Chapter Text
A/N: Dear readers: I’d like to take a moment to thank everyone who leaves a comment or gives a kudos for this story. It really helps encourage me to keep writing and I have so much fun reading the comments.
Chapter 40: Life Isn’t Fair
Mandalore-
Keldabe-
Jaster-
Jango flew off and Jaster watched him go, surprised. “He's in a bit of a hurry."
Kenobi said, “We were just talking and he got very excited about something. Do you suppose everything is alright?”
Jaster nodded. “My Jango is a little prone to dramatics at times, but he’s well able to look after himself. He’ll catch up later. Let’s go.”
Satine moved to walk next to Jaster. He didn’t miss the fact that, the minute they’d left the Fortress, she had straightened her back and walked with her head held high. It was as if she thought she needed to uphold some sort of image for the people, as silly as that was.
‘No,’ Jaster told himself as they walked. ‘Not silly. Different. She was raised in a different culture. Jango said it himself, different cultures do things differently. She was trained to be a Republic politician, so that’s how she knows how to behave. That Trion Lubek didn’t help matters. I hate to think what sort of nonsense he was filling her head with all these years.’ She’d already confessed, with an amused smirk, that she’d considered it perfectly respectable to go out in public with a dress that only covered her down to the knees and left her arms entirely bare. ‘Thank goodness her maid was there to protect her. That Lubek was no help to her at all if she thought that was appropriate.’
That led him to think about when Kenobi had, all innocence and big eyes, fully intended to go into public with his tunic sleeves rolled right up to his elbows. Jaster cringed at the idea. A little ad like Anakin might have gotten away with such a thing, but Kenobi was entirely too grown up to be going around half-dressed! And he tried not to think about what Satine had said about Mandalorians being prudish in comparison to Jetii as that line of thought made him consider legendary warriors with near magical fighting abilities showing up to a battlefield with bare arms... bare elbows... the robes they wore were long, but if they moved quickly there was a chance that those robes might fly up and reveal ankles or even - Ka’ra preserve him! - knees!
“Jaster,” Doctor Gihan stepped up on his other side. “Are you alright? My sensors show your heart rate has accelerated.”
“No. I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” He desperately tried not to think about Jetii knees.
As they walked leisurely through the festival, Satine walked beside Jaster. He did notice that she frequently looked over her shoulder to where Kenobi, Anakin, and Doctor Gihan were following them.
“Doctor Gihan will take care of Kenobi,” Jaster reassured her after the third time he’d caught her looking over her shoulder. “He’ll be fine and Doctor Gihan will immediately tell me if we need to stop for a rest break or if Kenobi needs to go back to the Fortress to sleep.” Jaster hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Kenobi’s health worried him more every day.
“I worry about him,” Satine admitted, softly. “He never did care much for looking after himself.” She gave her head a little shake and looked up at Jaster. “You know we’re going to have to spent most of the day together, don’t you? This isn’t a day to have fun. This will be an excellent opportunity to show everyone that I put my full support behind you, so we must be seen to be on friendly terms. There are some people and clans who still think I should be the Mand’alor, so I want them to understand what reality is.”
She was such a determined girl! So cute!
“We need show a united front to the Empire,” Satine said.
“That should be easy enough - we are a united front.”
“Well... yes, but politics is never easy.” Then her eyes narrowed a little. “Jango said you were going to name me as your successor to be the next Mand’alor?”
Jaster nodded. “Yes. That’s right. Did I forget to mention it?”
“I think we can both agree that my previous stint as the ruler of an empire was a rather spectacular failure. Why should it be repeated?”
“I wouldn’t say it was a failure so much as a lack of training.” Jaster did not add that it might also have something to do with a cretin like Lubek putting a literal child on a throne rather than finding a competent regent to make decisions until she came of age. Dear Satine had enough trauma where Lubek was concerned without pointing out that it looked very much like he had deliberately set her up to fail. “Not to fear,” he cheerfully told her. “I’ll be with you every step of the way through your training. I have complete faith that you will not only be the next Mand’alor, but that you will be an excellent leader for our people.”
