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The war was finally, blessedly, exhaustedly over. The Chancellor had been revealed to be playing both sides against each other to cement his political power. The Jedi has retreated to their temple, to meditate in the newly light Force surrounding Coruscant and to heal the damage to an entire generation of Padawans and young knights who had grown up in the middle of the war. The Council convened almost every day to talk about helping their healing younger generation and how best to introduce them to the traditional peacekeeping duties instead of wartime duties, as well as certain Amendments to the Jedi Code that may need to be made. 

Anakin Skywalker had been revealed to be married when the Senator Padmé Amidala had gone into labor during a session of Senate-Council relations. She was rushed to the healers and gave birth to healthy twins- a boy and a girl- who were the most beautiful thing their father had seen. The entire temple had felt the Light and joy radiating off the new father (and also the new aunt and uncle, as Obi-wan Kenobi and Ahsoka Tano were the first to see the twins after Anakin) for a week. 

Even with the bright swirling Light in the Force filling the Temple, though, many still worried. From the most revered Master of the Council down to the youngest Padawan, all Jedi had the same question in their minds. What would happen to their men? 

…

“Rex! The war is over! And I have kids now! Everything is great! You were right about listening to Obi-wan; he really does know what he’s talking about! Here’s Luke- say hi Luke! And this is Leia! And you already know Padmé, my wife. We’ve been married since before the war...”

“Commander Ponds, what are the casualty reports for the latest campaign? I haven’t been able to contact you about them due to recent events on Coruscant. I apologize for my tardiness.”

…

The Clones had sequestered themselves in their barracks on their ships and had gone to Kamino. Each Star Destroyer, after it made its way to Coruscant to drop off its resident Jedi and any natborn crew members, had jumped to Kamino to hold orbit there and await further orders. 

What the Jedi did not know is that the Clones had cut off all contact from the Jedi or the Senate. What the Jedi did not know was the furious medical procedures being performed on every single Clone in the GAR. The mechanized surgery tubes were in use a full twenty-four hours every rotation, and the Clone medics were pulling double or even triple shifts taking chips out of the little ones who were too young for the tubes to work on. 

Every Clone not involved with the medical proceedings was retrofitting the star destroyers to hold more people- taking out the walls in the berth compartments to create rooms miles long, retrofitting some of the lesser-used hangars as storage bays to free up space for incubators and the artificial wombs their littlest brothers were still floating in on the planet below. They would not leave any more brothers to the mercy of the Kaminoans, to train and mold and cull if they did not meet standards. 

The little brothers in question, the ones not old enough to help with the work in orbit, swept Tipoca City for anything that might be useful for the reconstruction efforts and for the upcoming exodus. Every scrap of armor in the building was taken and packed along with all the weapons, training or otherwise. The machines for making armor and weapons were packed too, along with the huge looms that wove the cheap cloth that served for blankets and clothes. The facilities were getting emptier by the day, the Kaminoans and the Mandalorian trainers who staffed them locked in the brig. Even the buildings themselves were taken apart and sent to orbit for extra material for the ships. 

...

Rex was tired. He’d been tired for a year, and it looked like he was going to be tired for quite some time still. His chip-scar ached, but his head was much clearer for its removal, and he would never want something that made him turn against his Jedi in his head. 

He sat and did reports in the progress for the overhaul of the Resolute, checking the structural engineering calculations against each other and reading the status updates from each of the work gangs. The barracks expansions were going well, with emergency shielding being installed every few dozen meters in case of explosive decompression. The hangar conversions were a bit behind schedule, but they also had to be very careful to not disturb the fuel lines in the hangar walls, so it wasn’t too unexpected. 

And, finally, the last of the artificial wombs assigned to the Resolute had arrived, with the Tiniest brothers still floating peacefully inside. Older brothers had taken to eating or sleeping next to the tubes, enjoying the quiet and trying to bond with their baby vode (1). He was actually there now, leaning against the wall next to the glowing capsules. He touched one, gently. The little one floating inside didn’t startle, but instead turned his head at Rex with closed eyes. 

The infant was what the vode called a Tubie, technically old enough to survive outside of its tube but kept in the tube nonetheless. The Kaminoans, blast them, did it to force an extra growth-spurt to toddlerhood so as not to take up valuable time taking care of helpless, untrainable infants. The vode were forced to, due to the lack of space on their ships. They couldn’t take care of infants in the barracks- babies had special needs that couldn’t be met with just a standard-issue bunk and seven sets of clothes. 

However, just because the Tubies weren’t outside of their tubes yet didn’t mean that their brothers didn’t love them just as dearly as the little ones outside the tube. Some brothers had taken time out of their sleep schedule to set up one of the industrial loom to make little onesies, and others were reading up on baby books, how to raise children to be people instead of soldiers. 

He had heard that Waxer and Boil over at the 212th were over the moon. He also was given to understand that they were the source of a great deal of the baby books, along with, surprisingly, Commander Wolffe.

Well, he supposed that they all picked some things up from their Jedi Generals. Cody picked up a voracious appetite for tea, and Rex knew he was a bit more daring (Cody would say he was reckless) after serving with General Skywalker and Ahsoka. Wolffe must have gotten the penchant for adopting everything in sight from General Koon. 

Not, of course, that he admitted to it, but everyone knew how much time he spent with his little brothers floating in their tubes. 

Rex could understand the feeling. These brothers would never know the chip, would never know the war. He wanted the world for them; if only he could give it. 

He missed his General. He missed his Commander. They’d know what to do. They’d know how to give the world to these little ones. They’d love them as much as he did. 

He curled up in the nook between capsules, taking comfort from his vode. 

He missed the Jedi, but he was a danger and a liability to them. They didn’t want to see him. He should just learn to live without them. It felt like losing a limb. They had been his vode too. 

...

The Clones worked like men possessed- and they had good reason. Every time they rested, closed their eyes, let their thoughts quiet, they felt the horrible blankness that had come over them. There were nightmares, every night, about a hooded figure and “Execute Order 66!” being hissed into their ears. 

They thanked the Mandalorian ka’ra, and the brothers marching ahead, and the Jedi’s Force that the Chancellor had been cut off mid-word by Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber when he had tried to execute that order. The Clones’ programming hadn’t recognized “Execute Order Sixty-si-ack!” as an order, and so woke up a bit dazed after a minute with no instructions; but every Clone remembered the terrifying blankness of that minute, and every Clone had night terrors about that very same blankness and blaster bolts hitting austere robes. 

Cody dreams of a crevasse and a cannon, and Wolfe dreams of a spiraling fighter crashing into a city. Rex sees montrals and curly dark hair stained by blood. The cadets see a graceful figure fall off the side of Tipoca City. Bly sees a blaster shot and an unprotected back. Grey, poor Grey, sees a dead General and an impossible choice- his brothers or his Padawan Commander (2).

The Clones didn’t sleep much. 

They also didn’t check their comms. The Republic uses comm transmissions to track deserters, so the Commanders order that all comms transmissions be made with the untraceable ones hardwired into the mainframe of the Star Destroyers. Most Clones never even think about using them. Some consider the thought but dismiss it. Who would want to talk to them?

Most of the Clones keep their personal communicators in the back of their footlocker, where they won’t be tempted to talk to their Jedi, the ones they almost killed. However, they never see the messages from their Jedii either. They didn’t believe there will be any. Why would the Jedi want to contact the army that dragged them into war, the army programmed to destroy them from birth?

…

“Hey, Fives, Rex and Cody aren’t answering their comms. Is everyone okay over there? Skyguy and Master Obi-wan and I are worried.”

“Stance, is everything all right? I haven’t heard from you or Styles or Grey since you dropped me and Master Billaba at the Jedi Temple. I‘m starting to miss you and the rest...”

“Bly, I have good news! The Jedi are restructuring the No Attachment rule, I can date now! So... are you free next Taungsday?”

…

The Jedi in the Temple grew more and more worried at the lack of response from their men. Padawans, still in battered armor painted in the colors of their beloved legions, whisper in the halls. The masters, having given up on prying their charges out of the armor that had been gifted to them by dear friends, had begun wearing small pieces of their armor again too. 

Anakin Skywalker painted his black chest plate with the symbol of the Open Circle Fleet, in 501st blue. Obi-wan Kenobi did the same with his right spaulder, except in 212th yellow, and repainted the star bird on his left in the same color. Ahsoka wore greaves, in blue with yellow smudges. Masters put on gauntlets, vambraces, boots, and poleyns, each streaked with color. Padawans donned their full kit, given and sometimes wrestled onto them by their troopers- vambraces, greaves, chestplates, and spaulders were the most common, though each Legion sometimes added extra (3). Caleb Dume had poleyns, due to his unfortunate habit of skinning his knees. Cal Kestis had extra gloves to wear when his gauntlets were off, to help with his psychometry (4). 

...

Cal had his gloves off when Master Tapal walked in. He looked up, nodded at his master, and went back to what he was doing- notably, picking up various pieces of silverware he had borrowed from the commissary and trying to figure out what the last food they were used upon was. It was a good exercise in teasing out weak memories with psychometry, according to Master Vos, even if it did tend to make you hungry. 

Also, you were less likely to get an embarrassing or scarring memory from something so impersonal and innocuous. He’d shuddered as he’d said it, so Cal did not ask. 

After he had put down the last utensil (Correllian brocco-veg, ugh) his Master cut in, amused at the face he had made. 

“Something less than tasty, my Padawan?” He rumbled amusedly. 

“You know I despise brocco-veg, Master.” Cal reached for his gloves, but reconsidered momentarily. 

“Have you heard from-“ he began to ask about his Commander and their legion, but his Master cut him off gently. 

“No, Cal, not yet. Trust in the Force, and our men. They’re fine.”

Cal nodded, but put his gloves back down and instead reached for the battered spaulder on his right shoulder. It was too big for him, but he refused to get rid of it on sheer principle. He hadn’t even repainted the scuffed stripes in 13th yellow, even though here was more paint scratched off than still on the armor. 

“The Commander’s spaulder? Cal, why do you still have that?” His Master enquired. 

“I need to give it back.” Cal replied, “He gave it to me when mine broke in that last battle.”

Master Tapal closed his eyes briefly, probably remembering the blaster shot that broke his Padawan’s spaulder, and nodded. Cal touched the spaulder gently with his ungloved hand, reveling in the happy memory that soaked through of lightsaber practice with his Commander. His Commander always delighted in surprising him with timing or aim. He could feel echoes of the man’s amusement, pride, and fondness, and it settled him a bit. He still missed the Commander though. 

...

The Jedi who had spent the war in the temple, healers, and crèchemasters, and those too old to run missions, were shocked at the armor. Some objected to it, loudly, saying that peacekeepers have no need of armor. The healers quickly changed their tune when they realized how few armor-wearing Padawans came to the infirmary for training injuries. The quartermasters continued objecting on the grounds of armor-wearing Padawans coming tearfully to them and begging to use the fabrication machines to mend melted armor and refusing to accept new. The new armor was not given by their men and is thus inferior. The quartermasters are at their wits end with this. 

There are other changes too, subtler ones. Former Padawan-Commanders will slip into a strange, guttural, yet musical language, among themselves. The former Generals understand it and will sometimes mutter under their breath in it. Kenobi and Skywalker no longer bow when they meet each other, or Tano, but they grasp each other’s forearm instead. Windu, Billaba, and young Dume rest their foreheads against each other as a comfort mechanism. Masters share food off each other’s plates. Padawans forgo the plates entirely and simply pass serving bowls around, dipping utensils and vegetables and breads into them. Hand signs are used in the halls and to coordinate pranks among the Padawans and young Knights. 

It spreads, too, inside the temple. Padmé Amidala, who never really got around to leaving the temple, rests her forehead against her husband’s when they greet. Deals in the crèche that used to be sealed with a pinky promise are now sealed with a forearm handshake. Riyo Chuchi, Mon Mothma, and Bail Organa, who visit Padmé regularly, share food with masters like Kenobi and Unduli when they eat in the refectory. The librarians have embraced the use of hand signs to promote quiet in the Archives. The healers have banned the use of hand signs to prevent planning of escape attempts. 

The quartermasters have started to use the strange guttural-melodious language to swear at the rest of the temple. The former generals don’t tell the quartermasters that they are in fact not swearing but emphatically naming vegetables. The padawans barely refrain from giggling. 

The entire order has begun to change, due mostly to their men. Masters look at their padawans and turn to discuss their training with their Clone Commanders, before realizing that their commander is not there. Padawans begin to miss their friends dearly. And still their comms are unanswered. 

…

“Doom, where are you? I know you were headed to Kamino, but your comm is off...”

“Commander, why aren’t you answering? Cal is getting worried. I also have been catching him holding that piece of armor you gave him more and more often, what memory did you put in there for him? While I appreciate the help with getting him to practice...”

“Commander Fox! I’ve missed you in the Senate. It’s just not the same without the Coruscant Guard. I think the military officers they scrounged up for your replacements think I’m a cadet instead of the Senator for Pantora...”

…

Not everything is going well outside the temple. The Senate is no longer fond of the Jedi, seeing them as warmongers and brutes. The Senate has a very short memory about its own Supreme Chancellor. Acting Chancellor Mas Amedda openly disparages the Jedi in his speeches. Certain Senators even make motions about tariffs for goods going to the Jedi Temple. Coruscant becomes unwelcoming to Force users. 

