Chapter Text
There’s not much of anything in the Kaminoan system save for the planet itself and a few uninhabitable moons. He won’t be able to fill the fuel tanks there so he makes the short flight to the Rishi System in search of a depot. The one he finds is almost certainly a smuggler’s hide but they don’t hassle him and he doesn’t ask questions. As a bonus, they accept the Republic fuel voucher he turned up during his explorations of the flight deck.
With the tanks topped off he lifts into a holding pattern nearby but far enough that no one will be aggravated by his presence. There’s not much for him to do until Vos makes contact again so he spends the hours unsticking his clothing from his skin so it will dry and trying not to panic about what he did on Kamino. He trusts that Vos will run interference with the Council but he can’t believe that his influence extends to the RID. Perhaps the Council will be able to intercede but he’s never had much interaction with them beyond occasional passings. Both Jinn and Skywalker sit on the Council and he can’t imagine Skywalker doing anything for anyone but himself and those he considers part of his pack.
Yet, despite the terror that clutches at his insides, he knows he wouldn’t change a thing. What happens to him, in the end, doesn’t matter. What matters is that the chips were deactivated and the troopers will never know the horror of having their bodies betray them while their minds are locked away behind walls they can’t escape. The good of what he’s done, the future he’s ensured for them, will always outweigh the consequences.
His comm pings, alerting him to an incoming holo request. He accepts with a tap of his finger and straightens up from his slump in the pilot’s seat. The bright-blue image of the alpha flares to life, illuminating the dimmed interior of the cockpit. Vos isn’t alone; Jon sits to his right and the commander, Fox, is on his left. Obi-Wan can’t make out much of the background but all three seem to be seated on the same piece of furniture.
“Are you secure?” Vos asks after they exchange brief greetings. Despite already knowing his end is, Obi-Wan makes a show of checking the encryption status before confirming. “We’re secure on my end.”
“Good.” The alpha sighs, leaning forward to drop his elbows on his knees and dangle his clasped hands between them. He looks tired and stressed; the shadows underneath his eyes are visible despite the distortion of the holo-imager. Obi-Wan waits for him to gather himself but watches with curious eyes as Jon shifts slightly closer to press their shoulders together. The other delta isn’t rebuked and, in fact, Vos seems to find comfort in the gesture. Obi-Wan wouldn’t believe it if he weren’t seeing the interaction for himself. He bites his tongue to stop the questions bubbling up.
“We’ve confirmed the deactivation of the chips,” Vos speaks after gathering himself. “They will need to be removed in the future but, for now, the troopers are safe from their interference. I won’t ask how you convinced the Kaminoans to cooperate but I need to know if there are any potential loose ends that need to be handled from my end.”
Obi-Wan considers. “The scientist I worked with will not recall our interaction about the chips. However, I left behind the impression that we had been discussing halting new production pending an audit by the jedi council. They will be expecting that to happen sooner rather than later.”
Vos nods, a few of his locs swinging around his face. “I will try to arrange that as quickly as possible but it may take some time. That all depends on what happens next and the availability of council members.”
“I understand. I felt it would be best that new production not continue until we could ensure that the chips would not continue to be implanted. I apologize if my actions cause more problems than they solve.” He ducks his head, expecting a sharp rebuke. Idiot, he curses himself. You should have just focused on getting the chips deactivated and not worried about anything else.
“Obs, it’s fine,” Vos’s voice is gentle but firm. Obi-Wan cautiously meets his eyes through the holo. The Kiffar offers him a small but genuine smile. “You were right to hold the production. I only wish that I had thought of it first.” He sobers. “I can tell you’re worried about what’s going to happen when all of this comes out. I can assure you that the Council will listen to me and they will support the decisions you’ve made. I know that we haven’t worked together and you don’t have a reason to trust my words but they are sincere. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
He’s right: Obi-Wan doesn’t believe him. No one has ever stood up for him let alone protect him from the wrath of others. He shifts his eyes to Jon, asking without words for the other delta to weigh in. The man is older and, more importantly, he’s been working closely with Vos for several weeks. If he can trust anyone’s judgement it’s his.
Jon understands his plea. His own eyes dart sideways to Vos and then he gives the smallest fraction of a nod. Vos doesn’t notice but Fox does. The commander looks from Jon to Obi-Wan with a furrowed brow but he doesn’t open his mouth and call them out on the silent communication. In that moment, Obi-Wan is grateful.
“So what’s next?” Obi-Wan asks. He’s not being subtle about shifting the conversation away from the current topic but no one comments.
“What’s next is…complicated,” Vos tells him.
Jon doesn’t mince words when he takes over the conversation. “We’ve identified the Chancellor as the Sith. There’s evidence that he’s manipulating the war from both sides for his own gain. We don’t believe that he is aware that we are investigating him but that could change at any moment.”