She really shouldn’t have looked so stunned to have someone believe in her.
Satine looked away. “Bo-Katan was so excited to spend the day with us. Are we going to the yaim be bajur to pick her up?”
“No. I told Teacher Frewn that we’d meet her at the festival. There is apparently a rest area very close to here and we agreed to meet there.” He started to look around. Then he saw it, a small area with benches just off the boulevard. “Right there.”
They all settled in to wait. Kenobi sank down onto one of the benches as carefully as a man five times his age. He was pale and had dark circles around his eyes. Jaster was sure the lad had lost weight in the past few days.
Satine excused herself from Jaster and went to sit with Kenobi and Anakin while Doctor Gihan sat on a different bench a few yards away with Jaster. When Doctor Gihan sat, Jaster whispered, so the ade wouldn't overhear, “I don’t like this. I know I agreed to it, but he needs to rest.” He kept his voice low enough that he knew Kenobi wouldn’t hear.
“I already spoke to him,” Doctor Gihan said. “He gets two hours out here, then he’s done. You can keep Anakin, Satine, and Bo-Katan out, but I’ll take Kenobi back to the Fortress.”
“And then we all get to tell Anakin that he might lose his big brother.” It made Jaster sick.
“I gave Doctor Kretkin a head’s up. He’s ready to talk to Anakin the moment we’re ready. I spoke with Kenobi a moment ago. He still thinks it will needlessly worry Anakin.”
Jaster looked up at the sky. The sky was blue, lightly decorated with white clouds beyond the glass dome. Somewhere, far off, the Jetiise with the life-saving medicine were waiting for the end of the Solstice Storm and they couldn’t get there soon enough.
“I have three ships ready to go,” Jango had reassured Jaster only a short time before the festival had begun. “The Solstice Storm will end about two hours after your Challenge Match tonight and I’ll head out the moment your last Challenge Match is over. I will bring them back safely.”
For a little while, they all sat and watched people come and go. Anakin, to absolutely no one’s surprise, stayed very close to Kenobi. It was easy to see that the crowds made him uncomfortable. Anakin had been happy enough to drift away from Kenobi’s side while they’d been in the Fortress, but the moment they’d walked outside, to the sudden noise and crowds of people, Anakin had gone straight to Kenobi and stayed there.
At one point, a young family walked by - two adults and three small children. Jaster saw Anakin watch that family, closely. He watched them until they disappeared in the crowd down the street. For a short time, Anakin looked troubled and it was no wonder why as he was separated from his own family.
“Sissy?” Anakin said to Satine. “What was your mom like?”
Jaster sighed for Anakin’s obvious pain. It was as he’d suspected - Anakin needed his buir.
Satine answered, “I don’t know. She died when I was very, very young.”
“But your dad sent you to another planet. Who took care of you?”
“My nurse droid. She was wonderful.”
Anakin’s eyes lit up. “A nurse droid? I never saw a nurse droid. Where is she?”
“Gone. She broke down and my father wasn’t willing to pay for repairs. I was told that she was reconditioned. At least she wasn’t decommissioned.”
“What’s reconditioned?” Kenobi asked.
“When a droid isn’t working right, its’ memory is erased. That's called 'reconditioning' and 'decommissioning' is when a droid is destroyed because it's worthless. Even if I met her again, she wouldn’t know me.” Satine looked up at the sky. “I suppose she’s out there raising some other child. I hope she’s happy.”
Being raised by a droid. Jaster shuddered. There was something terribly unnatural about the whole idea. It never would have occurred to him to have Jango raised by a droid.
‘Different cultures, buir,’ Jaster remembered Jango telling him. ‘They probably think we’re pretty strange, too.’