The Council is busy with matters of state. Everyone else in the temple is busy with a world that feels as though it is closing in on them- Coruscanti citizens tolerate Jedi less and less. Knights are jeered at in the streets. Masters are harassed. Young Caleb Dume, Cal Kestis, and some of their agemates come in with grime all over their armor from children throwing mud on the ‘dirty Jedi.’ What Cal never tells his master, and what he finds out anyway, is that his armor saved him from a broken arm from a thrown brick. Only knights and masters are allowed outside after that. 

Despite this, the Jedi worry more about their Clones than themselves. Oh, they take care, but they’ve been in hostile territory before and they will be again. And the Jedi Temple has never been breached. Some of the more unorthodox masters, such as Kenobi and Koon, quietly look into transport ships in case of severe emergency. They find and quietly purchase an AA-9 freighter, modified to carry refugees, and start stocking it. The freighter carries 30,000 people at full capacity. The war has reduced the Jedi to only a little over 10,000, including younglings. The freighter, named the Starbird, is kept in orbit and is slowly filled with food, supplies, and more and more of the Temple Archives. 

...

Mace Windu sat in a Council session much like any other, in the way that every single session recently had made an earth-shattering change to the Order. Kenobi was speaking to the Council, defending his decision to purchase the freighter to the Council. 

“Esteemed Councilors, the Jedi Order has simply become too dependent on the Senate for everything from public relations to mission assignments. We are no longer a religious order; we are a political incentive. We are both the carro-tuber and the stick; the offer of rescue and relief missions, and the threat of force, to ensure compliance with the whims of the Senate. 

“It is only after a long and costly war that we have started to object to this arrangement, and the Senate has repaid us by open hostility bordering on incitement of violence. It is time to cut many, if not most, of our ties to the Senate. 

“Part of this will be the unfortunate necessity of leaving, or at least diminishing the population of the Temple. We cannot afford anymore to raise our Younglings in the shadow of the Senate. It is not safe for our elders to rest under the threat of violence. We must have an alternative place for the vulnerable to be safe. Therefore, the Starbird is to be kept in orbit as a contingency while the Council looks into spreading into other Temples, such as Lothal or Dantooine, or even building new Temples- the art has not yet been lost, but we must work to make sure it survives.” 

“During the days of my youth, the last one was built. Exist, the records of that build still do,” Master Yoda nodded. 

“We need to retreat to a safe place for at least a little while,” Master Rancisis put forward, “long enough to reestablish rapport and boundaries with the Senate. We shouldn’t have our Younglings on a world with such unrest.”

Mace nods, sadly. The Temple is his home, is the home of everyone here. But it is not the Jedi way to be attached to one place, and he cannot shake the troubling shatterpoint-visions he used to have during the war of dead Younglings in the crèche and murdered elders in the Healing Halls. 

The Temple may be home, but the Younglings and Elders and everyone in between are his family, and his home is definitely not more important than his family. 

This may not be the only way, but it is the best one available right now. They’ll publish a secure comm on the Holonet to allow planets to make requests for Jedi without going through the bureaucracy in the Senate, and they’ll leave someplace where the Sith presence from the Senate building doesn’t creep in their nightmares.

...

The temple is folding into itself. Very few outsiders notice, and fewer care. Senator Organa notes a more subdued atmosphere, and Senator Mothma noticed the Archives getting emptier. They didn’t say anything, except to each other. Senator Riyo Chuchi, in her quest to try to get information on Commander Fox and the other men of the Coruscant Guard, sees small armored Padawans packing supplies under the terrifying supervision of the quartermasters. She started packing herself; it’s the least she could do to help the Republic’s protectors. 

She can’t recognize the Senate, anymore. It’s no longer a democratic body- only a small percentage of Senators are elected by their people as opposed to appointed by their government. And too many of them have started to echo Palpatine’s doctrine- absolute power, ostensibly to guarantee absolute security. Safety at all costs- even the cost of freedom. Distrusting, fearing, even hating those who are not like you. 

It comes to a head, one morning, when the Temple is surrounded by violent protesters. None of them make it in, past the outer courtyards, but masters find their Padawans taking up guard positions in front of old doors and access grates that lead to the lower levels for the entire day. They can’t say that it’s a bad idea. That’s what hurts the most- that their home is no longer safe. 

Non-combatant Jedi began to wear armor, after. The healers don a holo-equipped vambrace to better access medical records, and the Archivists wear gauntlets with built in computers to better reorganize the Archives. The quartermasters were given solid, sturdy boots to make up for all the walking they did. 

The Padawans have also started to agitate the quartermasters by obtaining armor from them and giving it to Initiates. The Initiates then give it to the Younglings to paint- often with their fingers. The resulting riot of color with few straight lines or defined shapes becomes synonymous with the Initiate rank. The Masters can’t bring themselves to object, especially when they see Initiates, they’ve been considering for their Padawans wearing a smattering of their legion’s colors among the chaos.

What the Padawans did not tell their Masters is that they gave the Younglings paint entirely on purpose. There are a lot of sad Masters around the Temple, and everyone knows that Padawan hugs cure all ills. If the Master doesn’t have a Padawan, well that will just have to be taken care of. The colored Initiates start to get extra unofficial classes from Padawans about how to take care of a Master and also how to take care of their troops. 

When a Master accepts a new Padawan, their armor is repainted overnight to white. Certain masters even join in on the painting. It becomes just as important as giving the Padawan their braid for the first time. 

What no one mentions is that the armor painting should have more attendees, all identical to each other, and a color. The Padawan braid signifies adoption by the Master, but the colored paint signifies adoption into the Legion.

The Clone’s communicators, still unanswered, start overflowing with pictures of adorable Initiates and new Padawans in armor. 

…

“Commander, please comm me when you get this. Anakin, Ahsoka and I are quite worried. And tell Rex to pick up his comm too. I am actually calling for a reason, does the 212th have the resources to support a Padawan? This is not a demotion, Cody, but there’s this one little one in the Temple who I’m afraid has quite captured my heart...”

“Commander Wolffe! I have missed you dearly. I have acquired us a new shiny, I’m afraid. This is my Padawan Katooni, who I hope shall be the newest member of the Wolfpack...”

“Grey, what’s wrong on your end? I haven’t had communication from you for several rotations. Caleb misses you and Stance and Styles...”

…

The Clone ships were ready- no longer ready for battle, but for long term habitation. Though they still could probably handle themselves well enough in skirmishes. The hydroponics that the Kaminoans used to sustain Tipoca City was divided up and transferred to each ship; the huge cargo bays once meant for holding weapons now held incubators, with fascinated and caring brothers keeping watch at all hours of the rotation. 

The little ones that no longer needed the incubators slept in the huge, miles-long barracks with the rest of their brothers- it was a tight fit, with only 100 Star Destroyers, 300 escorts, and almost 4 million brothers (5), but they made it work. The smaller ships in each convoy were retrofitted to be defense runners, staffed only by adult Clones, whose job it was to engage threats and give the Venators time to jump to light speed. 

...

The ranking officers of each ship met for a council. Mostly Commanders or Marshall Commanders, but also a few Captains, like Rex. Most had bags under their eyes. Many had been subsisting on caf for the last few days. Cody, having not slept for almost a tenday, had absently dug his comm out from the back of his desk where he had hidden it and fitted it into his bracer where he usually kept it. He leaned his head against his hand to try and stay awake during Bacara’s briefing on a list of possible destinations, but he nodded off and his cheek (no one felt the need for helmets on a ship with only brothers aboard) hit the control for his holo-comm. 

The next thing he knew he hears his General’s voice- and that woke him up faster than any stim shot. Was he dreaming? The other Clones in the Council looked at him with a mix of awe and terror, and he looked down at his wrist to see a tiny glowing representation of his General in the middle of a message. 

“...Are you there, Cody? I understand if you don’t want to contact any of the Jedi Order, and we will cease if that is your intention, but my fellow Jedi have become incredibly concerned. None of you are answering any of our holocomms. I’ve had to talk Anakin out of coming to find you five times already. Then I had to talk Master Koon out of it twice. Young Cal Kestis has his communicator on at all times, and I know Caleb Dume has been messaging near-constantly...”

Cody, still staring at his wrist, didn’t register how much emptier the room had gotten suddenly. Grey has been out the door as soon as he heard his Padawan-Commander’s name, following right behind Rex, Wolffe, and the Commander of the 13th who had started up at Cal Kestis’s name. The room quickly emptied of everyone in it as all it’s occupants rushed to get to their communicators. No, Cody was entranced by the command floating in the place where his general’s image had been. 

27 unseen messages.

     Play from beginning 

-> Play most recent 

He got up in a daze, and headed to the bridge. He gave only two orders, broadcasted across the entire fleet-

“Set course for three parsecs away from Coruscant system, effective as soon as all personnel are aboard.”

Rex would never forgive him if he was left in his shuttle on his way to the Resolute. Also, 

“Check your communicators.”

Once he felt the reassuring shudder of the Negotiator entering hyperspace, he sequestered himself in the ready room and brought up the prompt display on his communicator.

27 unseen messages.

-> Play from beginning 

     Play most recent 

...

The masters had finished stocking the Starbird with supplies and were beginning to stock it with Younglings. The oldest Younglings were sent up first, and then progressively younger clans, under the somewhat grim justification that the littler ones were both the least likely to be able to wander away from the crèche during times of distress and the least difficult to pick up and run with due to their size. 

The Initiates were sent up the opposite way, youngest to oldest, under the even more grim justification that the older ones had more training in case of dire emergency. 

Not all about the evacuation was grim though. Somehow, the Younglings had smuggled up more of the paint used for initiate armor and had decided to decorate their new living quarters with it. 

Obi-wan Kenobi had never envied the Crèchemasters and was not about to start now.  

He was supervising the final loads of Archival transfer- the holocron vault and a shuttle full of items that no one outside the Council knew existed. Anakin was next to him, making small talk, keeping a close eye on the hangars around the shuttle. Plo was flying escort in his fighter, with Anakin on standby. They watched the hospital transports take off for orbit, with the few Jedi who were still convalescent in them. Then they watched harried Crèchemasters start to load classes of young Initiates aboard shuttles in preparation for their clans moving to the Starbird. 

“A new era has begun, Anakin. We’ve been in this temple for a thousand years, and here we are, moving out. So much history, and so many Jedi, and we will be gone in three days.”

“Well, Master, I can’t say I’m happy to go, but the Temple isn’t really where I’ve lived most recently.” Anakin carefully doesn’t say that his home is at least partially on the Resolute. 

“But, well, there’s something my mother used to say to me,” He continues, “Home isn’t a place, it’s people. Where you live changes, or you may not have a place to live at all, but that doesn’t mean your home goes away.”

“Anakin, your mother was a wise woman,” murmurs Obi-wan, wondering once again what she must have been like. One of his largest regrets was that he had never gotten a chance to meet her. If half of what Anakin said was true, she could have taught Master Yoda a thing or two. 

Their attention was drawn to a ship landing on the edge of the hangar, unusual in the flood of outbound ships that was the evacuation. What was even more unusual was that it was a dropship. A Clone dropship. It didn’t have any identifying marks or nose art, but it was clean. Almost as if it had been freshly washed before flying down. Obi-wan and Anakin, as the ranking generals in the hangar, turned toward it. Two Clones walked out, familiar ones- Rex. Cody. Obi-wan was half-way across the hangar when he registered that they had their hands in the air like they were surrendering, and they were both unarmed. He sped up more (he was not running, thank you, it just looked like it) and skidded to a stop in front of the two officers. 

“Cody! Is everything okay, Commander?” He registered Cody’s nervousness at the same time he registered that the lightsaber clip was no longer on his belt and his dear Commander looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. 

“It’s... fine, sir. I’ve come to make a report?” Cody no longer had his hands in the air, he was at attention. Anakin, next to him, exclaimed at Rex, who seemed similarly uncertain. 

“Rex, where’s that scar from?” He asked, urgently. Obi-wan sent his gaze to the side of Rex’s head, where Anakin indicated, to notice a small new scar. Surgical. Deep. He flicked his gaze to Cody and saw the same scar. 

Rex answered for the both of them.

“It’s part of the report, sir. The successful de-chipping of the Clones.” Anakin flinched- the subject was too close to slave chips for his comfort. Then the rest of the sentence registered. 

“You’ve removed the control chips from the legion? Capital, Cody! You work quite fast,” he congratulated. Cody shook his head and Obi-wan felt a spike of worry. 

“No, sir, all the chips from every Clone still living. The GAR and the cadets and little ones from Kamino.” 

Obi-wan paused in shock. That was a monumental task. They must have been working around the clock to get it done. Anakin was beginning to look sympathetic beside him. 

“It’s not real until you know it’s gone, isn’t it?” He murmured, his hand straying to the surgical scar from his own slave implant. Rex nodded, swallowing. 

Cody took over the conversation again. 

“There are other concerns to talk to you as well, sirs. We need to debrief the Council.”

...

Anakin was jumpy. The Council was in session, with himself and Knight Secura as the newly-created position of Junior Councilors. Cody and Rex stood in front of the Council, looking like they’d rather stand in front of a firing squad. He tried to smile at them. They didn’t seem to relax. 

Cody began the briefing. 

“Councilors, we bring news of the Grand Army of the Republic. As of twenty hours ago, the entire army has removed their command chips. We are no longer a liability to the Jedi or the Republic.”

Anakin frowned, that wasn’t right. 

