Reading Time: 77 Minutes

Title: OB-1
Series: OB-1
Series Order: 1
Author: Sunryder
Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Family, Kid!fic, Science Fiction
Relationship(s): Gen, background pairings
Content Rating: PG
Warnings: Discussion-Child Abuse, Discussion-Sexual Abuse, Discussion-Slavery, Self-Harm,
Word Count: 79,685
Summary: For over a thousand generations, Jedi Knights have been the guardians of peace and justice in the Galactic Republic. Force-sensitive children are brought to the Jedi Temple and there taught the ways of the Jedi. Throughout their youth these children undergo many trials, the last of which is to be chosen as an Apprentice before they turn 13. Despite his skill and talent in the Force, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been caught fighting another Initiate and deemed too angry to become a Jedi Knight. The Youngling has been expelled from the Temple to join the Agricorps instead…
Artist: Spennig

Chapter Five

Ruzry’s code should not work on the office door to the Master of Initiates, but it did. A less important flaw than everything else she’d researched today, but still, a footnote. Technically, she was outranked by the Head of the Reassignment Council, and the Jedi who held all the information about their children should have security as good as the Holocron Vault.

He also shouldn’t be asleep at his desk, but that was evidence of a larger problem, wasn’t it?

Master T’un was a Besalisk, several hundred years old, and currently a bulbous blob behind his desk. His head was flopped back, mouth open, with guttural snores that vibrated the stack of flimsi nearest his face.

T’un had been Master of Initiates since long before Ruzry was born, but she’d never had call to come into this office as a child. It was circular, perched near the top of the Tower of Reassignment. Nearest the door was a seating area with three chairs wide enough to fit T’un and a low coffee table. This was where the Master of Initiates was supposed to have meetings with children to discuss their futures. Though why it looked like the office of a Senator ready to take a bribe instead of a safe place for terrified children, Ruzry didn’t want to assume.

(She couldn’t help but compare it to the special room had by Coruscant’s Special Victims for Crimes Dealing with Children, one done up in warm colors, complete with toys, games, art supplies, and all the furniture sized for children of varying ages. Everything there was soft and non-aggressive, meant to make the children feel safe and talkative.)

Tu’n’s desk was deeper into the circle, and it had grown since the last time Ruzry was here. Not just grown up in towers of flimsi, but across, like someone brought in an extra desk or two to make the single line into a U so T’un had more surface area to stack.

Ruzry ran her hand through the air over the chairs and desk, feeling the Force currents left behind by the people in this office. The roster said two Senior Padawans had been assigned to help T’un, one whose Master was in the Halls of Healing for a long-term recovery, and another whose Master was on a special assignment deemed too dangerous for a child.

Ruzry could sense one of the children all over the up-to-date computer terminal tucked into a bookcase behind T’un’s desk. Or rather, what should have been a bookcase but had been turned into a spare desk since there was no space for the assistant on T’un’s desk.

Shadow flicked the computer awake, careful to keep herself between the screen and T’un’s upturned face to block the light until she could turn it low. The screen’s default was one step above pitch black, so Ruzry assumed T’un had been sleeping in front of the children. The terminal held all of T’un’s correspondence and everything that looked pressing. Based on the frazzled aura, Ruzry assumed the child who worked at this desk spent their time trying to get everything done that they didn’t need T’un’s signature for.

The work station on the other half of the desk was a mess of flimsi and irritation. Ruzry could practically taste it in the air and was surprised the second child hadn’t lost control over the Force and accidentally lit anything on fire. The second child’s station held just a scanner with no terminal. Ruzry assumed their job was to scan in the hard copy backlog to try and get everything digitized.

Ruzry leafed through the top flimsi of different piles, looking for an order to them. Some documents were from elderly Jedi who didn’t know how to work the system and thus, were likely sending T’un hard copy notes about the Initiates they’d come across. Those were acceptable exceptions to procedure.

Most everything else were T’un’s own files, things that had likely started out digitized for security purposes but the old Jedi had printed out in hard copy. The poor second Padawan was trying to get all the backlog into the system while the first Padawan tried to deal with live files. What T’un was doing beyond adding to the mess at a rate the children couldn’t keep up with, Ruzry couldn’t tell.

Ruzry moved to stacks of flimsi nearest T’un’s bulbous body – a little nudge of the Force to keep him asleep. But if there was a method to his madness, Ruzry couldn’t see it from a quick search. Based off the fine layer of dust covering the personal terminal on T’un’s desk, Ruzry assumed there was nothing useful there.

Which left the first Padawan’s terminal as Ruzry’s best chance to find the information she was seeking without having to take the entire office apart. It shouldn’t have been there, but a quick click on the desktop revealed complete access to the Initiate systems that no one beyond Reassignment Council Members should have had. Merciful Force, T’un’s own login name and password key were saved on autofill. They weren’t even generic login codes for whatever Padawan was handling his flimsiwork. Thank all that was good that Ruzry wasn’t a slaver because this would’ve been a goldmine of information about Force sensitive children for sale.

The system didn’t seem to have any schedule for which Initiates were leaving or when, and no master calendar to keep track of their timelines. Ruzry took the risk that T’un might wake and dug through the sub-folders looking for some list of Masters who wanted a Padawan but hadn’t met the children, but there was none. There was no cross-reference of what Masters might be best with which Initiate, no schedule setting up time for extra meetings between Masters and Initiates beyond the annual Initiate tournament. There were messages in the inbox from Masters expressing interest in certain Padawans, but the poor student handing T’un’s mail seemed to reply ‘we’ll look into it’ and then never get back to them.

Frankly, the system held none of the things Ruzry had expected to find when she was mulling in the hall, waiting for enough of the Temple to go to bed. And certainly, the system held none of the scant few things she remembered Brair complaining about being able to implement in his time on the Reassignment Council. (All they’d been able to do was allow a Senior Padawan to spend their final thesis streamlining the pre-existing system and making clear tutorials about how to use it.)