Perhaps Jango was right. Maybe Jaster did need to see a little more of the galaxy. After all, Satine had turned out to be a nice young girl and she smiled softly when she spoke of her nurse droid, so being raised by a droid might not be as awful as it seemed to Jaster.
Myles and Silas, together as usual, found them at that rest area.
“Are you both ready?” Jaster had asked them.
Myles nodded. “We’ll be at Melida/Daan just a couple of days after the storm ends. It’s just a look-see mission, so I’m going alone,” Myles said. “If your information is right, then the planet is well in hand, but if not, I’ll send word back immediately and we’ll get it sorted out for the ade.”
It was a load off Jaster’s mind. The idea of a whole planet of ade being forced to fight their own buir, their aliit... it was an incomprehensible nightmare. The notion of it made him want to cry. He had no idea how such a terrible thing could have ever gotten going, but at least it was over and Jaster was sure his people would be willing to help a whole planet full of suffering ade if the Jetii’s Service Corps needed assistance. And, if they were very lucky, perhaps the ade on that planet might want new families and they might get a whole slew of new Mando’ade.
“And you?” Jaster turned to Silas. “Are you ready?”
“Like Myles’ mission, mine is just an information gathering mission, so I’m alright. We know Tatooine is a disaster - has been for centuries - but the question will be what to do about it.”
Jaster was honestly surprised by the question. “What to do? We’re going to conquer it. Oh, and if you find An’ika’s mother while you’re there, bring her here.”
“Do I have to buy her?”
Jaster snorted. “Certainly not! We’re Mando’ade! We don’t engage in slavery.”
“What about the bomb that’s in her? Little Anakin was worried about that.”
“Make the creature who thinks it owns her give you the controller for it.”
Myles grinned. “Can I hurt him?”
“If you like.”
“Can I kill him when I’m done?” Myles was a nice lad who’d never liked slavers.
“Of course. But bring her back. I can’t bear the thought of an ad separated from their buir. I know Ken’ika and his buir did what they could at the time, but there’s no reason for the situation to continue.”
“So, we’re going to conquer Tatooine? Does it belong to the Republic?” Silas asked. “Or does it belong to the Hutts? I think I heard a Hutt rules it.”
“No matter who rules it, if they want it so badly, they can fight us for it.”
Myles and Silas grinned wickedly at each other and Jaster smiled, fondly. Some ade never really grew up.
Myles looked beyond Jaster. “Looks like we should be on our way. You have a guest arriving.” The two of them headed off, quickly slipping away into the crowd.
The guest Myles had noticed was Teacher Frewn, carrying little Bo-Katan over one shoulder like a sack of flour. From the way she was giggling madly, Bo-Katan was clearly enjoying her ride, but the minute she spotted Satine, Bo-Katan’s good mood exploded into joy. She shrieked, “Ori’vod!” And wiggled and squirmed until Teacher Frewn let her down. Bo-Katan launched herself at Satine the moment she spotted her and hugged her tightly.
It was a lovely moment that would have been perfect if Kenobi could, miraculously, be suddenly healed. Jaster cast a look at the boy even as he gave Bo-Katan the tiny wooden sword he’d made for her (can’t give all the other ade a gift and forget the youngest one!). Kenobi met his eyes - he was tried, nearly drained - and managed a weak smile.
For the lad’s sake, Jaster forced himself to smile in return as he thought of how many lives would be made darker if Kenobi were to die. Anakin would be devastated. Satine would cry. And Jaster... Jaster’s heart would break.
Elsewhere-
Master Dooku-
Still at the edge of the Mandalorian Empire, Dooku sat at the ship’s little table with a chess board in front of him. After long deliberation of all possibilities, he moved a piece. Satisfied with that he stood up and, his robe whirling around him as he moved, as if tugged by an impossible breeze, he moved to the opposite side of the table. There, he sat and reconsidered the game board. Moments later, he smiled triumphantly and moved another piece. “Checkmate.” He announced to the empty room.
