Chapter Text
They’re circling him.
They’re getting ready to attack.
He can hear the sound of them moving over the hum of his lightsaber.
His master is watching him.
Analysing him.
He can feel it—
His whole body moves to block the incoming blade coming at him, quickly pivoting as his muscles tense and coil. His arms rise and his legs bend as shockwaves travel through his arms. The training droid’s mechanical eyes lock onto his. With a mechanical whirr, it disengages from the lock and steps back, recalculating, its head tilting ever so slightly as it studies him.
There’s even a brief pause.
But it comes again, faster, more aggressive. This time, it feints high before dropping low and aiming for his legs. He pivots once more, narrowly avoiding the strike as he shifts his weight. Then, in an instant, he’s lunging forward with a counterattack, his blade slashing through the air. A jarring vibration is sent up his arm. Wait a minute, where’s the other one—?
Warning-above-watchout!
Cal ducks just as a blade passes over his head. The sharp hmm of the training saber barely singeing his hair. The training droids are relentless in their pursuit. They shift their weight and recalculate their movements every time Cal thinks he sees an opening, readying for the next strike. And it’s not like he can sense their emotions or anything.
A blade arcs down towards him, aiming for his exposed side. But he doesn’t hesitate. In a single, explosive movement, he rolls to his left, narrowly avoiding the blade’s edge. This time, however, he stays low. The low ground is always better. The ankles and legs are easier to hit. It’s simple trigonometry.
With a sudden burst of speed, he lunges forward, his blade cutting through the air in a seamless arc aimed at the droid’s legs. The strike is too fast for the droid. His blade slices through the joints of its lower limbs, severing the mechanical tendons and leaving the droid stumbling. Sparks fly, and the hum of the droid’s movements falters, but it isn’t down yet. Unfortunately, Cal’s other opponent looms up behind him before he can fully defeat the training droid in front of him.
Quickly turning, Cal brings his blade up to block the incoming attack. He lets out a sharp exhale of air before he’s off again, blocking, parrying, and striking back. But he’s beginning to really feel the strain on his arms and the fatigue building in his legs. He’s got this. He can do this. He moves in, staying on the offensive. A quick step to the side, then another parry, his blade dancing to intercept the droid’s attacks. The droid responds in kind, matching his pace, its mechanical joints whirring as it adapts.
Not good. Not good. He needs this to end now before he runs out of stamina.
Feeling the Force pool at his fingertips, he pushes the droid back to buy himself some time to think. He doesn’t get long before the droid is rushing at him again, and this time, he barely has time to jump over it—oh, that could work. The back of the droid house’s most of its more critical circuitry. Reaching out with the Force, Cal lands and pulls.
He rips out the droid’s wiring. The droid’s mechanical whirring intensifies, then slows as its systems start to shut down. A spray of sparks erupts from the torn wires, and the droid jerks violently. It tries to right itself, but it can’t. Its movements grow even more sluggish and uncoordinated. Right, which wires did he pull out?
Watchout!-below-warning
Cal’s eyes jerk down to see the other droid crawling towards him, only being able to use its arms. Well, that looks like something out of a horrorvid. With he still ignited lightsaber, Cal steps towards it and slices through it’s back, severing the circuitry on that droid as well. The room falls silent, save for the soft crackling of the droid’s failing circuits.
Then, a voice. “That was very well done, padawan-mine. You were very lucky.”
Wait, lucky? Cal, still panting from the intensity of the sparring, straightens up and shuts off his blade as he glances towards his master. “Lucky, master?”
“Yes, in this war, droids like that would have reached for a blaster or called for backup in the time it took for you to destroy both of them. Awareness—of the enemy, of your surroundings, of yourself—is important, Cal. You must anticipate, not just react. In the field, luck won’t always be enough.”
“…Sorry, master.”
“I’m not telling you this because I want to criticise you, Cal. In fact, I think you are far beyond your peers in your skills.” Wow, he wonders why… “I’m saying this because…because I don’t want to lose you due to overconfidence in the field. You may be fast, you may be skilled, but the war doesn’t care about that. If you don’t anticipate...it won’t matter how much skill you have. Do you understand?”
“…Yes, master.”