In a blatant violation of privacy, Ruzry clicked on one of the blinking messages received after the assistant left for the evening. It was from a Master Harvon, apparently more diligent than some of the others because she said it was the second time she’d inquired about an Initiate Ipsol that she’d spoken with in the dining hall. Ruzry clicked into the system and scrolled to the Initiate’s file, which had a note that the child had been inquired about, and a confirmation that the request had been sent to Master T’un. And there it had been left to stagnate for a month.

That… raised a question Ruzry hadn’t thought to ask. With a scroll, she opened Obi-Wan’s file. Despite the ‘streamlined system,’ the timeline specific to Obi-Wan was blank (including his age, time remaining, and yesterday’s exile to the Agricorps). There were also no tags for which focuses he might have, despite those being clickable options when Ruzry had filled out Initiate notice forms in the past. (She remembered Brair’s drunken rant about how he couldn’t believe he was the first person to think about applying basic inventory principles to the Initiate system.) All the information was there – thank small favors – but Ruzry had to flip through the individual notices that had been filed by Jedi following protocols. Master Drallig’s in particular were properly tagged, but however those were supposed to be exported to Obi-Wan’s main file, they hadn’t been.

If this whole affair boiled down to the poor assistants not knowing how to work the system, Ruzry was going to be furious. (And maybe trip T’un down the stairs just to give someone a few months in this office to set things to rights.)

Ruzry plugged in her slicer to harvest all the information about Obi-Wan so she could go through it at her leisure, hoping to find something more incriminating. While it downloaded, she checked the notes for what would concern Brair most. She found that, no, Obi-Wan hadn’t spoken with anyone in the Corps. There was no trace in any note or tab that said Obi-Wan had been prepared at all to leave the Temple, let alone that he was fit to be on a spaceship to Bandomeer right now, cast out of the Order.

The second-to-last note in the boy’s file was the same one Trion had found: Master Drallig extolling Obi-Wan’s skill with a saber and his potential as a Battlemaster. Drallig had no notes about the second showcase, which she took as a sign it had been secret. Though there were no notes about Obi-Wan’s expulsion itself, the last note was from Crechemaster Hoowrirl, objecting to Obi-Wan’s sudden departure and requesting access to his comm codes to check on him in his new posting.

Like everything else, there was a note that said the request had been passed along to Master T’un. Probably resigned to die on one of the stacks of flimsi on the man’s desk.

The slicer was only halfway done, so Ruzry took the precaution of checking Obi-Wan’s subfile for Masters who’d expressed an interest. Perhaps if everything went wrong there would be some Master who’d noticed Obi-Wan in the commissary and would take him on.

Ruzry clicked it open and… oh.

While that child noticed in the commissary only had one Master in her notes, Obi-Wan had a stack. A dozen names since the boy was small, some of them multiple times. Notably, not Qui-Gon Jinn. (Though, if he was going to express any interest, it would’ve been in-person instead of through the system, so his request might still be on T’un’s desk someplace.)

Stranger still, this page of Obi-Wan’s file was a different color than the commissary child’s. There, in the upper right-hand corner of the page was the only active tag Ruzry had seen in any Initiate’s file since she began her search. “HOLD.” It said. Ruzry clicked the tag, and there, linked to the HOLD that demarcated Obi-Wan’s file from everything else, was a link to Grandmaster Yoda.

In all of Brair’s rambling about the Reassignment System, Ruzry had never heard him speak of a Hold. She had no idea what it meant. Or why it would be attached to the Grandmaster whose tiny claws had left marks all over too many misfortunes in this boy’s life.

Ruzry drew a deep breath, centered herself in the Force – remembered the little auburn child snuggling a box in Brair’s sad cot – and broke all kinds of protocol to twist her slicer in the computer terminal and order it to leave her a back door. (T’un’s lack of care suggested she needn’t take such a precaution, but just because T’un didn’t give a damn about operational security didn’t mean Ruzry was going to render anything inadmissible in her haste.)

It was the work of minutes to finish with T’un’s computer, send off a quick message from her personal comm, and slip back to Brair’s hangar.

The skylights barely lit the room with the glow of pre-dawn, but Brair was waiting for her on a crate outside the office, tentacles pulled up in a bun, salty tea in hand, and still in his pajamas. They knew one another too well, because he had a steaming mug of honey-sweetened caff waiting. She curled up next to him and popped off her face mask to a long drink before she dropped her head to his shoulder.

“What did you find?”

He didn’t bother pretending that she didn’t. They both knew Ruzry wouldn’t be here so early if she hadn’t found something.

“Tell me about Holds.”

“Holds?” Brair stumbled.

“A Hold on an Initiate in the Reassignment system. What does that tag mean?”

“Oh.” Brair blinked, trying to shift his brain from all the things he thought they’d be talking about in relation to Obi-Wan. “A Hold is supposed to be used when someone says the Force has told them this child should be their padawan.”

That… is not what Ruzry had been expecting. Brair tapped on the door and Trion sent out a floating holo-screen. One-handed, Brair tapped in his credentials and logged into the Initiate System – a complicated enough password that Ruzry didn’t feel like shaming him. Even less so because a few of his hair tentacles slid free from the bun to curl around her exposed throat, like a prehensile hug.

“What kind of access do you still have?” She asked.

“Not Reassignment Council level, but Trion and I have a chart to keep track of everyone tagged with mechanical skill so the Knights and Masters in my division can meet them. After this I think I’m going to make them a schedule and refuse to help them on their projects until they’ve met everyone.”