Plo Koon and Mace were in deep meditation in the bunk room, leaving Dooku alone to stand guard as they waited for the Solstice Storm to end.
With the game over, he strolled about the main room the little ship before he stopped at the locked safe anchored securely to a wall. Inside, he knew, was the syringe of antidote for the Arkon Poisoning. It was the greatest treasure on the ship. He contemplated the safe for a time, simply staring at the black metal box. Such a simple thing to save a life. The antidote cost a mere four credits to produce and had a shelf-life of nearly twelve years. But if they couldn’t reach the patient in time, then that simple cure was worthless.
He ate his share of the rations they’d brought from the Temple and took a glass of water. The rations that were used while Jedi were away from the Temple were not the usual Nutrition Mash that everyone at the Temple ate, but were small, tough bars about four inches long that were a mix of protein and filler. It could stop hunger pains, but, like Temple food, there was no taste. With his glass of water, he opened one of the food storage boxes and found small vials filled with a gray powder. He carefully looked through all of them until he found one marked ‘human’. The powder was a staple at the Temple and on missions. It was a mix that contained all the vitamins, minerals, and everything else needed to keep a person perfectly healthy. They had developed the perfect mix for each species in the Jedi Order. He opened the vial and poured the gray powder into his water, then drank the gritty, unpleasant liquid.
With his physical needs met, he decided that it was time to mediate. Yet it was no easy task to settle his mind. He had paced circles around the ship as Mace and Plo rested in their deep meditations and his mind had been pacing, too. He thought of what might be happening at the Temple, what Master Yoda was going through without Mace to take command of the Council and deal with the troubles the outside world always brought to them, of his youngest Grandpadawans so far out of reach and so far from any protection he could give them, and he mourned Qui-Gon.
Dirty little face with a missing front tooth, that bright smile beaming up at him.
The boy brought a frog to their apartment... a frog! He’d wanted to give it a bath, he’d told Dooku.
How closely he’d listened to Dooku’s lessons, how seriously he’d taken to saber lessons.
And then he’d brought Obi-Wan home.
Memory-
Dooku had been reading in his apartment when he felt, though the link that all Masters shared with their Padawans, that Qui-Gon was at the door. He smiled. It was always a relief to have his little ones home where he knew they would be safe. He set his book on the couch and stood to open the door. But when he did, he was more than a little surprised to find that his Padawan wasn’t alone. Standing just a step behind Qui-Gon, nearly hiding behind Qui-Gon’s robes, there was a boy.
Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The boy had large gray eyes and rather reddish hair. There were freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. And there was something fragile about him, as if he were waiting for one wrong word before he would turn and run. Dooku had investigated the boy the moment Qui-Gon had started talking about him.
“Well?” Dooku held the door open and stepped aside. “Are you coming in or not?”
Qui-Gon stepped in easily to the place that had been his home for years and Obi-Wan followed, rather hesitantly, at his heels.
Dooku closed the door and fought not to smile. He knew. He knew exactly what this visit was about and it wasn’t a mere social call. Such a thrilling moment! He knew exactly why Qui-Gon had brought the boy to Dooku’s apartment. There could be only one reason.
“Master Dooku,” Qui-Gon said, smiling sweetly. “How are you?”
Dooku’s eyes narrowed as he suddenly realized that Qui-Gon was planning to drag things out. Meaningfully, Dooku sat on his couch, with his hands on his knees and waited. If Qui-Gon wanted the boy as his Padawan, then Dooku was happy to give his blessing, but Qui-Gon seemed to think it more fun to keep him in suspense.
“It’s been quite a while since we’ve been able to talk,” Qui-Gon went on. “I thought we could go for a walk in one of the gardens. I could tell you about my latest mission.”
Dooku knew Qui-Gon was going to ask for Obi-Wan, but it amused Qui-Gon to make him wait and Dooku didn’t appreciate it.