“You were never a liability, Cody.” Obi-wan murmured. Cody’s eyes widened a bit, but he plowed on. 

“Our second note of order is that, as of fifteen hours ago, the Grand Army of the Republic officially took over the responsibilities of training and raising its new recruits from the Kaminoans and the Mandalorian mercenaries hired to train us.” 

This caused a stir. 

“You have removed the cadets from Kamino?” Shaak Ti inquired. She looked happy at the thought. Anakin abruptly remembered moments that he had dismissed when he had been at Kamino; gentle touches on young faces, the ruffling of small heads of curls. Shaak Ti had no legion. Apparently, she had the youngest of every legion. 

That would explain the heart and ‘Mom’ tattoos some of the shinies got. 

“Where are they now?” Master Koon inquired. Another master with a huge heart, and a larger-than-strictly-acceptable-by-the-Old-Code attachment to the Clones. 

“That ties into the third note of order, sir. As of ten hours ago, the entire Grand Army of the Republic has committed desertion, treason, and grand theft Star Destroyer, as well as numerous petty crimes and breaks of regulation, especially relating to modification of military property. 

“Tipoca City has been largely dismantled to provide materials to turn the newly-designated Habitat Fleet into self-sustaining ships, fit for long-term habitation with unreliable restocking. All Clones, adults to unborn, with the exception of Captain Rex and myself, are aboard the ships at a classified location awaiting the choice of a planet to colonize, or at the very least a direction to head in. We plan to find a home of our own.”

Mace nodded at Cody when it was clear that he was done with his report. 

“Don’t misunderstand me, Commander, we appreciate your visit. However, I must enquire for the reasons behind the communication blackout. You worried young Caleb and Depa.”

Master Billaba sent her master a flat look. 

“I seem to recall one Master of the Order pacing around my quarters trying to either talk himself out of or talk me into going to Kamino to see what was going on.”

Mace sent her a quelling look. She looked decidedly unrepentant. 

Rex sighed, and took over the briefing. 

“The Republic could have tracked us using comm transmissions. We didn’t talk to anyone, even the Senate, so they couldn’t track us. And we didn’t want to bother you.”

Anakin couldn’t keep himself contained anymore. This was why he was a Junior Councilor. 

“You’re never a bother, or a burden, or a liability, Rex! Who told you that you were?”

Rex and Cody looked at each other and back at the Council. 

“We were created by the Sith to start a war. We were modified before birth to kill you without thought or remorse. We dragged you into a conflict that you should never have been in, causing deaths of Jedi all the way from Padawan-Commanders to members of this council.”

Anakin abruptly remembered the ‘secondhand legions,’ legions who had lost their Jedi General and had to be reassigned wholesale. Often, they went to the General’s Padawan, especially if the Padawan was over sixteen. 

The Padawan-Knights, as they were nicknamed, had been adopted by Plo Koon and Shaak Ti. Master Koon was advocating for a mentor ship program for them, to try and help them transition to Knighthood in peacetime. Plo was also currently advocating that Jedi Masters be allowed to take multiple Padawans, so long as they were four or more years apart in age. 

Plo was just one of those guys that wanted to adopt everyone he saw. He would have made a good traditional Mandalorian, Anakin mused. 

He shook his head again, focusing again on Cody and Rex. 

“The circumstances of your creation, you cannot be held accountable for. Your fault, it is not. Burdens, you are not,” Master Yoda said exactly what he had been thinking. 

Rex, who had never quite got the hang of regulating his expression like Cody could, looked like he was starting to hope for something. Cody simply nodded and turned to address the Council. 

“We are honored by your faith in us, Councilors,” he murmured. 

...

Depa Billaba, recognizing that both Clones were flagging, commed Caleb discreetly. In true Caleb fashion, his less than discreet response was to come screaming into the meeting with Cal Kestis, his newest partner in crime, and Ahsoka Tano on his heels. 

Tano immediately began to squeeze Captain Rex like he would disappear if he let go. Rex started to hug back, hesitantly and then more firmly as she started whispering to him. Depa caught snippets like ‘missed you’ and ‘where were you’ before she consciously ignored them to give them privacy. 

She couldn’t blame the child for missing her men. She missed her own men, as well. She kept expecting Commander Grey to walk beside her and talk about how his troops could contribute to Caleb’s training. 

“The shinies will be good for each other,” he’d say, “Good dodging practice.”

He never had clarified who the dodging practice was for, Caleb or the new troopers. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t draw much of a distinction in his mind. 

She turned her attention to the Clone Commander currently in front of her. Cody might have news. 

Caleb and Cal, noting that the good Captain Rex was occupied, had turned to Cody and started interrogating the poor Commander on the whereabouts and wellbeing of their men. Cody, who obviously did not expect such a reception, simply looked confused and a bit distant. 

“They’re... fine? I think. They’re on the ships. Grey is taking care of the little brothers more often, I know, and the Iron Battalion is enjoying the ‘ponics gardens on the Albedo Brave...”

Obi-wan, catching that his Commander was beginning to crash, moved to adjourn the meeting. After the motion was seconded, he gently shepherded his Commander away from the young Padawans and toward the door. Tano managed to drag Rex along, somehow without letting Rex go at all. Skywalker had latched onto the other side of his Captain with almost as much ferocity as his Padawan had. 

Skywalker had always been freer with attachment than the rest of the Temple. Then again, perhaps he had simply been more open about what the rest of them had cherished in their secret hearts. One need only to look at Quinlan Vos and Aayla Secura to see an example of a Master-Padawan duo who obviously were attached while still trying to cling to the old Code. 

Well, Secura did, anyway. Vos, she was fairly certain, regarded the Code as a guideline more than actual rules, even to this day. 

Then, her attention was taken up by the hopeful face of her Padawan. 

“Little brothers?” Caleb asked in wonder. He always had considered the Clones to be part of his family, as un-jedi-like was the idea was, and Depa had never had the heart to tell him otherwise. She had a feeling that Caleb was going to start spending a lot more time on the comm from now on. 

...

Ahsoka made sure to tow Rex towards the apartment she shared with Master Kenobi. Anakin had moved into a standard Master-Padawan apartment with Padmé, but he also had two babies under a month old, so she was fairly sure that his apartment wasn’t a good place to sleep. She sure hadn’t been able to, which was why she lived with Master Kenobi. 

She was practically Master Kenobi’s second Padawan anyway. Skyguy taught her a lot, but it was Master Kenobi who taught her Jedi customs and traditions, and negotiation, and a hundred and one things that Skyguy didn’t really use. 

Skyguy made jokes about joint custody agreements, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She gained valuable experience talking with Master Kenobi. 

She loved Skyguy like her big brother, but not every problem could be solved with application of a lightsaber. 

Skyguy and Ahsoka set Rex down on the couch, and Obi-wan ushered Cody next to him. Ahsoka sat on Rex’s feet to make sure he wouldn’t try to stay awake by standing up. Obi-wan simply pushed Cody down gently and patted his shoulder. 

Both looked slightly bewildered at the displays of affection, though Cody hid it better. 

Her heart hurt- these little touches had been common, once, when they went on missions together. They would curl up in the officer’s lounge and talk about their days, or just rest when it got to be too much. It was easier to sleep when you know someone else is there. 

“Stay here, Commander. I’ll get you some tea.” Obi-wan puttered off to make some of his Christophian chamomile blend and came back a few minutes later with a mug of tea gently steaming in his hand. Cody had started to visibly nod off already, and Rex was only barely awake. 

Cody started to drink the tea, and to his credit he did finish it, but soon his eyes were closed and his hand relaxed on the empty cup. 

Anakin, who had been humming gently in a chair nearby, got up quietly. 

“I’ll let Fives know what’s going on.” He said. Obi-wan nodded. 

“I had better comm Waxer.” He joined Anakin at the door and they quietly slipped out. 

Ahsoka curled up on the floor, partially on top of Rex’s feet and leaning against Cody’s legs. She played a hologame on her comm for a while- one of those addictive little ones that had you swipe to match. It was easy to relax in the company of such steadfast friends, so she barely looked up when Skyguy came in quietly with Fives on the Holocomm, or when Obi-wan stood in the doorway to take a still for Waxer. 

She knew that that photo would soon be making the rounds of the GAR blackmail mill, but she was too comfortable to bring herself to care. 

It had been a long day for her, full of studying and then the excitement of meeting her friends again. She started to nod off too; the last thing she registered was Anakin and Obi-wan coming in and starting to doze on the other chairs in the room. 

...

Fives wasn’t sure what to make of it when his comm rang. He had watched through his messages, several each from Ahsoka and Anakin, and one from General Kenobi. He had to answer, though, his brothers were on Coruscant and he couldn’t be out of reach. 

It wasn’t his brothers, though. It was General Skywalker. He immediately stood to attention. 

“Sir!”

The General frowned. Not the reaction he had hoped to provoke. Rex and Echo would never forgive him if the Jedi cut off contact because of him.

“Since when am I a ‘Sir,’ Fives? You were degrading my dashing good looks on our last campaign together. Did something happen on Kamino? Rex did the same thing.”

Apparently, the General didn’t know. It was odd, he ought to, he was on the Council and everything. Fives would have to explain the bantha in the room. Lucky him.

“Recently, it was discovered that the entirety of the Clone army was equipped with control chips that could implement orders that overrode every objection or previous order a Clone might have against a preprogrammed set of orders.”

“Yes, Fives, I know. It’s awful, and I wish we could have known much earlier so we could help you. What about it?”

It looked like he was going to have to poke the proverbial bantha in the behind. He lowered his voice and looked around. 

“Order 66.” Every Clone hated that order the most. It was considered bad luck to say it out loud, even for unchipped Clones. 

“Yes, that’s the one the Sith tried to activate, right? To kill us?” General Skywalker was being unusually gentle today, Fives noted. Kenobi or Tano must be sleeping nearby; Skywalker was only this calm when members of his family were resting in a safe place, preferably within his line of sight. 

But talking about genocide in the same tone as a discussion of the weather didn’t sit right with Fives. 

“How can you be so calm about this? We almost killed you!” His voice rose steadily as he talked, but it broke towards the end. 

His General looked startled and started to shush him. 

“Don’t yell, Fives, Cody and Rex are sleeping. And you didn’t kill us. Even if you did, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Fives was unable to process the second half of his General’s speech, so he latched onto the first. 

“Sleeping?” He murmured hopefully. It had been so long since Rex had slept. Even longer for Cody. Skywalker made a tiptoeing motion on the holocomm, evidently moving somewhere, and changed the visual field of the projector. Rex and Cody were sitting on a couch, partially leaned against each other, fast asleep. Ahsoka was curled up on the floor between them; she turned her head toward the comm partially. 

“That’s so cute!” Anakin whispered. “... I should probably get to sleep too though. It’s night here, and we’ve had a busy few days.”

Fives could only nod and sign off. After his General disappeared, he collapsed onto his bunk. He needed to call Echo. And Tup. And everyone else. 

The Jedi didn’t blame them! The Jedi said it wasn’t their fault!

Their Generals might, eventually, want to talk...

...

Plo Koon definitely wanted to talk with his men. He dearly wanted to reconnect with Wolffe and Boost and Sinker and the rest of the Pack. However, he needed to make sure that they wanted to talk with him first. 

He understood, if they didn’t. He led them to war. He was complicit in a war machine that treated his men like property. 

He missed them, achingly. But he would not try to force his presence on them if they did not wish it. 

That was why he made his way to the Kenobi quarters early the next morning. He stood before the door and waited for the chime, but instead it simply opened. He walked in and nearly melted at the sight before him. 

Captain Rex, Commander Cody, and Padawan Tano were curled up together on the sofa. Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker were sprawled out in two chairs put next to each other. Padmé Amidala was standing in the kitchen making caf, with the twins in carriers floating peacefully above the counter. 

“Senator Amidala,” he greeted respectfully, though his attention was captured by the sleeping twins. Human babies were so peaceful when asleep. 

“I had wondered, when Anakin didn’t come home last night. He sometimes doesn’t, when Council business tires him out. I sometimes don’t, when Senate business runs late- I have a cot in my office, he has Obi-wan’s couch. But apparently, the couch is taken.”

Plo looked over at the sleeping men on the couch and just for one moment allowed himself to indulge in wishful thinking: that instead of Cody and Rex, warm and safe and curled up with his Little ‘Soka in the Jedi Temple, it was Wolffe and Sinker. He reached for his holocomm to take a still of the sight to share with his men (Wolffe had a blackmail stash to rival Commander Fox’s) and had just taken one when Skywalker began to stir. 

“Master Plo!” He sat up.

Skywalker had picked up the habit of calling him Master Plo from his Padawan. Plo had been delighted. His own Master had trained no other Padawans, and Katooni had been his own first Padawan; his lineage was much smaller than he would like. He enjoyed working with Kenobi and Skywalker- he imagined it was what having younger siblings was like. And, of course, Ahsoka would always hold a special place in his heart. Just like Wolffe and the rest of his men. 

“Knight Skywalker, Master Kenobi. I’m sorry to disturb you so early. I was hoping to talk to your guests,” he intoned. 

Cody and Rex were also stirring on the couch. They looked much better than they had; Plo knew what his men looked like after sleeping only a cumulative ten hours over the last tenday, and Cody and Rex had looked worse. He had felt bad taking a brief from them in that state, but they had insisted. 

He held up his hand to stop them from standing at attention; he was the one in their sleeping quarters, after all. 