Master Kenobi sighs as he lays a hand on his shoulder, his fingers pressing gently into the fabric of his robes. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Without waiting for an answer, his master gently nudges him forward, guiding him towards the door. As they step outside, the cool air hits him, and Cal takes a deep breath. The halls are quieter than usual. But not in a tense way, in a serene way. That probably means that he can have a calm day. He won’t have to worry about any main events today. Maybe he should check in with the clones—with Jester—because he should be back from what mission he was on with the other half of the 212th.
Calm-warmth-peaceful
His master breaks the quiet. “New training remotes, designed to simulate battle droids, will be commissioned for us in the coming months. Perhaps we should work on your Soresu in the meantime.”
Cal blinks. “What?” He feels one of his signature cheeky grins begin to stretch across his face. “You not liking my Shii-Cho and Ataru, master?”
His master’s expression doesn’t shift, his eyes remaining steady and unwavering ahead of them as they walk—but Cal can see the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Yes, I can see who may have given you some pointers in your Ataru form,” he replies dryly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Cal stops in his tracks, hand dramatically clutching his chest as if struck by a great betrayal. “Master!” he says, his voice a mixture of mock offence and exaggerated disbelief. “I can’t believe you would insinuate that about Ahsoka.”
“Hm.”
Amused-playful-watching
The doors to the dining hall open in front of them. Lining up behind his master, Cal takes the tray that his master passes back to him as he grabs his own. Looking down at the options, he instinctively searches for his blumfruit muffin. It’s not there. There’s no blumfruit muffins out. His stomach gives a small, disappointed growl.
…That’s okay.
…He’ll just get something else.
“Padawan-mine?” His master’s voice breaks through his thoughts. Cal can hear a gentle, almost amused lilt in his voice. “Are you alright?”
“Huh?” Cal blinks. He looks up, realising he’s been staring at the counter with a kind of dazed longing. His master seems amused; his eyebrow and his head is tilted slightly, but there looks to be a concerned downturn in his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Fine.”
Cal reaches forward, turning away from his master, and spoons a helping of Braised Shaak Roast onto his tray. He deliberately turns his head away from where the usual display of baked goods sits, devoid of the one thing he always looks forward to: the blumfruit muffins. Cal follows his master after getting his food to an empty table and sits down. He immediately starts to eat.
Cal lets out a short, harsh puff of air. It's delicious. But he’s trying not to enjoy it. He wants his blumfruit muffin. But he’s not going to act like an actual child about it. Even if his emotional control is…not great at the moment for some reason. Maybe it’s a side effect of the whole time-travel thing. Wait…what did happen to the consciousness of this body? Did he kill the past version of himself? Did he absorb the past version of himself? Why has he never thought of that before? He should be concerned. He should be very concerned—
Watching-worry-calm
The scent of buttersweet puffs wafts into his nostrils. Cal stops chewing and lets his eyes drift to his master’s tray. There are two buttersweet puffs innocently lying on his tray. Cal swallows the food in his mouth. Funnily enough, his master hasn’t eaten much off his tray. Flicking his eyes up to his master, Cal sees a look of worry on his face. Why is his master looking at him like that? Is there something on his face? Is he eating too fast?
“Is there something on my face, master?” Cal brings a gloved hand up to wipe his chin.
“No, no,” Master Kenobi just smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and pushes one of his buttersweet puffs towards him. “Here, take this. It’s one of my favourite’s pastries from the Temple.”
Cal blinks at the pastry for a moment. “That’s alright, master; if it’s your favourite, then you can have it,” Cal mutters, though his gaze lingers on the puff before looking back up to his master and giving him the most convincing, innocent smile.
Master Kenobi doesn’t say anything at first, simply watching Cal. Master Kenobi’s gaze flicks briefly to the puff, then back to Cal. He just tilts his head, raising an eyebrow, but the gentle smile never fades from his face as he drops the puff directly onto Cal’s tray.
Cal hesitates for another second before picking up the puff, carefully watching his master. All Master Kenobi does is give him an encouraging smile as he turns back to his own food. Well, the polite thing to do in this situation would be to accept it, right? And what if this is a test? So that his master can test…something…Cal takes a bite of the buttersweet puff. The taste immediately hits him—warm, slightly sweet, with just the right amount of buttery richness. Between bites he says, “Thanks, master.”
A pulse of warmth-worry-anxiety comes off his master as he bites into his own buttersweet puff. Cal feels his body hunch around his puff. They both sit in silence as the finish their respective meals. Cal takes his time savouring the sweet dessert. Flakes from the puff crumble around his fingers as he finally finishes the pastry. Right, well, afternoon-meal is finished. What are they going to do now? He’s not got classes today.