“Don’t you have something to ask me?” Dooku said, pointedly. He had been waiting for another Grandpadawan and Qui-Gon wanted to joke?
“Ask? Ask? Well, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Dooku felt a rise of impatience, and let it go. He looked at the boy. “Good evening, Initiate. I’m afraid my uncouth Padawan has entirely failed to recall his manners and introduce us. I am Master Dooku.”
The boy’s eyes went wide. He looked at Qui-Gon and when Qui-Gon said nothing, the boy gave Dooku a little bow. “Good evening, Master Dooku. I’m Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi. Ummm... I’m sorry if we’ve disturbed you.”
“Not at all.” Qui-Gon put a fond hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Just as I told you -”
Dooku sharply held up a hand. “Halt. It is rude to interrupt when people are speaking and I do believe that Initiate Kenobi and I were speaking.” He looked back at the boy. “Now, I’m sorry to say that I don’t often have time to visit the creche. From the looks of you, I would guess you would be about twelve?”
Initiate Kenobi nodded his head. “Yes, Master Dooku.”
Of course Dooku had already known Initiate Kenobi’s age. Qui-Gon had been giving himself heartburn about whether or not to take the boy as his Padawan for weeks. It seemed that several people were pressuring him into taking a Padawan that he felt terribly unready to care for. He had gone to Dooku for advice and to his Grandmaster before he announced to them both that he wouldn’t take another Padawan.
And now he’d brought the boy in question to Dooku’s apartment, yet made Dooku wait, amused to keep his Master waiting because they both knew why Qui-Gon had brought Obi-Wan to Dooku and they both knew how it would end. Qui-Gon always had liked getting reactions from people with oftentimes outlandish behavior or words. Well, if he wanted a reaction then Dooku, as always, would oblige.
Dooku said to Obi-Wan, “Won’t you sit with me? I happen to have received a gift of Hyvan tea from an acquaintance. I think you may like it.”
“Thank you, Master Dooku. That would be very nice.”
“Your Creche Master has taught you fine manners, Initiate. Would you like to be my Padawan?”
Qui-Gon spluttered and Dooku felt a surge of surprise and panic even as Obi-Wan froze at the offer. He looked at Qui-Gon as if to ask for direction, but Qui-Gon wasn’t in any state of mind to give instruction. Qui-Gon fell to his knees in front of Dooku and bowed low, the palms of his hands on his knees and his face tilted to the floor. Quickly, he blurted out, “Master, I ask your blessing to bring this initiate into our line. This initiate shows strength of character and a clear connection with the Force that must be nurtured. He will be a valuable asset to the Order and a willing agent of the Force.”
Obi-Wan stared open-mouthed at the traditional words as Qui-Gon asked for Dooku’s blessing to bring Obi-Wan into their Line. Qui-Gon must have kept it a secret from him, as well, so he might have the pleasure of Dooku’s annoyance when he didn’t ask permission immediately and Obi-Wan’s surprise when he finally did. After a few seconds to get over his shock, Obi-Wan scrambled to get on his knees next to Qui-Gon and, as was custom, he sat bolt upright, the very picture of a well-behaved little Initiate.
Dooku let the silence stretch on. He let Qui-Gon stay in that position for a solid three minutes before he finally gave a little sigh. “I’m not sure I approve.”
Qui-Gon’s head shot up, all signs of his previous amusement gone.
“After all,” Dooku continued. “I have heard so much about Initiate Kenobi.” And that was true enough. All of those nice things that Dooku had heard had come either from Qui-Gon or Yoda. He had excellent marks. Quick to befriend anyone who might let him. Not a genius by any mark, but a serious student with a stern work ethic. A wild temper, but the understanding that such temper must be tamed and the will to do it with the guidance of a dedicated Master. A talent for saber work. A true joy to know. “In fact, I think I might like to have him for myself. I haven’t had a Padawan in a good long while, after all. Perhaps it is time I set myself to teaching, once more.”