“Commander, Captain, I’m sorry to bother you so early. I was hoping to inquire on the well-being of the Wolffepack?”

Cody rubbed his eyes blearily. 

“Wolffe’s fine. So’s the pack. They’re pretty much enthralled with their new Littles and Tinies.”

“Tinies?”

“Babies and Tubies. We split the inhabitants of Tipoca City among the fleet, so each ship has a roughly equal amount of every age group. They’re even littler than the Littles- so, Tinies.”

The Pack had new little brothers? He hoped to meet them soon. He absolutely adored human children. And twi’lek children. And Kel Dor children. And every other kind of children he has met. 

He just liked their innocent little faces, alright? There was no surer place to find the Light than in the curious eyes of a child. 

“Would they be agreeable to a comm?” He inquired. He would hate to impose in the no doubt incredibly busy troopers. 

Cody looked him in the eye.  

“I think they’d hurt me if I tried to stop you,” he said. 

Rex snorted. 

“They’d definitely hurt me,” he muttered. 

Plo smiled, making sure they could see it around the mask. 

“In that case, please do excuse me; I have a call to make.” 

...

Wolffe was definitely in the mood to hurt somebody. If Boost wasn’t careful, he was the prime candidate. 

“Oh, look at the Tinies, Wolffe! See how cute they are! Don’t you want to come down and play with them?” 

Well, of course he did. He was a Clone of Jango Fett, after all, with all of the tendencies to adopt random children of Prime’s Mandalorian forebears. One of his dearest dreams was a little ad (6) of his own, someone to care for and hold. 

Not, of course, that he ever let the rest of his brothers know this. It would absolutely ruin his reputation. 

But, the unfortunate reality remained. Wolffe had a permanent frown, on top of his bad eye. The little ones were scared of him. They knew enough not to let it show, of course, being scared was the best way to be lined up for extra drills on Kamino, but he could tell. They stayed behind Boost while the other man cheerfully regaled them with stories of his adventures. 

He knew when he wasn’t helpful. He left, ostensibly to resume command duties, but in actuality he wandered down to the bays of little unborn brothers still floating in their tubes. They weren’t scared of him. They had yet to feel pain or fear, and they passed their time dreaming pleasant dreams. 

In the artificial lights of Kamino, the racks of tubes had looked sterile and impersonal. In the dim light of the cargo bay, most of which came from the tubes themselves in order to monitor the babies inside, they looked like a miracle. 

He sat down with his back to the monitor equipment, facing one of the tubes. He always tried to spend time with a different little brother every visit- he didn’t want to leave anyone out. He opened his mouth, ready to talk (talking to unborn babies was recommended for natborns, and should be good for Clones too) when his comm went off. 

He answered it by reflex, and started violently when a familiar and much-loved voice said his name. 

“Wolffe?” He looked down, and sure enough, there was his General.

He knew his General didn’t blame them, and was worried, due to his comm messages. But there was that little corner of his mind where he was convinced it was his fault. Due to that, and the lack of sleep the Command Clones were still dealing with, he couldn’t be held accountable for what he said next. 

“Buir?”

When his brain caught up to his mouth he buried his face in his hands and braced for the polite rejection that was sure to follow. He knew the Jedi rules. No attachment, no families. He had contemplated trying to work with his General as a peacekeeper after the war, but gave up when he learned of their Code. 

He was almost too far into his own head to register that the rejection didn’t come. 

He carefully raised his face from his hands again, only to meet the eyes of his General through the mask the man had to wear. Even through the mask though, it was obvious that his General was beaming. 

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad (7), Wolffe. I am honored by your affection for me.”

That was one of the first Mandalorian phrases he had learned. He had two reasons; firstly, his long-cherished dream of a little one to adopt and raise, and secondly, an even more distant dream to hear those words said by the man in front of him. He had thought it foolish, but it had just happened. 

“Buir!” He would need to say it a few more times to believe it, but his Buir didn’t seem to mind at all. The Kel Dor seemed just as delighted as he was. 

“I understand you have been busy, Commander, while we have been separated. Would you like to share your endeavors?” 

Wolffe looked at the little one floating in the tube across from him and smiled blindingly. He was certain that if the Tinies saw him now, they would not be afraid. 

...

Bly was somewhat afraid. 

His General had asked him on a date. Him! On a date! Unless he was misinterpreting it. But he didn’t think he was! He’d watched all those romantic holodramas with her, after all. And she’s specifically mentioned the new attachments policy, and even went on to clarify that she could date, when he knew she couldn’t before. And then she asked if he was free! Well, technically he wasn’t, but he could always make time for his General. 

Taungsday had already come and gone, so he would need to make it up to her somehow. The holodramas seemed to suggest a romantic present would help make it up to her. 

But what was romantic? Flowers were romantic, but none of the plants in the hydroponics gardens were flowers. Chocolates were romantic, but the GAR rations didn’t include them. Most of the other holodrama presents were much too crude or forward for a first date. He didn’t want Vos to kill him, and he didn’t want to insult her like that. 

He was familiar with the rumors and preconceptions about Twi’lek women, from the distressing to the downright obscene, and was disturbed and dismayed that his General had to deal with such nasty stereotypes applied to her. 

His General was a classy lady and deserved the entire Galaxy if only he could figure out how to give it to her. He’d have to settle for giving himself, instead, odd Mandalorian training and all. 

Wait- the Mandalorians were really big fans of romance, too, right? Love on the battlefield, and being one together or apart? What did Mandalorians consider romantic?

From the Mandalorian holodramas he’d watched, he remembered that the Mandalorian ideal of romance included, among other things, the gifting of armor. There was this one drama, May the Ancestor’s Stars Shine, that had a huge emotional moment where the Mandalorian Warrior had revealed their intentions to their plucky yet alluring Love Interest by giving them some of their own armor. 

Lifeday had come early! Not only could he give his General a romantic present, maybe he could convince her to put something over her vulnerable back!

Now, all he needed to do was find some armor that would fit her, and then paint it... what would she like?

Maybe he could get the Tinies to help him brainstorm. He’d already been telling them stories about their amazing General, so they knew a little bit about her. And they could help him paint! All he needed was some masking fluid on the parts that needed to stay white, and he could let them help. 

He knew he was smiling like a fool and didn’t particularly care. His General wanted to be near him! His General didn’t hate him or his brothers! His beautiful, kind General asked him out on a date!

His brothers had started sniggering every time they walked past him. He’d best get to his quarters quickly, or he’d be the laughing-stock of the ship. 

...

Whie Malreaux walked toward the Kenobi quarters quickly. He was on Council assignment, but if he finished it quickly, he could spar later with Bene. He walked up to the doors to ring the chime, but they opened automatically in front of him. Peering inside, he saw Skywalker holding his twins, and showing them off to two fascinated Clones.

“This is Luke, and this is Leia! They’re a tenday old right now, that’s why they’re still so small. They were in the crèche last night, or I would have taken you to see them then.”

Captain Rex was holding Luke like he was the most precious thing the man had ever seen. Commander Cody was being coached to hold Leia and felt absolutely terrified in the Force even if his face was blank. He looked up at Whie as she entered the room, nodded, and went back to trying to support the little girl’s head properly. 

Babies were weird. And scary. He could sympathize with Commander Cody. 

He turned to Master Kenobi, who was sitting on a chair with Senator Amidala and Padawan Tano smiling at the proceedings. He felt awkward interrupting, but the Council did send him with a message. 

“Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker, there’s an emergency Council session at the ninth hour today. Also, the Council would like to request that you escort the last crèche transport to orbit. The one with the babies on board.”

Master Kenobi’s smile dimmed, and so did Knight Skywalker’s. Knight Skywalker handed his daughter to the Commander and walked over to stand by Master Kenobi. 

“What time?” He asked, resigned. 

“After mid-meal, ideally during the babies’ naps, is the time I was given. I can’t tell you any more, sorry.”

Knight Skywalker sighed. 

“Padmé, I think we should send the twins up with this one. They’ll be well looked after, and the Temple Guardians have been finding more graffiti near the lower-level entrances again,” he explained worriedly. 

Commander Cody and Captain Rex looked very confused. Maybe they didn’t know about the evacuation?

“Crèche transports?” Commander Cody ventured. Master Kenobi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I didn’t want to worry you before you went to sleep last night, but the Clones aren’t the only one going through severe upheaval recently. Coruscant has become inhospitable for Jedi and Jedi sympathizers. The Council has elected to evacuate the planet.”

Commander Cody carefully held Leia even tighter to his chest. 

“We could have helped! If you had mentioned it, or asked through the ship’s channels, we would have come!” He seemed desperate to be understood and slightly hurt that he was not asked, through his Force signature, but his face was still blank. 

Captain Rex bumped his shoulder, still holding Luke. 

“Can we tell the vode? This is important.”

Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker looked at each other, performed the silent communication that drove the Council crazy, and nodded. 

“Yeah, we trust your brothers,” Knight Skywalker acquiesced. 

Captain Rex immediately handed Luke back to Amidala and vanished into the hall with his commlink already dialing. Commander Cody tapped out a message on his own link, somehow with Leia still sleeping in his arms, and turned to his generals. 

“Can we request an audience with the Council again today? With all the Commanders present via holo?

Master Kenobi shrugged. 

“Certainly. The Council has an early session today anyway. We will need to use one of the war rooms though. The Council chamber isn’t quite large enough for everyone.”

Knight Skywalker took Leia gently from Commander Cody and went to talk with Senator Amidala. She nodded, hugged Luke, and then swapped babies and hugged Leia. They walked off with the babies in the direction of the crèche. 

Master Kenobi watched them with sad eyes and nodded to Padawan Tano to get up and get ready. 

“We’ll be ready to meet at the ninth hour in the North meeting room,” he decided. 

Whie nodded and left to inform the other Councilors of the last-minute venue change. 

So much for sparring with Bene later. Maybe he could ask her to help run messages?

...

This meeting really was last-minute, reflected Caleb. He nearly hadn’t been able to find the right conference room on time! Well, that was only to be expected. They don’t label rooms from the inside of the air ducts. 

Or maybe, Caleb reflected as Cal sneezed again next to him, they should be called dust ducts. The one he and Cal were in surely hadn’t been cleaned since Master Yoda was born!

Cal finally hushed as the meeting was called to order. The two padawans peered through the air grate into the meeting room just in time to see the Clone Commanders’ holograms blink into existence. Naturally, Caleb looked for Grey first, and saw him sitting in a chair that looked like his office desk chair. He looked tired, but better rested than Cody and Rex had been when they arrived. 

Cal was looking for his own Commander- and there he was, hale and hearty, but missing a spaulder. Come to think of it, the oversized spaulder Cal was wearing matched the single one the Commander had left...

His Grandmaster stood up and called the meeting to order. The minor whispers quieted down, and everyone settled in to listen. Master Mace continued to speak as he gave the opening of the meeting. 

“Councilors, Commanders, it’s good to see you well. The purpose of this meeting is to brief all present on the state of the Jedi Order as well as the Vode. Firstly, I would like to request Commander Ponds give a report on any major happenings among the Vode?”

Now that was just favoritism, Caleb thought. Ponds stood up professionally anyway. 

“We’ve decided to put off decanting the littlest brothers for another tenday, due to lack of space in the nurseries. We’re working on more space as we speak.

“Morale has jumped upon the discovery of those messages on our comms, so thank you for that, sirs. Also, the Initiates are adorable.”

Caleb’s Grandmaster looked a little shifty. Was Master Billaba going to get a new brother or sister Padawan?

“Finally, we are still narrowing down a list of planets suitable for possible habitation on the Outer Rim. We will forward them to-“ 

Master Yoda raised his hand. 

“Need for that, there is not. Your own decisions, you should make; your own future, you are deciding.” 

Grandmaster Mace nodded and stepped forward again to address the assembly. 

“It’s good to hear you are doing so well, Commander. I have full confidence that any obstacle in your way will be overcome.

“The report on the Jedi is similarly complex, I’m afraid. 

“The Jedi Order is facing increasing hostility from the Senate and the populace of Coruscant. The Senate is becoming more and more unreasonable in its demands, even going so far this very morning as to threaten to quarantine us in our Temple if we will not act as an elite fighting force, which is why the Council had an emergency session.”

Several members of the council made small noises of shock. These small noises, however, were drowned out by the much louder noises of outrage from the Clones. 

“They can’t do that!” 

“How dare they!”

“Sinker, I need the targeting coordinates of the Senate building!”

“No, you do NOT need those coordinates! I’ve spent too much time keeping that building intact for it to be destroyed now! Thire, stop him!” 

Commander Cody pinched his nose shouted for quiet at the top of his lungs. The various commanders and captains duly quieted. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Grandmaster Mace said, “for your support of our Order, but we don’t wish for the Senate to be destroyed, Commander Wolffe.”

“I do,” Knight Skywalker mouthed at the good Commander. Caleb barely refrained from giggling. Master Kenobi slapped his former Padawan on the back of his head, and Cal hiccupped next to him. 

Master Koon simply shook his head in amusement at the antics of his Commander and continued the briefing. 

“Due to the tenets of our order, and our disgust at what the Senate has become, we are evacuating the temple. We have obtained a refugee transport modified for long-term habitations and have started packing the Temple into it. The archives and Initiates are already aboard, as well as nearly all the Younglings save the youngest infants. Padawans will be traveling with their masters in consular ships and two-person fighters. Knights and unaccompanied Masters will take the single-person fighters. Our tentative destination is the abandoned Jedi Enclave at Dantooine.”

