander surrounded his mind with. It was a stark reminder of what she felt the Jedi were becoming: Cold, closed off, indirectly serving the Dark Side.

The trooper handed her a datapad, a surprisingly large form flashing across its screen. She knelt down on the floor and began to fill it out, all the while her mind was elsewhere. Considering what was going on… And what exactly she intended to do about it. If the Jedi would do nothing about this, then she would.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Dar'Vod (Kad Massassi)