Qui-Gon looked like he might cry. “But... Master...?”
Dooku motioned for Obi-Wan to go to him and when Obi-Wan shuffled closer on his knees, Dooku reached forward and brushed the boy’s hair out of his eyes. It was time for a haircut. “What do you say, Initiate? I will repeat my offer - would you like me to braid your hair?”
There was no verbal answer needed. Dooku could feel it. He felt the boy’s nervousness, the surprise that he was in the situation at all, and happiness that two Masters would ask for him, but...
Dooku smiled at Obi-Wan, but scowled at Qui-Gon. “It seems that while Initiate Kenobi has many fine qualities, he lacks good taste. He would rather have you, my rapscallion, as a Master than myself. I will have to settle for being his Grandmaster. I give my blessing.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes got rather misty. He breathed out the word, as if he couldn’t quite believe it, “Grandmaster.”
And then Qui-Gon, all six-foot four inches of him, threw himself at Dooku and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Master.”
Dooku allowed the hug for a moment, then waved a hand at Qui-Gon’s face. “Off! Off! Enough of such sentiment!”
Qui-Gon, used to the fact that his Master was not a person who enjoyed physical touch, quickly backed away. Even as he beamed at Dooku, he said, “I can’t believe you’d do that to me! That was mean!”
Dooku gave him a light smack on the side of the head. “Then don’t play games with your Master’s blood pressure, you little beast.”
End Memory-
“I should have hugged him more,” Dooku said, aloud as he stared out a window at the stars. There was no one alert enough to hear his regret, no one to offer any sort of unwanted pity.
There was a movement. Dooku watched and realized that it was a ship. He went to the cockpit and sat in the pilot’s seat just as a proximity alert sounded, telling him that the other ship was drawing closer. Dooku watched it for a few moments. The Force gave him no sign for alarm. While he would have far preferred to remain unnoticed while they waited for the Solstice Storm to end, it seemed that the choice was taken away from him.
The ship, when it came close enough to be clearly visible, was small and sleek. A one-man ship, powerfully armed and designed for high maneuverability. It wasn’t a common ship, most wouldn’t recognize it. Dooku did recognize the old, Sprite model. Sprite ships were the most common small ship used by the Service Corps. While each Corps had their huge flag ships and a host of smaller ships, the tiny Sprites were used for single person missions along with defending the larger ships if anyone should think to attack them. He tapped the communicator. “Sprite, this is Master Dooku. What is your business?”
“A fine welcome,” said a well-known voice. “Shall I leave now so I don’t interrupt your exciting wait out here?”
Dooku rolled his eyes. “Sarcasm is noted. There is a free docking port on this ship. Come aboard.”
“Well... since you asked so nicely.”
It was barely five minutes later when the Sprite had docked, the ports opened, and Dooku’s guest boarded. The guest was rather tall and muscular in the way that spoke of a life of hard work. His hair was blonde and he had pale blue eyes. He saw Dooku and grinned and Dooku felt his heart lighten at the sight of that smile.
In the main area of the ship, Dooku and his visitor met and they bowed to each other. Any outsider might be forgiven for thinking it a cold greeting, but the Force pulsed with warmth around them and they both let their shields lower for a brief moment to share in their emotions. There was happiness to see one another, a lingering uncertainty, and, under it all, pain. Then the shields were brought back up and the emotions hidden.
It was good to see him. “Feemor. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Grandmaster. I’ve brought you a gift,” He took a pouch off his belt and tossed it onto the ship’s only table. “One thousand credits. It’s a gift from the Service Corps.”
“Thank you. I will hope that we won’t need it.” But it was a kind, thoughtful gift and he wouldn’t be so arrogant as to turn it away. “You didn’t need to come out here.”
They sat together and Dooku offered Feemor what little refreshment he could.