He tapped into the massive spreadsheet of tagged information and slid to a column labelled “Master.’ “There are tiers of tags in this area. There’s ‘Potential,’” Brair scrolled a few lines to point out the word attached to several children, “where someone or whatever system each division uses to sort through Initiates has found a potential Master for the Initiate, but neither party has expressed an interest. Then there’s ‘Interest,’ which indicates that some Knight or Master has expressed an interest in the Youngling, but it hasn’t gone any further. Then there’s ‘Desire,’ which is where they’ve expressed a desire to claim the Initiate, but haven’t done so for whatever reason. Then there’s ‘Claim,’ where the Initiate and Knight have come to an agreement that, whenever the time is right, they will be partners.”

Brair tapped out of the screen and back into the personnel file for one of the Knights in his division. “Hold doesn’t turn up on the ‘Master’ column because people tag it at the same time as the tag that says where they are in the process, and those tags take precedence.”

He clicked through the Knight’s file to the ‘Padawan’ subfile, which linked to the profile of a Youngling with bright purple eyes and four arms. “Along with the ‘Hold’ tag, there’s space to describe what Force-guidance they received saying the child should be their Padawan.” He scrolled to the bottom of their linked page. “See, Knight Epol went to Corellia for one of their massive Swoop Races, and one of the pit workers brought their child.” Brair ran his fingertip across the screen while he read off the story.

“Epol had a vision of the girl here at the Temple in mechanic’s clothes, goggles over her eyes, popping up from behind a table because some experiment they were working on exploded. In the vision, she laughed and said, , ‘told you so, Master.’ Then the vision stopped. We made sure to require an explanation in the streamlined system because some people were putting in Holds just to have first dibs.”

“What would happen if you expressed an interest in Epol’s future Padawan?”

“What do you mean?” Brair shifted far enough away to look at her.

“If you tried to put a Hold of your own, or express an interest in the system?”

“I’ve never tried.”

“Do it.”

Brair pulled the Youngling’s file back up and tagged the child with a Hold, then typed in the waiting box that it was a test of the system, ‘Don’t be upset with me, Epol.’

“No.” Ruzry interrupted. “Leave it blank.”

“You can’t. It won’t process the Hold without something in there.”

“Say you had a vision. Just that.” Brair typed it in, then paused. Ruzry nodded, because that was good enough for their purposes. Brair clicked submit, and almost immediately the statement of interest was bounced back with a form e-mail apologizing, but this Youngling had a Hold placed on them. The Force had chosen another Master.

Brair hmmed and his tentacles drummed along their shoulders like fingers across a desk.

“Hmm?” Ruzry prodded.

“A second Hold should, for lack of a better term, counteract the other Hold, and both of us should be called in for a conversation. Not outright rejection of the second Hold.” Brair looked to Ruzry, silently asking what she needed him to do next.

Ruzry reached out and plugged her slicing tool into the screen and opened the facsimile of Obi-Wan’s file. She ignored the furrow of Brair’s brow and tapped through the boy’s file, just like Brair had shown her. He blinked at the list of names who’d expressed interest in Obi-Wan but still let him go, then his hair wriggled at the utter lack of tags from any of them, even a simple ‘Potential.’

Ruzry clicked on the ‘Master’ subfile and there was the name Master Yoda with a Hold tag… and nothing else.

Brair’s tentacles retracted to him as he lurched forward and clicked around, making sure the screen hadn’t played a trick on them. “There should be a statement here. Even something small that said he had a vision, or felt something at all. The system shouldn’t accept this. What’s more, a Hold is supposed to be verified by someone on the Reassignment Council. A living, breathing person should have seen this and they would’ve noticed Yoda hadn’t said anything.”

“Try and file a Hold on Obi.” Ruzry said. Brair did and got the same form message kicked back. His tentacles writhed in displeasure.

“Why is this one worse to you?” Ruzry asked.

“Because an outright rejection on Epol’s Hold I could understand. He had a clear, verified vision and the child’s parents only released her to the Temple to be in his care. But this… an outright rejection with nothing verified… that shouldn’t happen.”

Ruzry propped her chin on Brair’s shoulder, letting the tentacles flop over her hood. “Let’s say you knew the ins and outs of Holds. So, when you had a vision and were certain that Obi-Wan was to be your Padawan but got this notice saying the Youngling had already been Force-claimed, you had questions. The only person to ask would be Master T’un, so let’s say you manage to get yourself in front of him when he was awake enough to understand what was going on. You’d still end up being told that Grandmaster Yoda had Force-claimed the boy as a padawan. No one is going to challenge that.”

“But…” Brair twisted around, and gods, she loved how innocent he was. “Yoda is the one who sent Obi-Wan away.”

“Yes, he is.”

“But, did he change his mind about taking Obi as a Padawan?”

“‘He didn’t change his mind. He didn’t Force-claim Obi at all.”

“But…” Brair’s tentacles stiffened in shock. “What?”

“He put the hold on Obi-Wan for Jinn. Waiting for his Grandpadawan to get his shit together and forming a wall around Obi with his own reputation until he did.”

<<You have no proof that it wasn’t an 800-year-old Grandmaster misunderstanding the system.>> Master Tyvokka’s deep voice rumbled through the dark. Brair nearly jumped off the crate.

“How do you do that?” He clutched at his heart, which was too startled to even think about getting back under control.

<<Practice.>>

It would have to be an enormous amount of practice to conceal a 300-something-year-old Wookie roaming around in what was rapidly becoming morning. That commentary wouldn’t help though, so Brair looked back and forth between the two Shadows. “I’ve been keeping him updated,” Ruzry shrugged at Brair. “And I messaged him after I found the Hold.”

“That’s, uh… why?” He was a grown ass Jedi Master. He voice didn’t crack.

<<Because,>> Tyvokka stepped out of a shadow that shouldn’t have held him, and certainly shouldn’t have hidden his sage-brown robes, <<the information you’ve gathered presents a terrible, systemic problem, whether or not Yoda was deliberate in his machinations.>>

“Yoda was certain in his conversation with the other Masters that Obi-Wan needed to fight for Jinn again.”

“What conversation?” Brair asked. Ruzry hadn’t mentioned this.