...

Fox felt bowled over. The Jedi were leaving Coruscant? They were one of the few tolerable things about the planet, and they were leaving. 

The other Commanders were staring at his Grandmaster with various stages of shock, anger, and... was that longing? He would never understand his brothers’ hero-worship of the Jedi, but at least the Jedi seemed decent. His superior had been Palpatine, and the less said about that sleemo, the better. 

The Marshall Commanders had a quick conversation with their eyes until Cody turned to address the room. 

“Sirs, I would like to make a request on behalf of the men of Habitat Fleet.”

High General Windu raised his eyebrows. 

“We are willing to hear any request, and we will do our best to fulfill it if it is within our power, but please be advise that we are stretched very thin right now, gentlemen,” he replied. Well, of course they were, thought Fox. They were leaving the bloody planet that they had spent the last karking millennium inhabiting. 

Cody nodded, and squared his shoulders.

“Would you allow Habitat Fleet to escort you to Dantooine? It’s a long way to the outer rim, and a ship of force-sensitive Younglings would be a prime target for the criminal cartels. Not an easy one, but the Hutts have slaver cruisers and no refugee ship could stand against a slaver fleet. Habitat Fleet is still equipped for skirmishes and we have several hundred smaller cruisers that are crewed solely for combat.”

General Kenobi spoke quietly, “We could never abuse the loyalty you have given us that way. You have your children with you as well. You need to get to your own destination. We have fighters enough, and our route will be secret enough and rapid enough that we have little to worry about.”

“Then let us split the Fleet! The Venators and half the escorts hide somewhere, and the rest of the escorts go with you! We can’t let you do this alone, Generals!” 

Even Skywalker looked confused. It was almost like the Jedi didn’t know the Clones cared for them. 

... The Jedi did know the Clones cared for them, right? They did notice that their Commanders relied on them like family, and that the veterans always smiled at their Jedi even if they wanted to cry, and that the shinies thought they hung the stars?

Fox wasn’t jealous that he didn’t have a Jedi. He wasn’t. He had the Senate, which kept him plenty busy. He didn’t need to follow a Jedi around. He didn’t. 

He sort of already had a Jedi to keep out of trouble. Quinlan Vos always wound up in the drunk tank every time he was in Coruscant, either by accident or design. And if Fox made sure to transfer the rookies to the tank on those nights, well how could he know that Vos told them stories of his missions and gave them tips for patrolling the Lower Levels. If Vos talked to the veterans of the Guard and gave them information on their current cases, that was out of Fox’s purview. And Fox certainly didn’t make sure to spend an extra long time with him filling out the release paperwork. 

Senator Chuchi would have given him a skeptical look for that, and he would have deserved it. 

But even High General Koon, who was renowned for his adoration for his Clones (Wolffe had commed him that morning, almost in tears of joy, saying that he’d been adopted by the man) looked concerned. Probably not for himself, oh no sir, but for his men. 

Self-sacrificing idiots. 

...

The Commander of Iron Battalion was content sitting quietly and listening to the others speak. He didn’t have anything so say, so far. He had never been the most eloquent, and neither of his Jedi were here to talk to. 

... Was that a sneeze he heard? Apparently General Billaba heard it too, because she put her face in her hands and shook her head. A vague squawking was heard out of range of the holotransmitter. 

“Tapal, you owe me big time.” She muttered. The Commander smirked- his General was in trouble! Then she took her head it of her hands, straightened up, and projected a calm and serene voice. 

“Caleb. Cal. Get out of the ventilation shaft.”

He heard more squawks, and some banging, and then two vaguely Padawan-Commander-shaped dust mites came into range of her holotransmitter. 

The slightly taller dust mite bowed and said, “Sorry, Master.” That must be Padawan-Commander Dume. However, the Commander’s attention was captured by the smaller dust mite. 

He was almost hiding behind Commander Dume, wide eyed, listening to the scolding that General Billaba was giving them. He had looked just like that when he had been caught in the ventilation ducts on the Albedo Brave. 

The Commander suppressed a fond smile and made a discreet signal to the communications officer to take a still of the holoimage. Another holo was taken for the legion’s collection of Cute Padawan-Commander Holos. 

He should send that to Grey, too, his fellow Commander was a softy for Dume. 

Cal poked his head around Dume and waved at him shyly. He waved back. His reputation could take it. 

Even if the other Jedi Councilmembers looked like they were about to either burst out laughing or turn into a puddle of mush at the cuteness. 

He looked well, which was a relief. And he was wearing his armor! The only thing out of place was a spaulder much too big for him. 

Wait a minute... 

He touched his empty shoulder and then pointed at the armor Cal was wearing. The boy smiled shyly and nodded. 

The Commander was grateful that he technically already had a name (his name was literally The Commander, Commander to his friends, it was funnier before he got promoted), because he had a sneaking feeling that he would have been titled something like Softy or Mush for this moment. 

He couldn’t bring himself to care. 

With this in mind, he decided to speak out. 

“We love you, Generals. You were the first people who treated us as people. We were literally trained to protect you from the moment of our decanting, and you protect us as well. You give us your kids to look after, and you look after our kids in return. And now you won’t let us protect your kids anymore. Not because of a real reason, oh no, because you feel guilty about things behind your control and because you’re scared for us. We’re scared for you too!”

Well, now Commander knew what to say if he ever wanted to see a room of stunned Generals. And scandalized Clones. One simply did not talk about Jedi Having Feelings. The Jedi tried so hard to pretend that they didn’t have any, it just seemed rude to bring it up. 

Cal was looking at him like he hung the stars. If they were in the same room, and not just a holochat, he probably would have a lapful of Padawan-Commander by now. 

“We will... take your words into consideration. Why don’t we call a short recess?” General Kenobi managed to croak out. The rest of the Council still looked like stunned anoobas. Good. Maybe this mental restart would help them think through those emotions they weren’t supposed to have.       

...

Yoda was incredibly tempted to retreat to the Jedi code. There is no emotion, there is peace...

But that would be irresponsible, and disrespectful of the men who were begging simply for the chance to risk their lives with them. 

He was struggling with the reformation of the Code, he would admit that. It perhaps was most obvious in his defaulting to the newly-termed ‘Code of Absolutes,’ as the Code in use for the last several generations was called. The Council was starting to shift to the ‘Code of Balance,’ what used to be called the Youngling Code. Emotion, yet peace...

He flicked his ears, and hmmed. He was not as attached to his troopers as some were, eight hundred years of strict no-attachment rules being enforced didn’t go away overnight, but he respected them and wanted them to be safe. 

He thought, and observed the Commanders sitting and chatting on their holofeeds, doing their best to keep their expressions schooled. There were exceptions. 

The Commander from the 13th battalion was making subtle handsigns to young Padawan Cal. He was also trying to regulate his expression, but little flashes of fondness and amusement slipped through. 

Commander Grey was talking quietly with Depa and young Caleb. Caleb was leaning against his Master in a way that would have gotten him scolded for attachment before the war, and was looking at Grey with interested and adoring eyes. Grey’s eyes were similarly soft, and when Yoda listened to their conversation, he could hear the Clone telling a story about his little brothers. Caleb hung onto his every word, even as his Master smiled with glowing eyes at her Commander. 

Commander Wolffe was talking to Plo Koon, and if they were in the same room the two men would probably be hugging. Wolffe was introducing a thousand and one identical little boys to the Master, who looked over the moon. Yoda would probably have to give him leave at some point, to visit his sons. 

Yes, he knew what that Mandalorian phrase Plo had mentioned to him meant. 

He turned his thoughts to the Clones and their goals. What the Clones themselves had stated was very simple: find a planet suitable for habitation and settle there. He couldn’t shake the feeling that those goals were not all that the Clones truly wanted, though. 

They wanted something that they didn’t tell the order. Why? He cast his glance around to the Clones and among the overwhelming variety of fondness and affection, he saw flashes of insecurity, of unbelief. The Clones didn’t think that they deserved to be around the Jedi, even though they obviously desperately wanted to be. 

Foolishness. They had been the first people in a thousand years that the Jedi had truly loved instead of just cared about. He called the meeting to order. 

...

Commander Colt was talking to his General, Shaak Ti, when High General Yoda spoke up. 

“A compromise, I will suggest,” he said.

“Come with us to Dantooine, the Clones will. Invited to stay on Dantooine with us, they will be. If decline they do, provision them we shall, and our maps we gift them to wish safe journeys.”

Most of the Clone Commanders, including Colt, stopped listening after the second sentence. 

The Jedi wanted them to stay? The Jedi had offered a place for them at their new Temple?

There was only one answer to this offer. 

“We would like to accept! Please, respectfully, we would like to accept both offers generously extended to us,” blurted Cody. 

General Yoda nodded. 

“Rendezvous with us, can you, outside the Coruscant system?” He asked. Cody simply nodded.  

Colt jerked his gaze back to General Ti, who simply looked at him in shock and then smiled in genuine joy. 

Colt had the sudden urge to hug his General. He had to make do with the next best thing- hugging a young cadet who had happened to be wandering by. The cadet squeaked in surprise, but settled down once he realized what was going on. 

It was awesome to be able to hug the cadets. Their cheeks were so squishable still! And no one was ever going to make them scared because they weren’t good enough! 

Colt had had a hard time being stationed at Kamino before his General came. He just couldn’t stand having to stand by and watch his little brothers being run through brutal training and even reconditioning or decommissioning if they didn’t meet standard. 

That was what won his General his loyalty- she maintained with unwavering steadfastness that no cadet should be decommissioned, or reconditioned, or even hit or deprived of food. She had kept her office open to any Clone at any time if they needed to talk. Colt had found her there once, after she had been on Kamino for two weeks, holding crying cadets in her arms as she comforted them over the loss of a squadmate in a training exercise. She shushed, and stroked their hair, but only Colt saw the pain and righteous anger in her eyes. Anger over a Clone, who no other natborn would have missed. 

He had nearly sworn fealty to her on the spot. He had manfully refrained, and simply collected his little brothers to return to their pods. He had then gone to the rest of the Kamino Garrison to tell them the story, and the entire garrison had sworn fealty to their General that night, although they may have used different words to refer to her. 

The Clones by nature did not have mothers. They had a Mother, who was also their General, who they would follow to the end of the world. 

...

The meeting was dissolved quickly after that, and the news spread quickly across the Temple. Quinlan was happy for his former Padawan; Aayla was over the moon to see Bly again soon, even if it was by holo. 

He needed to contact Fox and see how the man was doing so far. He never was as at ease with kids as some of his brothers, and he was a civil officer not a military one. 

He commed Fox once he got to his quarters to finish packing. Fox raised his eyebrow when he saw Quinlan, but straightened to attention nonetheless. 

“Vos, what are your thoughts on the meeting?” He asked dryly. 

“I can’t believe your brothers thought that we wouldn’t want them around, Fox! Plo’s been moping about his sons since we arrived, and Aayla has been sighing like a lovesick akk-dog for ages now!” He exclaimed.

“Be lucky you have not been the sympathetic ear to both Wolffe and Bly,” Fox intoned dryly. 

Quinlan winced, but raised his finger to counter the point, “But you, my friend, are not in an entire Temple full of worried mother hens. The only consolation I have is that they’re being kept busy by the evacuation.”

“You’re really not planning to come back to the Temple, are you?” Fox asked. 

“Not for the foreseeable future, at least,” Quinlan responded seriously. This was something to be serious about. 

Fox looked at him carefully through the holo, and then sighed. 

“When we rendezvous, you’re coming aboard the Circle of Steel, the ship assigned to the Guard,” the Commander said, in a carefully neutral tone. 

Quinlan frowned in confusion. 

“Why am I being assigned a ship? I don’t have a legion, I figured I’d ride on the Starbird and man an escort fighter.”

“The Coruscant Guard never had a Jedi,” Fox said, with an air of cautious hope, “Except for the one who kept turning up in the drunk tank and giving unsolicited advice. And our previous superior officer was a sleemo if there ever was one, and is unavailable for the position besides.”

Quinlan was genuinely touched. 

Though, admittedly, it didn’t take much to be a better person than Palpatine, of all people, he genuinely liked the Guard. They did their best, even though they were working a job they were not trained for. And he was fond of them, they were good people. He smiled widely as he answered. 

“I’d be honored to ride along with you, Commander.”

His smile turned sly. 

“Senator Chuchi is going to be leaving the planet soon too, to visit her family. Should I invite her along as well?”

Fox’s face red as a tomato as he hung up on the call to the laughter of whoever was in the room with him. 

That never got old. 

...

Senator Riyo Chuchi stood in her balcony seat at the Senate, watching Mas Amedda make a speech. It was a much less impressive sight than he probably thought it was. 

“The Jedi Order has too long acquired power at the cost of those who cannot use their vaunted ‘Force!’ They take Republic resources, Republic funding and even Republic citizens, and what do they give? Not enough! They refuse to fight for our Republic!

“Due to the machinations of the Jedi, and the schemes of the Separatists, our Republic is in mortal danger! I propose a bill, one to guarantee the safety of our Republic! This bill would require the Jedi to fight for us, who have given them everything, or be expelled from the Republic as a whole!”