“Well, what would you like to do now, padawan-mine?”
“Um. Me? I, uh, don’t know—” What should he say? Is this a test? What would the perfect padawan say? What would the ‘Negotiator’s perfect padawan’ say? Wait—what if—Master Kenobi has connections to the Senate, right? He’s the Negotiator so he has to, right? What if he tests Master Kenobi back? What if he asks to go to the Senate and moves on with his plan to create a good connection with a Senator? Master Kenobi has to be close to at least one of them, right? And if he asked his master, then he wouldn’t have to sneak his way there at all. “Master? Is—Can we go to the Senate?”
“The Senate?” A wave of concern-apprehension-alert cascades down the master-padawan bond before Cal feels his master tamp it down.
“Yeah, do you happen to know any trustworthy Senators?”
“Senator Amidala or Senator Organa perhaps; may I ask why?”
‘Why?’ Now that’s a good question. But he has a good explanation for why he wants to get in contact with a senator. “The clones, master. According to Republic law, they are nothing but property of the Republic. They should be more than that.”
Master Kenobi’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, though his face remains as composed as always.
"They fight for us, for the Republic.” Cal continues, voice soft but firm, his eyes searching his master’s face seeking some form of validation. His hands are fidgeting now, tapping restlessly on the surface of the table. “They bleed and die in this war, just like we do. But they’re still treated like tools, like disposable soldiers. How can we fight for freedom and justice when we don’t even treat them like people? They are people.”
After a long pause, Master Kenobi leans forward, his expression softening just slightly, and there’s a faint crease between his brows. Cal feels a wave of pride scamper down the master-padawan bond before his master says, “I understand your frustration, Cal. And you are right in many ways. It is a complex issue, but you’re right. Just know that the Republic will not change overnight.”
“I know that, master. It’s just—no one’s doing anything about it at the moment, and I know we’re in the middle of fighting and everything, but…if we get in contact with a Senator then…they can help.” And he can see if he can really trust him. “So, can we go?”
Master Kenobi takes a slow breath, his fingers lightly touching the edge of his cup of caf as he leans forward and gets up, the slightest sigh escaping him. “…Yes, I suppose we can.”
An excited smile stretches across Cal’s face, and his master probably noticed because his eyes soften when he looks towards him. They put away their trays and walk out of the dining hall side by side. As they pass through a series of corridors, Cal catches himself glancing over, just for a moment, at his master. There’s a small upturn in his lips, but his eyes are narrowed; his posture is as poised as ever, but his brow is furrowed. Why is it so hard to read his master sometimes? And what is his master thinking about?
Watching-calm-warmth
And now they’re outside.
Stop zoning out, Cal!
Focus!
Climbing into the speeder that his master acquired from…being a master, he guesses, Cal glances up. Master Kenobi isn’t looking at him, but after getting the faintest nudge from the master-padawan bond, Cal can definitely say that his master noticed his…break from reality. Wind rushes past his face as Cal turns his head to look out to the city. The cool air stings his cheeks. For a moment, the rush of the wind drowns out everything else—his thoughts, the sound of his own heartbeat—and he’s simply here. And then the sound of traffic fills his ears.
The city sprawls before him. He breathes deeply, the sharp scent of the city, of pollution, and of damp stone filling his lungs. His fingers tingle as his master veers off to the left to join the traffic heading in the direction of the Senate building. Cal shifts in his seat, settling himself more comfortably as he clasps his hands together in his lap, trying to steady the flutter of nervous energy in his chest as he begins to think up what to say.
Which Senator is Master Kenobi going to go to? He said either Senator Amidala or Senator Organa, but…which one will they meet? Hopefully not Senator Organa since the last time they met…he pretended to be a civilian…and failed. So hopefully not him. Senator Amidala, on the other hand…he’s worked with her before. Okay, what should he say to her?
If he’s with his master, then he should stick to only talking about the clones’ freedom. And if he’s only talking about the clones’ freedom, then he should try and talk to her about how integral their part is in the war. About how they deserve more from the Republic. Just…said in a more diplomatic way…because he’s the Negotiator’s padawan. He should start off by re-introducing himself then he should move on to—
“Come on, Padawan-mine. Let’s go.”