“After Bruck claimed Obi-Wan attacked him, some of the High Council members had a conversation about whether Obi-Wan should be expelled immediately for such dangerous behavior as Bruck claimed. Yoda called in a training droid who’d seen the entire fight to testify. It did, and Yoda swore Obi-Wan needed to fight for Jinn. They trusted his opinion on the matter.”

Brair sputtered. That was a whole different level of ‘terrible and systemic’ than Brair had been thinking. Especially since kicking children out of the Order wasn’t the purview of the High Council. But Tyvokka answered first.

<<That might’ve been because the Force told him that young Kenobi was meant to be Jinn’s Padawan. This could all be a misunderstanding.>>

Wookie Master or not, Brair bristled. “I have a twelve-year-old asleep on my cot who got thrown out of the Order because of that misunderstanding.”

<<Peace, Master Brair. Yoda is capable of making such a mistake because of terrible flaws in the system. That is the primary concern.>>

“Flaws that damaged young Initiate Kenobi and an entire Initiate class in the wake.” Ruzry drolled.

The two of them could spar for hours, and Brair wasn’t in the mood. “What do we do?”

<<You go to bed, Master Brair. The heart-broken twelve-year-old confined to your hangar will remain, and you will need your strength.>>

“And you, Master Tyvokka?” Ruzry asked like she knew the answer.

The great Master sighed. “My Shadows and I apparently have a locked computer system to investigate.”

Ruzry’s grin was the same one she pulled right before she made Brair come in less than a minute. “Um?” Brair asked, forcing his mind out the gutter when trapped between an ancient Jedi and a child depending on him.

“Don’t worry.” Ruzry patted him and, yes, she knew damn well what Brair had been thinking about. “I started sending Tyvokka files the moment Yoda’s name appeared in Docent Vant’s log as the person who gave Obi-Wan his orders.”

“What?” Again with the new information.

She wrapped one his tentacles around her ungloved hand and skin-to-skin contact like that was just. not. on. “Now, I need permission from my Master of Shadows to extend my search to the Master of Initiates.”

Before Tyvokka could give it officially, MO popped through the door mid-complaint about helping OB-1. <<He is my Organic! You are inefficient about his proper care and feeding!>> The little droid zipped right to Tyvokka’s feet and complained up the nearly three meters feet to a creature that could literally step on him and crush him out of existence. <<And I know who comes and goes and all the documents better than anyone! And he is my Organic now.>>

Brair froze, ready to stumble over and save the mouthy little droid from itself. But it rocked back and forth on its wheel, like Obi-Wan did when he trying to be brave enough to speak. <>

Force help him, MO popped his electroprod hand and sparked it. At a Wookie. <>

Ruzry buried her face in Brair’s shoulder to keep from insulting MO with her laughter. The great Jedi had no such qualms. He rumbled a chortle and leaned down to brush a furry paw over MO’s head. <<Just so, little one. The slicers will grant you access.>>

MO beeped in pride, like the job was all but done.

@@@@@

Qui-Gon breathed in the lukewarm steam of his tea and slipped into a light meditation. The Monument had come out of hyperspace to make the change to the Hydian Way and immediately been attacked by pirates. The Whiphid and Arconan passengers who’d had little to do with one another on the journey thus far had entrenched themselves on their different parts of the ship and driven the pirates back before they could take any slaves.

Qui-Gon had spent the aftermath carrying people to the medbay, then using what little Force healing he had to stabilize the wounded long enough for the medics to do their work. Now, he was taking a short break for tea before he went to the Captain to see if he could piece together why pirates had come after a decently-armed vessel carrying a Hutt and enough ‘workers’ that Offworld Mining would come looking for blood.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and breathed in the bitter tang of over-steeped tea, a better meditation focus than the burnt keratin odor of his own blaster-singed hair.

Of course, before meditation could come, the voice of responsibility piped up to remind him that he had one more thing to do before the investigation. He had not seen former Initiate Kenobi anywhere in the medbay helping with the injured. (Which told him plenty about the boy’s character. Xan wouldn’t have lessened himself to help with the injured either.)

Qui-Gon knew that Yoda had told him about Kenobi’s presence on the ship because he wanted Qui-Gon to change his mind and take the boy on. Honestly, his Grandmaster had likely only given Qui-Gon this assignment to provide him opportunities to stumble across the boy. But Kenobi had proven yet again that he was not fit to be a Jedi.

Kenobi hadn’t struck Qui-Gon as too prideful to help the wounded – like Xanatos had been – just angry. But the path to the Dark led them all to the same place because Kenobi wasn’t there helping.

But Qui-Gon Jinn was still a Jedi Master, and until the boy was safely in the arms of the Agricorps, Qui-Gon would see to his wellbeing. An especially important task when slavers were involved. All manner of terrible things were known to happen to young Force sensitives out in the galaxy. (Qui-Gon believed that was half the reason parents were willing to give up their children to the Order, despite the difficulty of a Jedi’s existence.)

“Excuse me,” Qui-Gon interrupted one of the passing medics and asked to check the passenger manifest on the medbay’s crew computer.

“Master Jedi? The Captain already announced that everyone has checked in after the attack. No one is missing.”

“I know,” he soothed. “But one of the Temple’s children is on the ship to join the Agricorps on Bandomeer. The Temple will ask me to make sure that they’re well.” With long experience, Qui-Gon faked the ‘my boss is going to require it of me’ exhaustion that was so effective on workers everywhere.

The medic nodded and led Qui-Gon to an outmoded computer station in the medbay’s corner where they pulled open the passenger manifest. “Name?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Six-fingered hands typed in the name. Only to be met with a harsh beep that Qui-Gon didn’t need the medic’s furrow to know meant something negative. “Right. The manifest says there was a ticket for Obi-Wan Kenobi, but he never boarded.”