Riyo’s eyes widened. This was an unconstitutional idea at so many levels! But, she thought ruefully, that hadn’t stopped any of the previous acts or bills 

The first problem with this bill was that it overrode the Jedi’s freedoms as sentients of the Republic. A bill that simply revoked any Republic assistance to the Jedi would have been legal; assistance was not a right guaranteed to any citizen. Exiling them simply for exercising freedom of choice was not.

Secondly, the Jedi were the only martial presence left on Coruscant aside from the Senate Guard. If the Jedi were forced to leave, Coruscant would become vulnerable. 

She looked to her friends in the Senate: Bail looked equally dismayed, and Padmé was obviously shocked. Padmé’s replacement, the young man sharing the Naboo pod with her, was similarly horrified. It looked like he Naboo senatorial seat was in good hands. Mon had her lips pressed together. She signaled that she would like to speak, so her balcony drifted forward. 

“Senators of the Republic! No matter how dark times may be, we must never give into the darkness ourselves. The Jedi are sentient beings, citizens of the Republic, and as such are afforded all the rights we ourselves are assured of. We must not deprive them of their freedom! We must not make our brothers and sisters into slaves! We must not drive off our loyal protectors, simply for the sake of forcing them to perform a function they were never intended to do! The Jedi are a peaceful Order!”

She was booed off the floor. 

Riyo sighed. Nearly every single influential member of the delegation of 2,000 had tried a similar speech in the last two days, and all had been shouted down. 

She nodded to Padmé, still in the Naboo pod, and opened a comm channel to talk with her after she cast a very firm Nay vote. She turned her mind toward the other woman’s circumstances, still amazed that she could speak to one of her political heroes like this. 

Padmé had requested an emergency election be held when she was about six months along in her pregnancy. Her term was almost over; she only had six months to go, but she had decided then that she would rather be with her baby in the first part of their life than to work for a measly three more months after the child was born. 

The Nabooan people were delighted at her surprise move- the emergency election meant that the candidates had to really debate with each other and connect with the people, instead of just running endless holo-ads. There were whispers of continuing the system next cycle. 

Padmé herself was simply glad to be out of politics for a while. She said needed to be with her children, especially now that Coruscant was so inhospitable to her family. Riyo was glad that the Senate as a whole hadn’t figured out Padmé’s marriage yet; Amedda especially would delight in making her life exceedingly difficult. Only a few of the Delegation of 2,000 knew; they were also the only ones who knew the Jedi were about to leave. 

Riyo could see the appeal of leaving, herself. She was just tired. Tired of the endless fight with the dark, tired of corruption, tired of those who do wrong simply because it benefits them. She was glad she was going to visit her family soon; she needed so see her home again, and be reminded what she was fighting for. 

She looked up from her conversation with Padmé and saw that Amedda’s bill had passed, to the roaring appreciation of the Senators. 

“So this is how liberty dies,” she heard Padmé say wearily, “With thunderous applause.”

...

The Temple evacuation had reached the final stage- the departure of the remaining Masters and solo Knights. Master Jaro Tapal had finally managed to get Cal into the fighter they would be flying, though the boy was talking animatedly to the Commander on his commlink. 

At least he wasn’t covered in dust from spying on a Council meeting again. He was going to be in Depa’s debt forever after he left their Padawans alone long enough for them to pull that little stunt. 

Cal was discussing something about hydroponics gardens with Commander, apparently the Littles had somehow figured out how to get muddy even though there was no dirt aboard the ship. The Commander and the rest of the adults were befuddled. 

“Have you checked the air vents?” Jaro asked dryly. 

Commander facepalmed, “That would do it, sirs. How did the little troublemakers get in, though? I thought we had Padawan-Commander-proofed them all, Sir.”

“I’m not your superior officer anymore, Commander. You don’t need to call me ‘Sir.’ We’re equals.”

“Sure, Master Tapal. ‘Sir’ is an affectionate nickname,” Commander said with a straight face. 

Jaro shook his head with a smile and hopped into the front seat of the fighter. 

“That reminds me, Sir,” Commander continued, “The Iron Battalion would like to request that you report to the Albedo Brave once we rendezvous. We’re nervous about you facing a fleet in a fighter.”

“We’ll be fine, Commander. The Force is with us.”

“Force or not, you worry us when you stand in the middle of a battlefield without ducking when blaster bolts come your way. At least let us get Cal aboard, and get a fighter squadron out to fly with you.” 

Yes, Cal would be better off aboard. He could watch the Clone Younglings and keep out of trouble. 

Or, well, as out of trouble as Cal ever was. He loved his Padawan dearly, but Force he was a handful. 

“I welcome the offer to put Cal aboard, but a fighter squadron is unnecessary, Commander. I will already be flying with fellow Jedi.”

“For my peace of mind then. And to get the pilots off the ship- they’re getting antsy.”

Jaro grimaced. Antsy pilots were indeed something to fear. The forward hangar bay was still bright pink from the last time the pilots had grown overly idle. 

“Very well. But I expect that they only engage if absolutely necessary, if one of their own is attacked.”

“Absolutely!” Commander cheerily responded and cut off the link. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Jaro felt the need to intone. Cal looked scandalized. 

“Master! You jinxed us!”

...

Luminara Unduli had been stationed to a small consular ship for the flight out of the Coruscant system, one of the few remaining from before the war. She was the only crew; the vessel was designed for solo knights. 

It was a magnificent sight to see the last wave of craft exit the Temple for the last time; unlike the previous evacuation efforts, the Jedi saw no need to hide this last wave, so all the ships took off at once and caught the Coruscanti sunset in a hundred different colors, from the utilitarian finish of the consulars to the brightly colored array of fighters. 

The trip to orbit went smoothly- Master Yoda had requested the space lane to orbit be cleared for ‘Official Jedi Business.’ The small flotilla started to line up into formation, consulars in the center and fighters surrounding them. No one expected trouble yet, this soon in their journey. However, the war had been a harsh teacher to expect the unexpected. 

The formation shifted when the refugee transport came into view. The lighter-armed consulars were still close to the center, but they had taken up positions in front of vulnerable spots on the transport. Better to lose a solo knight or master than to cripple or even destroy the vessel for thousands. 

The fighters took orbiting tracks around the entire freighter, to try to make sure the pilots didn’t get used to a single field of view. No one could afford to get complacent. 

The trip out of the system also went smoothly. No one had really expected trouble so close to Coruscant, after all. 

The reason the convoy was so vigilant, however, was not the relatively calm airspace around Coruscant. It was the hyperlanes of the outer rim. Pirate gangs were known to keep track of all vessel transponders in certain hyperlanes. If the ship was a freighter, then she was often taken out of hyperspace and looted. If the unlucky freighter had been converted into a refugee ship, well, Knight Skywalker was fairly sure his mother had been taken off of one of those at a young age to be sold. No one wanted that fate for their Younglings. 

At the meeting point, the convoy slowed down just slightly, seeing only empty space. Until, of course, the space was no longer empty. Hundreds of ships jumped to realspace at the same moment all around the Starbird, dense enough to be a shield, and loose enough in the center to allow for a good margin of error to avoid collision. 

The controls chirped, and then Commander Gree’s holo flickered to life on her console.

“General, the Tranquility is ready for you to board.”

“I’m on approach,” she reported to her Commander, “ETA five minutes.”

She couldn’t help but be grateful for her men. The most difficult part of the journey was yet to come. 

...

Waxer couldn’t help but be nervous. This was probably the most personally important mission, both to the General and the men, that the 212th had ever run. The little brothers were all secure in their barracks, the elder brothers were manning the cannons and on standby in the hangar bays, and Waxer and his General and the rest of the Command Staff were on the bridge of the Negotiator. 

All ships were connected to each other in a hyperlink- if one was pulled from hyperspace, all would follow. The Venators surrounded the Starbird, and the escorts surrounded the Venators. 

It had been a full day since the Starbird, escorted by squadrons of Jedi fighters, had left Coruscanti orbit, visible to who knows how many smugglers and slavers who monitored the Capital for refugee ships. They Jedi Temple was probably already discovered to be empty. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and get ‘lightly armed refugee transport full of vulnerable Force-sensitive Younglings.’ Slavers would salivate at such a payday; Jedi were coveted on the slave market, especially the children. 

The fleet was taking an ancient hyperlane, the Hydian Way’s Braxant Run, to Dantooine. The unfortunate fact of this route was that it passed by former Separatist strongholds like Muunilinst and Mygeeto, as well as Hutt-influenced worlds like Bandomeer. Both the Seppies and the Hutts hated the Jedi and were known slavers. 

No Clone was sleeping well. The Jedi were irritatingly calm as always, so the Clones were worrying for them. 

His General reached over and grasped Cody on the shoulder. 

“It will be alright, Cody,” He murmured, “The Force is with us.”

Waxer noticed how rigid Cody held himself; the man must really want to lean into the touch, but he wasn’t letting himself. Waxer was himself tempted to lean onto Boil for a while, but they were running hot, preparing for a combat scenario. It was not the time to reassure each other. That came later.

“The Force has odd ideas about what is and is not good for its children,” Cody rebutted, “Or do you not remember the war?”

Obi-wan grimaced, but nodded. 

“Alright then, Commander, you and your brothers are with us.”

“Karking right,” Waxer muttered, unintentionally synching with Rex’s answer over the comm. 

The console in front of them was a small glowing row of tiny figures; the bridges of the Venators were in constant contact. The escorts had been divided into battle groups according to position, and each group was similarly in contact. 

Rex was standing next to Anakin and Ahsoka, three people squeezed into a holoframe meant for one. None of them seemed to mind. Then again, Cody and his General were also sharing a holoframe, and Cody had displayed a marked aversion from moving away from his General so far. He and Boil were also standing a bit closer behind the Jedi than was strictly professional. Others apparently felt the same too; there were few holos along the console that had a solo occupant. 

No one had really allowed themselves to relax, so there had been no enthusiastic greetings when the Jedi had come aboard. Professionalism was the order of the day. The Clones were forcing themselves to wait until they reached their destination to greet their Jedi; they couldn’t afford distractions right now. 

Sharing holoframes didn’t count. 

...

Alpha-17 was manning a gun emplacement on the Reckless, a Dreadnaught-class escort ship once assigned to Skywalker, hence the name. He couldn’t say he was surprised to feel the judder of a ship being snatched from hyperspace, but he jumped all the same. Then he settled into his position with the calm of a professional soldier. 

The ship jerked back to realspace, staring into the maw of the largest non-military fleet Alpha had ever seen. Dilapidated yet heavily armed pirate ships were placed side by side with newer vessels of obvious CIS origin. Swarms of Vulture droids as well as some piloted fighters approached rapidly. All in all, there were maybe a hundred cruisers of various models as well as nearly a thousand fighters. 

Clearly the crafty sons of ge'huutun (8) had anticipated resistance. 

However, it was equally clear that they had not expected this level of resistance. Alpha snickered to himself as he fired. Slaver scum deserved all the nasty surprises they got. 

The other gunners, mostly men from the 501st that felt they were more useful in battle than watching children, whooped and hollered over the comms. Alpha considered chewing them out for unprofessional behavior, but he had no squadmates here to keep him in line and no Jedi to complain to. He gave out a whoop himself. 

This was how battle was meant to be; him, a large gun, and the enemy; no moralizing Jedi Generals or recklessly dangerous Jedi Padawans in sight. No rain. No mud. No mildew that had gotten into his permanently damp armor and was impossible to get out. Just the stars, and the explosions from the Vulture droid he had just hit. 

He could get used to this. 

He vaguely registered the voice of a female Padawan over the commlink, detailing the pattern the fighters were moving in. Huh. So some Padawans were useful after all. 

However, his division was going for a different target. The fighters were the Venator’s responsibly; the gnats were already behind the escorts, and the escorts couldn’t afford to hit the Venators, or, unthinkably, the lightly shielded Starbird. The Dreadnaughts had a different target. 

“Direct fire on the shield generators of the cruiser closest to us,” he ordered over the commlink. His men had had their fun with the Vultures, now to get to the meat of it. 

The cruiser had flimsy shield generators, Alpha discovered. A good trait in an enemy vessel. After the generators were down, it was easy to disable the droid control center with a few enthusiastic shots. He directed his men to the next closest cruiser and continued with the pattern until there no functioning enemy cruisers left. 

Shame, he had just started having fun. 

“Alpha-17 to Fire Control, all enemies appear to be neutralized. Over,” he reported. 

“This is Fire Control, confirmed all enemy craft neutralized. Nice shooting, troopers.”

Alpha couldn’t disguise a smug grin. Most Clones appreciated a good explosion, especially when it was the enemy blowing up. 

“All hands, prepare for hyperspace jump,” came the comm from the bridge. Alpha sighed, and at back in his seat again. So much for excitement. 

Though, he supposed, he should get used to the quiet life. He was going to be living with Jedi, monastic bores that they were, and raising children. He shuddered. 

Well, he supposed he could just train with the cadets. The cadets were interesting. They were just starting to ask good questions and they were fun to chase through obstacle courses. 

Let’s see, what kinds of obstacle courses would he like to build?

...

The battle, after all the worrying and preparing the Clones had been doing, seemed kind of anticlimactic to Thire. Admittedly, the pirates did have pretty overwhelming numbers for a single unarmed frigate with only a fleet of fighters as defense. However, they did not have anywhere near the numbers to face an entire fleet of protective Clones. 

The occupants of the Circle of Steel were most of the Coruscant Guard, as well as the original Naval Clone crew. They had been given a Venator due to lack of combat experience and due to greater experience with kids due to their police duties in Coruscant; the Venators were not participating much in the overall strategy of the battle once they had been moved into position. 