“Of course I did. He’s my brother.” He met Dooku’s eyes. “And you are my Grandmaster. How could I not come here?”
They spent some time talking of Obi-Wan and the new little boy Obi-Wan was protecting, and other such things until Feemor said,
“I think the Jedi should all join the Service Corps. I’ve said that for years.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. The Service Corps has better access to food, medicine, and other such supplies. We are not tethered to a planet and can move about as we please. We are not tied to the Senate by any ancient contract. The younglings can learn as they please and move into which branch of the Service Corps fits them best. Master Dooku, the younglings are safer with us than they are on Coruscant. All the Order would be.”
“We know that. But if the entire Order vanished from Coruscant to join the Service Corps, then it would give the Senate an opportunity to not only vilify us to the people of the Republic, but to also vilify the Service Corps. They could make it so that no one would provide work for us.”
“The Service Corps can grow our own food, provide our own medical care, educate ourselves, and defend ourselves. We don’t need the Republic to survive.”
“And how well would the Service Corps do if they are not allowed to serve?”
Feemor looked away.
It was the ultimate question, of course. What Feemor said was true - the Service Corps and the Jedi together could survive, but the Force called on them to Serve. To serve the will of the Force, to serve the people of the galaxy. If they were not welcomed anywhere, if they were not given the opportunity to serve, then they would survive, but there would be very few of them who could be happy.
It was an awful idea - to see people in need and not be able to help, to be condemned to stand idle. They would be made to ignore the call to Serve. Doing so was not good for any Jedi and their brethren in the Service Corps felt that need to Serve just as keenly.
“It’s cruel,” Feemor muttered. “The Republic is the only place where the Order is welcome, but they don’t treat Jedi well. Yet, our own nature makes us WANT to be of service to others, so we’ve stayed far longer than we should have.”
Dooku sternly said, “If you have come to indulge in self-pity, I suggest that you stop. Reality isn’t always what we wish it could be, but we must deal with it.” Dooku sat back in his seat and folded his hands on his lap. “We received a message from Master Yoda. We have suspicion about what is happening, but we’ve been reluctant to contact the Temple on the off chance that a message might be intercepted by a person who shouldn’t know private Temple business. I expect that Master Yoda had the same trepidation as he hasn’t attempted to contact us other than that first message. Tell me what is happening at the Temple. Tell me about this Senator. Master Koon said he was... rude... to our youngest boys.”
“You mean our new Chancellor? Chancellor Palpatine? He was confirmed just before I left the Temple. It’s empty, by the way.”
“What?”
“The Temple. It’s empty.” Feemor told Dooku everything. That the new Chancellor of the Republic was all but demanding unsupervised access to underage younglings - one of whom wasn’t yet technically part of the Order, but who was separated from his mother and legally under the care of the Jedi. It was a flagrant disregard of the laws that governed the relationship between the Jedi and the Republic. Feemor said that Chancellor Palpatine had given veiled warnings of the power that he would have over the Jedi. Master Yoda had called the Service Corps for help and all Corpsmen not currently handling an emergency somewhere in the galaxy had gone straight to the Temple. He told of how the decision had been made to relocate all vulnerable members of the Order to the safety of the Service Corps’ ships and, shortly after, that everything in the Temple - from every crecheling’s rattle to the dark artifacts kept securely in the Archives - had been transferred to the Service Corps.
“We stand ready to evacuate.”
It was good, Dooku knew. It was time that the Jedi left Coruscant, cut the ties that tethered them to the Senate. This decision was a long time coming and he felt, deep within himself, some angry knot began to dissolve with the knowledge that they were so close to real freedom. Independence.
“Grandmaster?”
“Yes, Feemor?”
“I can sense your... satisfaction. I think it’s satisfaction. Really, if you’re going to let me know what you’re feeling, you should just let down your shields so I can understand properly. I’m not sure if you’re feeling satisfaction or joy or... maybe fear?”