“What?” Qui-Gon straightened.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, age 12, scheduled for boarding between 4:00 and 6:00 p.m. on Coruscant’s Landing pillar Enth-75. But his ticket was never scanned.”

“Are you certain?”

The medic waved Qui-Gon over to check for himself. “Right there.”

Qui-Gon clicked through to verify. “Thank you for your help.”

The medic hummed and then went back to their work, leaving Qui-Gon to stare at the blank information of a missing child. Perhaps the boy had been recalled to the Temple? But no, Yoda would’ve told him. It was far more likely that the boy ran away instead of joining the Corps. Which meant a half-trained, angry, prone-to-Darkness Initiate was running around Coruscant unsupervised.

Qui-Gon heaved a great sigh and swallowed his now-cold tea in a gulp. With a nod to the medics, he swept out of the medbay to the ship’s comm deck. He hated to demand special privileges denied to the rest of the passengers, but he would use the best technology the Monument had to offer to get the warning back to Yoda before the boy could do any harm.

Chapter Six

It was not 300 years as a Shadow that had taught Tyvokka how to lurk unseen in the shadows, but the dark winters in the great forests of Kashyyyk. Terrible creatures lurked at the base of those massive trees, beings that would tear a young Wookie in half and drink the marrow of their bones and no Wookie was fast enough to run. All a child could do was hide and pray. At least, all that most Wookies could do. Tyvokka had learned to walk in the shadows before he ever stepped foot in the Jedi Temple. In truth, the shadow walking was what had made his clan willing to give him up to a world without trees and people without fur.

Furless they might be, but still, they were Tyvokka’s people. Still his cubs, even when he had no claim to them.

Thus, Tyvokka lurked in the dark beyond the streak of sunlight that came through the hangar’s entrance and watched the little Human spin one of the probability droid’s floating holo-screens around and gesture emphatically at some piece of data, like that would convince the little dock droid he was right.

It didn’t. The tiny, boxy thing popped out an electroprod to make its point, and Obi-Wan’s shouted, “You can’t just shock me to win the argument!” echoed across the hangar. (Brair buried his face in an engine to keep the children from seeing him laugh.)

It was to this scene that Tera Sinube arrived, stepping through some back door to the hangar and into the great shadow that Tyvokka himself cast so he wouldn’t interrupt.

Their hundred-year friendship – and Tera’s own assumptions about Tyvokka’s temper based upon what little the Wookie must already know – meant Tera did not waste time on vagaries or the lie that he would be here of all places if he didn’t know at least the basics of what had the Master of Shadows out spying on an Initiate this fine afternoon.

“Qui-Gon Jinn was attacked by pirates on his way to his assignment on Bandomeer.” Tyvokka grunted in acknowledgement. “After the attack was the first time he checked for the Initiate nominally in his care and discovered that the child never boarded. He immediately commed Yoda to let him know the child went rogue. Yoda is disappointed in his belief that the child left the Temple and the Order rather than join the Corps. ‘Leave, Yoda will not, such a talented pupil to the whims of the galaxy.’”

<<And so, he called you.>>

“I am the Order’s specialist on Coruscant crime,” Tera hummed. “Of course, common sense led me to look first at the footage of the child’s departure time. Lo and behold, there were traces of my fellow Shadows in the security cam files. I logged into our system to see what my fellows already knew, and found an open file on a child not missing.”

Which was Tera’s winding way of asking what was going on, and what it was they knew, and why they were keeping everything quiet. Tyvokka plucked a padd from the satchel bound to the side of his belt and handed it over without looking away from the child, who now had the probability droid running hypotheticals to prove the dock droid wrong.

(He made a mental note to tell MO that whatever he’d done to help Obi-Wan look into his own security footage, it had left traces in the system for Tera to discover. Ruzry wouldn’t have left any such evidence. Which left only the boy and his pet droid. Or rather, the droid and his pet boy.)

Tera took his time looking through the file – as he always did – reviewing the basics that had led them here, and the damning information that the Shadow slicers had discovered when they looted T’un’s closed system. The old bastard hadn’t properly processed an Initiate in over a decade. The best explanation any of them could find for why things had continued to function as well as they had was Force intervention and other Division Heads like Master Brair who had been running their own separate systems to make sure they got the students they needed. The Technical, Pilot, Librarian, and to a lesser extent Medical and off-planet Teaching Divisions had come out just fine. But the Knight branch of the Order was trending so severely towards understaffed that the Knights would be a shell of themselves inside the next twenty years.

Tera hummed. “And Master Tu’n’s head is still attached to his body.” A few hundred less years of practice and Tyvokka wouldn’t have let it be. “What are you going to do?”

Tyvokka glanced down at this old friend. Because that wasn’t a tone that said Tera was asking about T’un. Tera tilted his long, lizard-like head at Obi-Wan, who’d turned his fight with the droid into something collaborative, dragging bits from their two screens into a third joint screen, the little droid on a crate the boy had pulled over so they could stand side-by-side.

Ah, Tera was asking what Ruzry had implied a dozen times since the investigation officially began: was he going to take young Kenobi as a Padawan? Tyvokka gave a moment to the aching knowledge that he was too old to take another cub, too entrenched in the Council at a time when they would desperately need him to help change their ways.

<>

“Not the Force?”

<<Not unless you believe that luck is a child of the Force. We failed him and chance saved him.>>

“Hmm.” Tera tapped his walking stick in thought. “I never liked to trust to chance.”

<<No one with sense does.>>

Tera stayed with him in silence, contemplating Tyvokka knew not what, and leaving Tyvokka be while he watched the boy start up whatever project he and the dock droid had been arguing over. And if every so often the boy stopped what he was doing to breathe through some reminder that he was trapped in a hangar while other people decided his fate, no one needed to know.