Cal doesn’t even realise that they’ve arrived until he looks up and sees his master standing to the side of the speeder, waiting for him to get out. Cal feels a flash of irritation at himself for losing track of his surroundings again. Kriffing dank farrik. How hard is it to just focus? He inhales sharply, the rush of crisp filling his lungs, and for a brief moment, the world feels sharper—clearer—as he steps out and joins his master in walking up to the Senate doors.
The sound of their boots click-clacking on the ferrocrete is the only noise between them until they enter the halls. Cal follows closely behind his master. He doesn’t know exactly where master Kenobi is leading him—because clearly, he didn’t spend enough time in the Senate in the Before. Not that he knew that he was going to be travelling back in time at that point, but the fact that he didn’t spend any time in the Senate in the Before makes it really hard to figure out how the whole…mechanisms of the Senate worked and how the Chancellor remained in power for so long.
A pulse of warm-concern-worry comes down the master-padawan bond. That pulse snaps him out of his thoughts…that he got trapped in…again. “Are you alright, padawan-mine?”
“Yep. Just…thinking about what to say.”
“Right, well…we’re here.”
“We are?” Cal looks to the door in front of him as his master steps forward to alert the occupant of their arrival. Come to think of it, does Senator Amidala even know that they’re coming to see her? Kriff, why is he only feeling the majority of his nerves coming in now. He doesn’t need his kneecaps to shake now and he doesn’t need his fingers trembling. He needs to be—The door opens.
Senator Organa stands in front of them.
Senator Organa is standing in front of them.
Force kriffing dank farrik!
Why him?
Cal forces himself to relax his shoulders and take two subtle deep breaths. Looking up, directly into the senator’s eyes, Cal watches as Senator Organa looks between them with a strangely amused smile. What’s he making that expression for? A nudge from the master-padawan bond has Cal realise how narrowed his eyes are, and he quickly relaxes into a causal but proper stance—as expected of the Negotiator’s padawan, he’s in control of himself, and he can take control of this situation.
“Greetings, Senator Organa. I hope you are well?” Cal starts off the conversation since the other two adults clearly seem to be waiting for him to begin, so he keeps his tone as respectful but confident as he can manage.
“I’m well; thank you, Padawan Cal.” Senator Organa offers a polite smile, but Cal can feel his amusement-bemusement-worry-exhaustion that’s clinging onto the senator. “It’s nice to finally greet you officially.”
Fire. Fire is what Cal feels crawling all over his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Uh, yes, it is, Senator.” At least he didn’t mention the fake father thing from the last time they met. Thank Force for the small mercies. But nonetheless, Cal keeps his gaze steadily away from his master so that he won’t need to suffer through whatever confused expression Master Kenobi is probably wearing.
Senator Organa invites them into the room, and as the door hisses shut behind them, he gestures towards a low table surrounded by chairs. Cal sees him exchange a look with his master, but he chooses to simply file that away. It is a strange look, though. Should he be concerned? Do they know something he doesn’t? Wait, how did his master get a meeting with someone who is surely a very busy senator on such short notice? A subtle prod from the master-padawan bond has Cal snapping back to the present.
Ah, kriff.
What was it he had planned to say?
Calm-warmth-watching
Cal takes a subtle deep breath as he watches both the senator and his master continue to try and silently communicate with each other—seemingly with little success. At least, judging from the deepening frown on his master’s face. Unless they are communicating something, and the deepening frown is in response to something? No, he trusts his ability to read people and there’s definitely a lack of understanding in Senator Organa’s facial expression.
But he’s not going to focus on that. He needs to get this right. He needs to be in control of himself now more than ever because if he doesn’t get this point across then the same mistreatment of the clones at the end of the war will still happen. And he needs a contact in the Senate to ensure he can monitor the Chancellor. Because the war will end soon. He’ll make sure of it. It has to.
What if he can’t? He needs some events to stay the same so that he can calculate the perfect time to strike. But what if some events have already changed just because of his interference. What if—
He’s the Negotiator’s padawan. He’s read enough about etiquette and politics to politely manipulate Senator Organa into doing what he needs him to do for the betterment of the galaxy. He’s in control. He’s got this. He can do this. He just needs to use the appropriate words for the ‘Negotiator’s padawan’.
“Senator Organa. I require your assistance in an important and relevant matter regarding the freedom of the soldiers of the Republic.”