However, Fox was not good with children at all. He got flustered, and impatient, and kids picked up on that and drove him nuts. It was hilarious to watch, really. He’d turn the funniest shade of red. 

Well, second-funniest. He turned an even funnier shade of red when Quinlan Vos teased him about his gigantic crush on Senator Riyo Chuchi. 

That was what Thire was watching right now. Quinlan had Fox in a headlock and was extolling the virtues of the Guard’s favorite Pantoran Senator in a soppy voice. Fox was so red he was almost purple, having passed the color of his armor a while ago. 

“And she has the most beautiful eyes, really, I love how she sets them off with that hair ornament, don’t you?” Vos teased, barely keeping Fox contained. Fox was never one to stand still and just take being teased, so he was doing his best to hit Vos in the face and make him shut up. 

Thire looked over at Stone and Thorn, along with the group of Littles they were supervising, and wondered where they got the pop-kernels from. He was about to ask if he could have any when the comm chimed. Vos abruptly let go of Fox and both men straightened up and tried to regain their composure. 

Well, Fox did, anyway, smoothing down his hair and armor. Quinlan seemed to be fine, nonchalantly brushing imaginary dust off his spaulder. 

They’d need to paint that red one of these days. 

Fox answered the call, and surprisingly enough, it was Senator Chuchi. 

Fox abruptly looked like he wished he had more time to smooth his hair down. He hated appearing ruffled in front of certain pretty Senators. 

She grinned in a most unladylike fashion when she saw him. 

“Fox! I’ve been worried!” She exclaimed. 

Poor Fox simply looked surprised anyone would worry about him. Thire needed to get Fox to a therapist. Reporting directly to Palpatine for years did stuff to a brother’s mind. And self-esteem. 

Luckily, Vos took over. 

“Senator Chuchi, it’s been too long!” He exclaimed, “Please excuse Commander Fox, he is tongue-tied by your beauty as usual.” 

The Senator giggled, and Fox elbowed Vos in the ribs. Was Vos trying to flirt with the Senator for Fox?

“I’m sorry I missed your calls, Senator,” Fox said carefully, “My brothers and I were worried the Republic would try to monitor our comms.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe, Fox. I was worried. And the Jedi were so worried too! Do you know that this one nearly sprinted to my office to ask what was wrong when he found an empty Garrison?”

Vos looked shifty, and deliberately didn’t meet Fox’s surprised gaze. 

“A guy gets nervous when he isn’t picked up for his biweekly visit to the drunk tank,” he muttered. 

“Vos, you’re the only one who is sad when he doesn’t get picked up by the Guard for drunk and disorderly,” Fox muttered, suppressing a smile. 

“I’m glad you’re together now. You’ll look after each other, right?” Senator Chuchi continued. 

Both men dutifully chorused their agreement, and made small talk until Chuchi had to end the call. 

Immediately after, of course, Fox tried to get Vos in a headlock, yelling something about respecting beautiful women and not embarrassing them with his affections. 

One day, Fox would realize that Senator Chuchi actually liked him back, and then chaos would ensue. Thire looked forward to that day. Preferably with a good seat, and some pop-kernels.

Maybe he could convince the good Senator to come to Dantooine on a humanitarian mission?

...

Padmé had been doing paperwork when they reached Dantooine. She had been given a small office in the Starbird, right next to where the Archives had been packed, and consulted about the legal status of the Jedi Order’s settlement on Dantooine. Archive Master Jocasta Nu had been assigned to help her make a legal land claim on the planet, so that the Jedi weren’t thrown out as squatters. 

“Well, if the last inhabitants were Jedi,” Padmé murmured, “All we need to do is look for the original claim and renew it. It’s a fairly simple legal process, and near-impossible to contest, especially if the claim predates the last administration.”

Madame Nu chuckled. 

“That it does, Senator. By several thousand years.”

Padmé’s eyes widened, though they really shouldn’t have. The Jedi were one of the oldest institutions of the Republic, of course they had land holdings that old. 

“I hope you have a copy of the claim?” She ventured, “The Senate Archives don’t allow remote access on documents that old.”

Master Nu merely smiled, and took Padmé to a room stacked neatly with boxes. With the help of some judicious sorting with the Force, a chest was found marked JEDI TEMPLE HOLDINGS. Master Nu opened it, and withdrew an actual flimsi sheet with the Force. It was the original claim filed. 

“Do I need to get book gloves?” She asked nervously. This piece of flimsi was older than the Senate building. In remarkably good condition, yes, but still. 

“No need, Senator. The Force has many uses.”

She floated the document to a holoscanner in the corner of the room and created a digital copy, then carefully put the fragile sheet of flimsi back, all without touching it once.  

“There you are, Senator. This should suit your purposes for the claim renewal?”

“Absolutely, Master Nu. You really have all the original documents for your temples?”

“Jedi Archivists never throw anything away, Senator Amidala. You never know when a legal document becomes essential down the line.”

“Well, I certainly can’t argue with the results. Now, let me pull up the CR-9-45D form, and I’ll fill it out. However, I may need to ask questions about the legal status of the Order over time.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Master Nu smiled. 

They started to fill out the hundred-page form together, relying on both Padmé’s legal background and Nu’s historical knowledge. They had just started on Subsection 23-B, ‘Changes in Legal Status of People Group Since Filing of Original Claim,’ when Padmé’s communicator vibrated. She stepped out to answer it, and Anakin popped up. 

“Padmé, we’ve landed!” Anakin was so happy nowadays, it was nearly blinding to look at. She couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Good! I’m nearly to a letting-off place in the claims paperwork, and then I can pick up the kids from the crèche and meet you outside,” she replied. She was ready to see some greenery; she had been on Coruscant for too long. 

Anakin nodded and hung up, probably already outside and scouting. They should have this continent to themselves, but they also hadn’t been here in a thousand years. 

She ducked back in to Master Nu and settled in again. She older Master smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

“Are there any major changes in the legal status of the Jedi? You were registered as a religious order, right, that hasn’t changed?”

“Well, there was one change. We are still a religious order, but the Council did expand the wording of our charter to include the Clones as official members of the order.”

“What?”

“We merely reworded our member definition. Instead of ‘force sensitive beings acting in service of the Light and the Republic,’ it is now ‘force sensitive beings and the beings conscripted into the GAR acting in the service of the Light and the Republic.’”

“Clever. When did you get that changed?”

“Near the beginning of the war. It was the only way to be able to treat Clones in the Healing Halls; the Senate wanted to reserve them for Jedi only. So we did. We just neglected to tell them that the Jedi now included the Clones.” 

Padmé’s eyes widened again. 

“Well, that isn’t what this box is asking for, and perhaps the Senate doesn’t need to know.”

“Indeed.”

“... Do the Clones know?”

“It was never a secret from them, but perhaps not.”

“Maybe you should tell them?” That little tidbit would send Clone morale through the roof. 

“...Indeed.”

...

Commander Grey’s morale, he thought, couldn’t get much higher. They were landed on a safe planet with a nice protective shield in the atmosphere in the form of thousands of bored Clones just waiting for an enemy to appear, the climate was nice, the little brothers were seeing grass for the first time, and he was with his Jedi. Well, his General. His Commander was running around with Commander Kestis and some of the younger shinies and causing trouble, probably. 

He forgot, sometimes, that the Commander was still a Cadet. Even littler than a Shiny. They sent him into battle anyway, with nothing but a lightsaber and some robes to protect him. 

Force, he had just taught Caleb to shave. He was too young to die. He should be nowhere near war, just like Stance. Children should be cherished, but Caleb had been sent to the frontlines. He had no one to cherish him but Grey and General Billaba and the battalion. So he would damn well protect the kid until the kid himself told him to leave, and not a second before. He had said the Gai Bal Manda (9) for Caleb, though he made sure the kid didn’t hear it. 

Speak of the Corellian devil, there Caleb was, running away from Kestis in a game of tackle-tag. He’d been roaming about the open grasslands with a few other cabin-fevered Padawan-Commanders and troopers. Grey had greeted him when he came aboard the Venator, of course, but they were on duty then, so he had simply saluted and smiled. They were no longer on duty, so he picked up Caleb in a bear hug and held him close for a few moments. He could not dwell on might-have-beens, or he would go insane. The kid was here. The kid was safe. His General was here, she was safe. All was right with the world. 

He was drawn from his thoughts by Caleb’s voice. 

“Uh, Grey? Is everything okay?”

He supposed he had been hugging the kid for a while. Longer than the Jedi Order probably taught their kids to get used to. That was something he and his brothers would have to work on with the kids. The Clones had precisely zero rules about attachment. 

“Everything is spectacular, kid. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the war is over, and everyone is safe.”

He put Caleb down and ruffled his hair. His General was watching, amused, with her hands tucked into her sleeves. 

“It seems the benefits of changing the Code grow more and more apparent every day,” she mused. 

“I’ll hug you next,” Grey jokingly threatened. Depa’s lip quirked up. 

“I quake in apprehension.”

Stance was making his way over to try and rope Caleb back into their game. On a whim, Grey hugged the younger trooper too. 

“Save yourself!” Stance yelled dramatically, as Caleb giggled at him. Depa, evidently deciding that Caleb was in good hands, bid her goodbyes and headed to a Council meeting. 

Grey saw Commander from Iron Battalion heading over, with Kestis in his shoulders. Kestis was missing the overlarge spaulder he’d been wearing; apparently it was the Commander’s. 

A devious idea hit him and he grinned. He pulled Stance and Caleb closer to him, and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “I bet we can rig a water-blaster with our canteens and the pocket siphon in my emergency kit.”

Both boys’ eyes lit up. 

...

Katooni was nervous. She had heard stories about the legendary Wolfpack, their tenacity and ferocity. Every young Initiate heard of their adventures and their victories. They were the third most famous legion, after the 501st and 212th. 

And now she was apprenticed to their General! Everyone knew that the ‘Pack was fiercely loyal to Master Plo, and anyone who spent five minutes with Master Plo knew that he was equally devoted to the ‘Pack. 

He would mention them in his conversations with her casually, ‘oh, Sinker likes this candy’ and ‘Boost enjoys that activity too,’ to help her get to know them as people and not the feared Clanker-Eating Battalion of the GAR. And it did help, a bit. But they were still larger than life, and twice as terrifying as Master Windu when Knight Skywalker has been interpreting the Code creatively again. 

Their first meeting didn’t really help with that either. Wolffe saluted his General and her briskly, though he did smile a little, and escorted them to the bridge to pass the transit there. Boost and Sinker and Comet were a bit nicer. They smiled at her right away and patted her shoulder. And after the General addressed them with that odd phrase (it had sounded Mandalorian), Boost and Sinker had even hugged Master Plo. But then they had fallen right back into combat mode; serious faces and only the occasional bad joke from Sinker. 

She had even been able to help, a little; she pointed out the pattern the Vultures were running with the manned ships to make it easier for the gunners to pick them off. Master had been proud, and the Pack had smiled at her. It had felt like she was accepted, in a muted way. 

But now they were on Dantooine, and as safe as they would likely be for a while, and the Wolfpack completely changed. Wolffe hugged Master Plo abruptly, then, he hugged her. It was strangely comforting. Then, Sinker and Boost had both hugged her too. They’d started calling her vod’ika (10), which was a word she didn’t know. 

The How-To-Padawan classes taught by Caleb and Cal had been very enthusiastic about the necessity of hugging masters and troopers but light on vocabulary. 

But then they brought out gray paint, in the exact color of the paint on their armor, and her eyes widened. 

Caleb and Cal had mentioned that painting armor meant you had earned your place in the legion. 

“Congratulations Katooni! You’ve been through your first engagement, so now you’ve earned the right to paint your armor.”

Katooni’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. 

“I just told you about the pattern? You would have seen it in a couple minutes,” she stuttered. Jedi are not nervous, she reminded herself. However, she was only fourteen, surrounded by the most fearsome unit in the GAR, and they were saying she was one of them. 

“But you spotted it first!” Sinker exclaimed, “If you didn’t have a name like a Clone shiny, we’d call you something like Spot or Pattern for that. But since you’re a Jedi shiny, you already have a name, and just need to paint your armor. What do you think you want on there?” 

She considered for a moment. Well, she had thought about this moment, but she hadn’t thought it would come so soon. 

“Something with lots of teeth,” she decided, “and claws.”

Boost laughed and picked her up to spin her around. 

“The General picked a good’un!” He cheered, “She’ll fit right in!”

...

Aayla Secura walked next to Bly, feeling content and at peace. Or, well, as content and at peace as one can feel when one’s longtime crush is walking next to her. It didn’t help that Bly was a ball of nerves about something, she didn’t know what. 

Unlike most of the other Jedi, they were still on the Liberty even though the ship had landed. Bly had asked her for a consultation. They were meandering through the halls of the ship, and Bly was getting more and more nervous as he went. 

“General?” He asked suddenly, “You remember how you asked me if I was free Taungsday?”

He blushed furiously as he said it. Aayla nodded, blushing a bit herself. She perhaps did not think that message through. 

“I’m sorry I missed the message,” he continued, “But, I was thinking, it’s Taungsday again, isn’t it?”

Aayla nodded again, slower. Could he be going the direction she thought he was?

They had stopped in front of the door to Aayla’s office. 

“Would you like to go out to midmeal with me?” Bly rushed out. It was quite amazing that he managed to stutter and blurt out his words at the same time. 