As they all sat in silence, Tyvokka trailed his fingers through the threads of the Force around him, looking down paths to the future and trying to feel where they might lead, what step the Force would have them take. But the Force was curiously silent on the subject. It had been silent for days, no matter the evidence uncovered. Which was why Tyvokka was here, where the whole mess had begun, hoping that the Force had something to show him before it would speak. But it stayed silent, leaving him with nothing but a clear view of the bright child their ambivalence had almost destroyed, the one saved when who knew how many were not.

A comm from Ruzry interrupted the reverie, and he and Tera slipped off to the deep Shadow portions of the Temple. The project had been relocated from Ruzry’s office to one of the main computer chambers where three of their best slicers had been ensconced before their large screens for days – despite Tyvokka’s best efforts to remind the youths that sunlight and fresh air were essential to their brain function. They claimed the colorful backlighting protected their eyes and performance. (Tyvokka didn’t believe them, but they were adults, no matter they only had a few decades. They also seemed to find it ‘cute’ when he said he was worried about their brain function as people, not their performance.)

Mxab, a Mon Calamari, was the lead slicer on this project – Tyvokka believed they’d done rock, flimsi, saber and he’d lost. The youngling twisted around in his chair while the other two kept typing, then stopped halfway through his first consonant at the sight of Tera standing next to Tyvokka. As far as they knew, Tera hadn’t been read in yet, but after the three glanced at one another, they shrugged it off and pressed on.

“Right. We’re not all the way through the Reassignment system, but we’ve got enough info to answer the questions you gave us to start with and to meet the burden of proof.” The young Mon Calamari typed something with his webbed hand and brought up several charts on the large, central screen. “We can confirm that at least seven Initiates have been sent away in the last five years without proper training for their Corps posts. To begin, we went with an initial five-year search period and plan to work our way back, but we’ve found older files miscategorized in the five-year time frame, and some files without dates at all that we’ve had to set aside for later sorting, so I can’t call the seven a final number. But, of the properly dated, properly sorted files for Initiates sent to the Corps in the last five years, seven without training is approximately 10%.”

<<What delineates the other 90%?>>

Dann, a truly young Human, tapped their own keyboard and the chart changed. Over their shoulder they said, “Of the 72 Initiates sent into the Corps in the last five years, 24 were marked for a Corps path within their first two years of lessons. 37 were identified for the Corps before their Gathering. And the remaining 11 were marked after their Gathering but before their last year of training when people start actively looking for a Master.”

Tyvokka looked to Mxab, who shrugged. “That’s basically it. The other 90% of Initiates were clearly marked for a Corps path and their Docents knew what needed to be done.”

“There’s a strong correlation between the Corps area they ended up in and the age they learned the skill,” a mellow Chandrilan added. “The children sorted for Educorps were almost all sorted last because they didn’t know enough to figure out they liked teaching, while the Medcorps and Agricorps children were marked early because of Force gifts.”

Mxab shrugged again. “The Docents and Instructors saw the gifts, marked the files, and sorted the children into the appropriate classes without anyone on the Rass Council needing to tell them to do it. It probably helped that plenty of our Youngling teachers came through of the Corps themselves and they’ve got experience with the other Corps divisions. They would mark people as well-suited for certain Corps and, from what we can tell from the people who made notes, just told the other Instructors about it. The Corps took care of their own.”

<<And the seven?>>

“All marked for the Knight path so the Corps didn’t look out for them.”

<<Their Docents?>>

Mxab hesitated. The young Human didn’t have that compunction. “Don’t seem to give a shit.”

Mxab flushed lilac. “They missed the wave. While the Corps Docents and Teachers knew enough to step into the gap and take care of themselves, the Knights…”

“Are used to being taken care of and so expected it.” Tera leaned heavily on his cane.

Mxab stayed lilac, but all he could do in the face of the truth was shrug again. “They aged out and got thrown into the Corps ill-prepared.”

Tyvokka was not growling. He was not an animal. But there was a silent rumbling in his chest that was in danger of becoming a growl if he didn’t meditate to handle it. Tera stepped in. “Please tell us about Initiate Kenobi.”

The Human snorted, and Mxab intervened. “There are several active Initiates with Holds placed on them. Unlike Kenobi, every other Hold has the proper documentation where the Master explained when and where the Force told them they were a match. But… as far as the system says, none of these Holds have had any follow-up from T’un. No verification of their claims.”

Tera was willing to wait, but Tyvokka was starting to boil over and no one wanted an angry Wookie.

Ruzry slipped off the desk she’d been sitting on in a dark corner beside the door, letting them have their interrogation. She leafed through a stack of what Tyvokka was almost certain were flimsi from T’un’s office that they were not supposed to have. But at this moment, Tyvokka was restraining himself from ripping off arms. T’un could spare a few flimsi to satisfy justice.

“Jinn was assigned to Bandomeer, like Obi.” Neither Tyvokka nor Tera reacted. Ruzry rolled her eyes the way the young always did when the Master of Shadows already knew something they were trying to be impressive about. “Jinn got his assignment straight from Yoda, who had a chat with Jinn before he left.” With a quick click, the Human brought up a security vid of Jinn staring artfully at the twisting galaxy in the Star Map room.

“The boy is not my responsibility,” Jinn said, like he was trying to convince himself.

“Certain, are you?” The Grandmaster tapped into the room and on the screen. The two had a vague conversation about Obi-Wan, where Qui-Gon protested that he might choose another Padawan next year, which Yoda doubted. “What of young Obi-Wan? Well, he fought.”

“He fought ferociously,” Jinn countered.

“Yes,” Yoda said. “Like a boy I knew long ago.”

Of course, Jinn interrupted, unwilling to hear anything of his Fallen Padawan, Xanatos, and unable to think that Yoda could be talking about anything else. The Grandmaster argued that Obi-Wan was strong in the Force – as though that was nearly as important as the boy’s curiosity, or his kindness, or that all that had happened over the last few days hadn’t broken his spirit. Strength meant nothing without flexibility, a tree would break in the wind, and a Jedi Master would batter others with his grief and shame.