“Hold on.” Obi-Wan lifts a hand to stay Jon’s words. “You mean Palpatine is the Sith hiding in the Senate?” He pictures the grandfatherly man he’s seen on countless holocasts and tries to overlay an image of darkness and hatred. He can’t do it. “Are you sure ?”
“Positive.”
Obi-Wan stares at the three men in the holo, waiting for the joke. All three stare back and no joke comes. “Fark me,” he mutters under his breath.
“That’s the general sentiment,” Fox agrees dryly.
Obi-Wan clears his throat, his ears burning at his aside being overheard.
“We plan to move against him as soon as possible,” Jon continues, “but there’s another factor we have to account for.”
“Dooku,” Vos growls. “He’s loyal to the Sith Master and will come if he’s called. We won’t be able to contend with both.”
“If Palpatine doesn’t know you’re onto him, why would he call for Dooku?” Obi-Wan asks.
“He might not call for him until it’s too late but the effort required to neutralize the Master is going to leave the jedi and the Senate weakened and vulnerable to another attack,” Vos explains. “Even if he arrives days later I fear that we won’t be able to mount enough resistance to stop him from assuming the role left open by the death of his Master.” He tugs at his locs. “I don’t know that we won’t be able to stop him but I can’t ignore the possibility. It’s too great of a risk to leave open-ended.”
Obi-Wan feels his stomach sink. He’s not surprised by what Jon says next. “Intelligence reports indicate that Dooku is in his residence on Null. He won’t be expecting an attack there. You’re the closest. We’re asking you to go and face him and unfortunately there’s no one we trust near enough to be sent as backup.”
“You don’t have to kill him,” Vos cuts in. “We just need you to be a distraction; maybe injure him enough that he won’t be able to travel to Coruscant if Palpatine calls. Obi,” he stresses “if it starts getting close you need to pull out. Do whatever you have to to get back off that planet in one piece. That’s not optional.”
The alpha is imparting his words with command but it won’t work. Not when the inner recesses of Obi-Wan’s mind and his instincts recognize that the threat he’s being sent to face isn’t just threatening the Republic. Dooku is an obstacle to the safety of the pack; the GAR pack. He won’t, can’t stop until that threat is neutralized. Permanently.
“I understand,” he says because he does. He understands what Vos is telling him and he understands what he will do. Jon meets his gaze and the understanding is there in the determination and grief crinkling the edges of his pale eyes. They are deltas. Their job is to protect the packs they’ve chosen until the last breath is torn from their bodies. Jon will do it for Fox and his men and for Quinlan. Obi-Wan knows they’re bonded in some way because there’s no other reason that the man who’s spent his entire life alone would be sitting with his side pressed to an alpha. Obi-Wan doesn’t have that level of connection but that doesn’t matter in the end.
He taps coordinates into the nav computer. “I can be within orbit of Null in forty eight hours, touching down within fifty,” he reports to the silent group. His voice is steady, neutral. Nothing about him betrays the chaotic swirl of emotion he’s hiding inside.
“Contact us when you arrive and we will move when you do,” Vos says.
“Obi-Wan,” Jon calls to him in a quiet voice. “The Force will guide us.”
“The Force will guide us home,” Obi-Wan responds.
Though being sent from the temple after presenting took many things from the deltas of the Order, it gave them something too. It gave them their mantra; their promise to one another shared on the rare occasion they crossed paths. May the Force guide you home. There is only one home left for them in a galaxy that refuses to give them a place to lay their heads. Their home is among the stars; among the generations of those who walked a similar path. It’s what they hold onto, what they believe in when they’re jaded and weary from the seemingly never-ending darkness of the universe.
No one else understands what they’re saying to one another with that phrase. The two alphas don’t question it nor do they comment. It’s better that way. Because Obi-Wan knows they will protest the understanding that Jon and Obi-Wan have come to. This will be it; the last mission they ever take. They will succeed in it but they won’t survive it. The stars are calling them and, in the end, they will go home.
The goodbyes are muted, the atmosphere subdued. Vos elicits another promise from Obi-Wan that he’ll break away from Dooku and run if the fight between them is getting too dangerous. The delta promises, the lie sweet on his tongue. The holo winks out and he’s alone. He inputs the coordinates and sets his course for Null.
Two days, he thinks as the white light of the stars streak by the viewscreen. That’s all that’s left.
Maybe he should be afraid. Maybe he should be angry that his life is going to be cut short. Maybe he should feel grief or denial or a determination not to let it end this way.
He doesn’t.
What he feels is peace; acceptance and the resolve to see his task through to the very end. He bears regrets and he bears dreams that will never be fulfilled but he doesn’t bear the weight of his death. He closes his eyes and thinks of Bant; of her sparkling eyes and melodious laugh. He thinks of her arms around him and the cool press of her lips to his forehead. He thinks of the way she cocked her brow scales and how she teased him and how she loved him.
He thinks he can’t wait to be with her once again.
I’m coming home, Bant, he whispers to the Force. The currents stir, the ghost of webbed fingers brushing his cheek. I’ll be home soon.