“Perhaps all at once.”
Feemor grinned. “So many emotions? Goodness... what will this do to the reputation of the Jedi if anyone learns of this? The citizens will have a collective aneurysm if they realize we’re actually people.”
“They will have to get used to the idea that control of emotions does not equal lack of emotions.” Dooku sniffed at Feemor. “I don’t approve of the bitterness in your tone.”
Feemor’s smile faded a bit. “I think a little bitterness can be understood in this situation.” He ran both hands over his short hair and leaned forward. Tired. Dooku could feel that slipping through Feemor’s shields. “We shouldn’t have to leave our home. As terrible as the Senate is, Coruscant has been the home of the Jedi for centuries. It’s like we’re being punished for being mistreated. We’ve done nothing wrong. We haven’t forbidden a whole society from earning their own way, then doled out supplies in the stingiest manner possible. We don’t risk starving helpless younglings, elders, and the infirm. We don’t send others out to die for our causes into hopeless situations. We haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not... it’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” Dooku said. “If it were, Qui-Gon would still be alive.”
“Are you doing alright, Grandmaster?” Feemor asked. “I heard you were alone when... when it happened. I know he’s the first connection you’ve lost.”
“Yes, he was. And I have survived his Rejoining the Force. And you? Are you alright?” He knew very well that this was not the first time Feemor had suffered a loss. Qui-Gon was his second Master, after all. Qui-Gon had been extremely young for taking on an orphaned Senior Padawan and it hadn’t been an easy road for either of them, but they had done well and Feemor had been Knighted. “I hope you weren’t alone when it happened.”
“I wasn’t. One of the many benefits of the Service Corps, we are rarely far from others who can help. And I was able to help myself. Thank you for your consideration.”
Feemor had been an accomplished Jedi before he’d heard the Force calling him to the Service Corps. His mental shields were strong and steady. All the same, Dooku had known the boy for years and he could see the unhappiness, the grief, in Feemor’s eyes.
Dooku leaned forward and reached out, putting a hand firmly on the back of Feemor’s neck. “Don’t lie to me, youngling. It is no easy thing to lose your Master. Don’t let yourself be dragged down by your pain - neither of your Masters would have wanted that for you.”
“I know, but it’s comforting to hear you say it.” Feemor relaxed against Dooku’s hand. “I dealt with Master’s Rejoining the Force. It’s Obi-Wan that I’m worried about.”
“Leave that to me. I will find your brother and I will deliver him home.” He gave Feemor’s neck a little squeeze. “And it’s perfectly fine for you to be sad about your Master, even if he wasn’t your first loss. You are working hard to help our Order, but you don’t need to ignore yourself. I wish I had been there for you. For you, for Obi-Wan, and for the new little one.”
“Thank you, Grandmaster. I do have some more pleasant news - I have another gift for you. Well, it’s not from me. Master Nu caught me when I was at the Temple and told me to give it to you. It’s old.” He reached into one of the pockets of his gray tunic and pulled out a small, red book. “Master Nu said you might find this useful. You’re to read it. All of you.”
Dooku took the book.
“She said it was all she could find on short notice, but you’re all to read and understand it before you meet any Mandalorians.”
When Master Nu, who far preferred her work in the archives to bothering herself with the outside world, gave advice, it was always best to listen. “I will read it and pass it on to Masters Koon and Windu. Thank you.”
Feemor left, back to his Sprite and back to Coruscant to support Yoda, and Dooku, after checking briefly on Plo and Mace - both of whom still rested peacefully - sat down to read the book. Master Nu would never send something if it weren’t important.
To Be Continued...
Ka’ra - Mandalorian myth - a council made of the spirits of past Mand’alors.
Yaim be bajur - school
Ad - child
Ade - children
Aliit - family / clan
Buir - parent
Ori’vod - elder sibling
Mando’ade - Mandalorians