Jinn had the gall to call Obi-Wan “angry and reckless,” his anger with Master Yoda clear and so clouding his common sense that he didn’t even notice that Master Yoda’s rejoinder that “Not all angry young men to the Dark Side,” was more about him than either Obi-Wan or Xanatos.

Jinn refused again, and Yoda countered, “Very well, but by chance alone we do not live our lives. If take an Apprentice you will not, then in time, perhaps, fate will choose.”

That was weighted, but not quite as damning as Tyvokka had hoped. Ruzry raised a hand and they kept watching. Yoda explained Obi-Wan’s appointment to the Agricorps and Jinn called it a waste of potential – the hypocrite, what potential could a soon-to-Fall child have? – and then he discovered that they were both on the way to Bandomeer.

Then, Jinn narrowed his eyes, the suspicion clearly visible even through the security footage. “The Senate has asked me to go there. You knew this, didn’t you?”

Yoda just hmmed, “I knew it not. But more than coincidence, this is. Strange are the ways of the Force.”

After an argument about the safety of Bandomeer for a young child – at least something in this was to Jinn’s credit – Jinn turned his attention back to the star map, determined to end the conversation. But Yoda always got the last word. “Study the stars you may, Qui-Gon. They have much to teach you, but will it be what you need to learn?” Then Yoda tapped his way out of the room and Dann, the young Human, cut off the vid.

That fact that Yoda banished Obi-Wan months before he was due to age out, that he sent him to an Agricorps station marked for temporary senior Corpsmen, set up a private match before Master Jinn, sent him on the slow craft to Bandomeer with Jinn, and all but told Jinn to take him as a Padawan, after exploiting the system so no one would have the option to take Kenobi. It… looked incriminating. But yet…

“It’s not a confirmation that Yoda did the wrong thing on purpose. It might just be a series of unfortunate events that critically wounded a child.” Tera pointed out, over Ruzry’s frustrated sigh.

Tyvokka left them to their disagreement over how much circumstantial evidence was necessary to counter a lack a true proof. And what the Grandmaster would have to have seen to justify it all. Instead, Tyvokka crouched, elbows on his knees, chin propped on his hands and just thought. He was still as tall as Tera, and some part of him logged the conversation, but Tyvokka needed the Force to speak, to know what direction it would have them walk.

The third splicer, the Chandrilan who’d been more focused on her computer than the presentation, interrupted the argument. “But, it’s Grandmaster Yoda. Perhaps the Force told him what his Grandpadawan wouldn’t hear?”

“Would you want to be trained by a Master who didn’t want you?” Ruzry snapped.

Tera interrupted before the splicer could collapse in a puddle. “How did you get the footage? Personal conversations, especially of Council members, are supposed to be locked down.”

Ruzry grinned, and despite the face mask, Tyvokka could feel her teeth. “MO.”

“Who?”

“The Management Officer droid for Brair’s division and stationed at his hangar had a chat with the Temple mouse droids and they turned it over.”

(Hmm. Perhaps Tyvokka didn’t need to have a conversation with MO about leaving traces in the system after all.)

“Does coercion count when it’s a droid?” The Chandrilan asked. Poor Mxab wobbled his hand in a so-so motion.

“So, without a conversation with Grandmaster Yoda, there is no way of knowing if this was deliberate.” The Chandrilan said. Tyvokka believed her name was Heial?

“There is also no way of knowing that the Force told him about their potential partnership.” Mxab countered.

<<All we know,>> Tyvokka said, and everyone stilled, <<is that the Reassignment system is broken. It serves none of our Younglings well, and serves the Knight-path Initiates worst.>>

He stayed crouched in the silence, watching the threads of the Force wind around them all, mentally tugging on them one-by-one to feel how they led. None of the threads had the clear, ringing certainty that accompanied Tyvokka’s visions. In truth, none of them brought the sort of right feeling that made a path worthy of effort.

Ruzry stepped to his side, but out of the path of his sightline – and some part of Tyvokka recognized that Mxab had rolled his chair out of the way as well.

“What do you want to do?”

<<I’ve been asking myself the same question for days and have no answer.>>

Tera felt his frustration and chortled. “And so, it comes back to the same question where you and I began.”

Tyvokka snorted. <>

“You mean to help all of them, then? Not just Kenobi?” Heial asked.

“That would be the easiest,” Tera pointed out, being Sith’s advocate so Tyvokka could push back and maybe see the path before them a little clearer.

“He does have a list of Masters who wanted him but were blocked because of Yoda’s Hold,” Mxab pointed out. “We could go through the other seven and find out if they had missing matches, and just bring them all back?”

<<And what of the future cubs?>>

“Well,” Ruzry pointed out, “we do have access to T’un’s system. Mxab could just take the whole thing over. Maybe send Master Keio and her systems expertise to be T’un’s ‘aide’ and rebuild the thing when he’s not looking.”

“He always looks when his power is threatened.” Dann said. “You could send Ruzry with Master Keio?” Mxab said. “She can make him think it was his idea.”

Ruzry puckered. “Gross.”

“I meant your talking.” Mxab shrieked. His poor, asexual heart horrified. “You didn’t need to use any pheromones to drag the three of us out of bed to do your splicing for you!”

Dann just rolled their eyes at Ruzry. “Don’t pretend you don’t like a challenge.”

“It’s not a terrible plan.” Tera interrupted before the children could go too far off course. “It wouldn’t be the first time we Shadows have done someone’s job for them. And T’un was prepared to die almost three decades ago. Let him have all the glory he so values and let someone else do all the work with authority they haven’t been granted.”

“And when they’re hauled before the Council?” Heial snapped.

“Getting hauled before the Council means T’un would have to notice that someone is doing his work and be willing to admit that.” Dann countered. Tyvokka made a mental note to have Ruzry question them about precisely what had happened in the Human’s youth to cause such irritation.