She found it adorable. 

She smiled at him widely and could only say one thing. 

“I would love to!” 

The last time she’d seen him looked so relieved, they’d just finished a campaign on Felucia. 

“I’m glad. This would be very awkward if you refused,” he muttered, opening the door of her office. 

At first glance it looked quite normal, but when she looked closer, she could see the results of what must have been careful planning on Bly’s part. The light in the room was dim- he had punched patterns in ration cans and put them over small glow sticks for mood lighting. Rations were laid out on either side of her desk, where they did paperwork together after battles. She noticed the ration pack at her spot was her favorite. And there was a small centerpiece in the middle of the desk, an empty ration can of attractive leaves. She recognized most of them as food bearing plants; he must have picked them from the ‘ponics garden. 

“Oh, Bly, it’s amazing,” she whispered. He must have been thinking about this for a while. 

Poor Bly was red as a tomato and didn’t appear to be going back to his normal color anytime soon. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, “I hoped you’d like it.”

“Bly, you made it for me. How could I not like it?”

He pulled out her chair, and they started to eat. Neither of them actually having been on a date before, they simply spoke of what came to mind, from their men to the Jedi to the end of the war. 

Towards the end of their meal, Bly began to get nervous again. Aayla stopped talking about the cuteness of the little Clones and reached out to take his hand. 

“Is everything all right, Bly?”

“Yes, General.”

She felt a rush of fond exasperation at him. Always so formal. 

“Bly, we are on a date. I think you can call me Aayla.”

“Yes, Aayla. I just have one more gift, but this one is less from me individually and more from everyone.”

He drew out a small case from under the desk, and opened it. Inside were armor pieces, smaller than the norm. A backplate, and a half-chestplate like Skywalker’s, greaves, poleyns, bracers, and spaulders. All were painted with gentle curves in 327th yellow, with an odd dappling effect, including the Starbird on the right spaulder. It was almost like the paint was dotted on, with one shade lighter and one shade darker mixed in here and there. It was beautiful. 

She was almost too lost in wonder to register what Bly was saying. 

“... and the color is like that because I had the littles help me with the painting, but some of them accidentally mixed the yellow paint with some darker paints we had, but I thought it was pretty. I really hope you like-“

“I have something for you, as well, Bly,” she murmured. 

She dug into the discreet pockets on her uniform and drew out a necklace. It was made of a shining metal, formed into chain links. Each link had designs on them; some abstract, like circles within circles, some quite concrete, like a representation of Bly’s facial tattoos. The links were about the size of Bly’s thumbnail, and there were nearly two dozen of them. The chain segment was too short to go over Bly’s head, so each end was tied to a cord to complete the necklace. 

“This is a story-chain (11),” Aayla continued, “each link represents a chapter in a story. In this case, the story is our story, and we add links to the chain as they happen. This link is for me, and this one for you; this one is for when we met, and this one is our first battle together...”

She trailed off when she saw Bly’s eyes on her widen. 

He leaned forward just slightly, and she put her hands on his arm; he put their foreheads together for a moment, and then she kissed him. 

Neither of them said much of anything for a while after that.

...

Shaak Ti was walking to a Council meeting when she saw two Padawan-shaped blurs run past, shrieking in joy, pursued hotly by two Clones stripped to their blacks and holding canteens with siphons attached to the spouts. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight, especially as Colt started snickering next to her. 

“That’s Grey, and Commander,” he managed to force out. 

She smiled. Evidently the good Commanders had taken it into their own hands to keep wayward Padawans out of Council meetings.

She smiled at the memory of sight she had seen when they first landed: Grey near engulfing Caleb in a hug, and the boy making absolutely no move to go anywhere else. The Mandalorians had a saying, she knew, ‘Family is more than blood.’ 

They had looked so happy together.

She couldn’t contain herself anymore; she asked, “What is the adoption vow on Mandalore, Colt?”

Colt immediately started like his skittish namesake. 

“Ah, Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, General.”

“Colt, if you wish, I will never speak of this again. Would you like me to adopt you?”

Colt, the poor dear, tried to speak, but evidently couldn’t. He settled for nodding enthusiastically. 

Shaak smiled, wider than she had in years. 

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Colt. I wish I had the opportunity sooner.”

Colt looked like he needed to sit down, so she gently guided him to sit next to her and gave him a light but firm hug. He hugged back, suddenly and quite firmly, though she could still breathe. Barely. 

“My brothers, Buir. What about my brothers?” He whispers, in the tone of a man who has been given a pot of gold while being told he cannot use it to feed his starving family. 

“I will adopt them too, of course. As many as wish it. But, my dear, I must ask first. I cannot force my affections upon those who do not want them, it is one of the tenets of the Jedi Order.”

“Why not? How could anyone not want to be loved?”

And oh, her heart broke for her men, who only had each other for so long. She gently extricated herself from his hug and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Well, ner ad (12), many fear the Jedi. You are Mandalorian. Imagine, a being out of your planet’s nightmares, fast, strong, often unusually handsome for their species. Able to lift cruisers with their mind. Able to supersede your will with theirs. Talking to each other without speaking. Standoffish and unemotional. Devoted to something you never will understand. 

“How do you know they won’t hurt you? How do you know they won’t listen to this thing that you cannot understand instead of you? How do you know they will stop when you say no?”

Colt simply shook his head and leaned against her. 

“Well, they obviously never actually met Jedi then.” 

“Dooku was once a Jedi, Colt. Jedi walk in the heights of the Force, close to the Light. When Jedi fall, they have an exceedingly long way down.”

“Only because they used to have one to catch them, Buir.”

Shaak’s eyes widened. She had never considered that. 

“What an interesting thought...”

...

Jedi Master Kit Fisto was having the most interesting philosophical discussion he’d ever had with the assembled members of the Council, plus a good deal of their Clone Commanders. Their official agenda was over, but each council member had stayed to address Shaak Ti’s revelation. They’d even had a few additional attendees. 

Jocasta Nu had sat in on the Council meeting, as was her privilege and duty as Archives Master. She had reported that with the help of Padmé Amidala, the Order had successfully filed the claim renewal for the Enclave and the surrounding territory.

Commander Grey had walked in after the meeting was over with Caleb riding piggyback, both grinning and both absolutely soaking wet. Kit mused that they had stolen his entrance. 

Ahsoka had followed, along with Plo’s new Padawan, Katooni. Both settled on the floor next to their respective masters, to listen to the rather lively debate. 

Shaak Ti had started the whole thing by relaying a simple and yet near-heretical piece of information. 

“I was speaking to Colt on the way to this meeting, and we began to discuss the Order’s stance on falling. It it his belief that the reason that Jedi Fall is not because of attachments, but because of the lack of support from any attachments. Colt, would you mind elaborating?”

Colt was looking more and more nervous by the second as he stepped to the floor; he straightened his back and stood at attention. Kit smiled at him welcomingly, but it didn’t seem to comfort him. 

However, despite his nervousness, he began to speak. 

“Councilors, Commanders, I was simply thinking of how Clones handle problems. We don’t have the Force, all we have is each other. So if we notice a brother having trouble, we try to help. 

“If they stop eating, we sit with them and try to make their favorite foods. If they get reckless, we follow them in battle. If they start to hurt themselves, we make sure they’re never alone. If they hide injuries, we wrestle them to the medics after every mission. And we tell them we love them, that we’d miss them, and that we want them to be healthy. 

“The Jedi don’t seem to have that. You love each other, we can see that, but you spend most of your lives alone. Solo missions, single-bed apartments, solitary meditation and reflection. And you strive to act within the bounds of a code that frowns upon attachments, or you used to anyway. You try your best to be perfect. You socialize, but then you go home alone.”

He gave a wry smile, “Clones are never alone.”

“The only exception is if you have a Padawan, but kids shouldn’t have to help their parents through problems alone. Sometimes they don’t even know there’s a problem, because it’s normal for them.”

Kenobi took a deep breath suddenly. Yoda looked stricken, and murmured something about Qui-Gon Jinn. Kit very pointedly did not dwell on memories of a distracted Master with eyes on the Living Force in everything but his Padawan, and rumors that most Stewjoni were not supposed to be as short as Kenobi was. 

“So when a Jedi has a problem, no one knows, until the problem becomes bigger. Impossible to ignore. Damaging. Enough to cause a Jedi to fall, even, sometimes. 

“I’m not saying our system is perfect, but at least we know when our brothers are struggling so we can help.”

The kid then retreated behind Shaak, still visibly nervous but at least slightly more relaxed. He sat on the floor beside her chair, and she put her hand on his shoulder. 

They needed to get the Commanders chairs, he thought, as he glanced at Monnk standing next to him. They deserved to sit with them as equals. 

Of course, he’d have to wait to propose that until Master Koth was done long-windedly expressing his shock at this revolutionary viewpoint. 

It may be a while. 

...

Jocasta Nu had never seen such an interesting Council meeting. Admittedly, Master Kenobi had mentioned that nearly all meetings were interesting lately. 

Young Colt had been so nervous but comported himself admirably. His ideas, which were shared by all the Clones if the nods of agreement were any indication, were simple and yet intriguing. After chairs were brought in for the Commanders, she requested to speak. 

“I find much merit in the ideas that Commander Colt has proposed to us,” she started. 

Kenobi raised his eyebrow, Secura leaned forward in her chair, and Skywalker was obviously shocked. 

Well, really. She was old, not inflexible. 

“As you recall, Masters, there was great concern at the beginning of this war about large numbers of Jedi Falling due to stress and constant exposure to Darkness on the battlefield. Commanders, this very Council gave me an assignment to study the Archives and compile a record of Jedi Fallen in past wars and apply that information to predictive simulations. 

“The numbers were grim: over 9% of Jedi put on frontline duty for over a year would Fall. The percentage only went up the longer the conflict went on, ending at around 31% in the fourth year, which is where we are now. Historically, the Fallen in turn inflicted an 8-14% casualty rate on Republic soldiers when they attacked their own men. 

“However, when looking at the actual data for this war, less than 9% have actually Fallen, and most of those turned themselves in once they realized what they had done. They inflicted casualties below 2% of the force, and most of those were from one Pong Krell. The discrepancies are a mystery, but I would suggest that Jedi Generals bonding with their men explains at least some of it. One item of evidence in support of that theory is that Attachment-prone Jedi, the most historically inclined to fall, have been integrated into the support system that Clones give each other.”

Mace Windu cleared his throat. 

“While a fascinating hypothesis, is there any way to prove this theory?” He asked. 

“Anecdotal evidence,” Jocasta deadpanned. She looked pointedly at Tano and Skywalker, both wearing 501st blue and leaning on their Captain, and at the innocent face of Plo Koon, who had just filed a petition to have his entire legion plus all of the younger clones on his ship registered with his last name in the Archives. 

Kit Fisto snickered. Even Windu quirked a smile. She nodded to the room, and continued to speak. 

“It has also come to our attention that, entirely accidentally, most Clones are unaware of their legal status as members of the Jedi Order,” she mentioned. 

Well, now she knew what a roomful of shocked Clones looked like. Poor Caleb made a squeaking sound as he was momentarily crushed to Grey’s side, and Cody looked fit to fall over. Ponds nearly did fall over, but Mace caught him. Mace always did have good peripheral vision. 

“Officially, and this is strictly internally, of course, as the Senate doesn’t know where the Clones are,” she continued, “the Clones are registered as a new auxiliary arm of the Order, the Defense Corps or Defcorps. Even when the Clones are discovered here, they can’t be taken away legally, any more than Agricorps or Educorps members can.”

She didn’t get much further, as she noticed she was being saluted by every Clone in the room, as well as most of the Padawans. Cody spoke for them all. 

“Madame Nu, we owe you a debt we can never repay.”

She smiled at them gently. 

“Simply make sure that your Jedi return their borrowed Archive materials on time,” she told them serenely, “and I will consider it thanks enough.”

Skywalker, who was notorious for late return on holobooks, looked distinctly shifty. He changed the subject quickly. 

“Fellow Councilors, Commanders, I think we need to adjourn to tell our men about their new legal status.”

The motion was passed, and Skywalker was out the door like a rocket, Tano and Rex hot on his heels. Ah, youth. It seems the scoldings on impetuousness she had given him hadn’t taken. 

She was glad. 

...

In a different world, the Clones weren’t quite so close to their Generals. In a different world, Ahsoka never came back to Coruscant after leaving the Order. In a different world, Anakin wasn’t quite so decisive or so fast to kill the Chancellor. In a different world, a world you well know, a Dark Empire rises and doesn’t fall for two decades. In another world, the shadows of the Sith never fade. 

However, in this world, the Council, their Commanders, and assorted Padawans all walk from the meeting room. Plo Koon puts his arm over Wolffe’s shoulders and holds Katooni’s hand. Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, and Rex argue about which commissary food is the worst. Cody and Obi-wan are content to walk together discussing Obi-wan’s prospective Padawan; Cody finally allows himself to smile. Depa Billaba walks in front of her Padawan Caleb Dume and pretends not to smile when Grey ruffles the kid’s hair. Aayla Secura, newly clad in armor, and Bly, with a bright chain on his neck, walk hand in hand, giving each other sappy looks now and again. Other Councilors talk to their Commanders about everything under the sun: food supplies, Archival materials, who looks best in armor, everything. In this world, the Sith are a distant, unpleasant memory; in this world, the Dark has not won, and never will.