“Master Keio and Ruzry will get a slap on the wrist for not doing things the ‘right’ way and the system will be fixed. If worse comes to worst and things aren’t finished,” Mxab continued, “Master Keio and Ruzry can be replaced with someone who should actually have the post.”

<<But that doesn’t fix the problem.>> Tyvokka intoned.

“Do you think we can?” Ruzry asked, all mischief gone.

Tyvokka mourned that they had fallen so far that the younglings in his own care couldn’t trust the Council to do the right thing when they were faced with it. But… neither did he.

Tera leaned against his side. “Tell me, Grandmaster,” he murmured a title Tyvokka had earned, but not been bestowed. “Where does your foresight tell you to walk?”

<<It doesn’t. I cannot sense a path that leads us to growth.>> Tyvokka reached out one furred hand and plucked at a strand of the future only he could see. <<Peace, yes. But it rings hollow and with the sourness of a note struck not quite right. The peace of promising we’ll do better and having someone else shoulder the burden. I see the path to entrenchment.>> He plucked again, another string that had only the thud of a string stopped. <<It has been this way and so this way it must always be this way.>>

“Little Kenobi?” Ruzry asked, worried for friends old and new.

<>

Ruzry took a knee beside him, coming up to his shoulder. “Brair has been teaching Obi-Wan to build.”

The strange tangent pulled his gaze from the threads of the Force and to Ruzry’s real and present face, her mask gone, nothing but the honesty of her soft pink skin and bright blue eyes. “Obi is decent at it, not gifted, but decent. And his fine Force control is growing. Obi asked Brair why he doesn’t just use the Force to build things all the time. Brair said the Force helps him focus and helps him control, but it doesn’t tell him what to do. He has years of study and experience, and a wealth of common sense, and the Force doesn’t, shouldn’t override those.”

Ruzry bumped into his shoulder. “I laughed when I heard them, because it sounded almost identical to the speech you gave me when I said I wanted to become a Shadow.” The splicers all laughed too, because they had been given the exact same speech. Every Shadow who’d joined their ranks under Tyvokka’s Mastery had gotten the same. Ruzry grinned at them all, and dropped her voice, deep and gruff. “For all the Force can warn you of things to come: first, begin by not being an idiot.”

Tyvokka rumbled out a laugh that faded into a sad sigh.

<<We must try.>>

“Try what, Grandmaster?” Tera asked.

<<I will sacrifice none of the younglings to appease the Council. No matter what the future may bring, I cannot live with that. I would rather every adult Jedi bear the pain of change than I would let things go on as they have to the detriment of our cubs. To the children we have already sacrificed to our complacency.>>

Tyvokka rose, towering over them all with more than his height.

<<They all must be reviewed. And the system must be rebuilt for their benefit.>> The three splicers nodded and swiveled their chairs back to the screens to start going through the entire computer system.

Ruzry reached for her comm. “You want me to read Keio in on being T’un’s ‘aide’?”

<<No.>> Everyone paused and turned back to him. <<First, we must speak with Grandmaster Yoda.>> Dann snorted, while Heial glared at them.

“Speak with him about what?” Ruzry asked, tentative.

<< Heial is right.>> Her glare turned smug. <<The system is broken and it must be fixed. But, did the Grandmaster know it was broken and choose to profit from it instead of correct it?>>

That thought sent a ripple of discomfort through the Force. Even Dann, with all their objections, didn’t like the thought.

<<Or did he exploit a loophole in a system he thought was fully functioning?>>

“The second,” Heial said, with all the conviction of the young who believed in their leaders.

<<So I hope.>>

“What does it matter?” Dann said. “It’s still broken.”

<<What matters is who we must fight to fix it. If the Grandmaster thought everything was fine, he will be convinced to let me spearhead the change in the broken system.>>

“And he didn’t? If he knew?” Dann asked.

Tyvokka stepped forward and put his large paw on Dann’s thin, Human shoulder. <<Then at tomorrow’s High Council meeting, I will call for a Grand Council.>>

“A what?”

<>

“The High Council won’t agree.” Ruzry warned.

<<Perhaps. But we will have given them chance.>>

“And when they don’t?”

<<Enough people will know that they must step into the gap and we will run a shadow system to protect the cubs while we wait for T’un to die.>>

Chapter Seven

Old, Yoda may be, but knew he did when he was being followed. Yoda broke away from the Council members he was chatting with on his way to this morning’s High Council meeting and floated his chair over to the balustrade that overlooked the wide-open space of the Grand Hall. Children ran along, late leaving breakfast and on their way to lessons. Yoda tucked up against one of the large pillars, making himself easy to miss for passing, idle conversation and waited for his follower.

Tera took the privacy for the invitation it was and tapped his way over, letting the cane make him look particularly old. His age kept the Younglings – and almost everyone was a Youngling to him – from coming up to chat.

He joined Yoda at the rail, both taking a moment to watch the children. By Force or chance, Tera didn’t know, but three of the children run-walking past were Kenobi’s little friends. The Dressellian still had half a breakfast sandwich in his hands, with a female Mon Cal hurrying him on, and a Human laughing more than walking and making everything worse. Even from up here, Tera could feel the Mon Cal’s frustration in the Force. She snapped something that made the other two stop with tangible sorrow. The Mon Cal apologized, and the Human scooped the other two into a hug before he ushered them forward. Tera couldn’t hear them that far away, but he could imagine that missing their fourth had thrown them out of balance, and fastidious little Obi-Wan was the one who had helped the Mon Cal get them everywhere on time.

“News, you have for me?” Yoda asked.

“Initiate Kenobi was held up by the droids on the artisan docking platform by a flimsiwork problem.” Yoda’s ears popped up. “The hangar’s Management Officer droid could be thorough because so few depart from the dock. He checked Initiate Kenobi’s departure documents, found he wasn’t in the system, and insisted they review everything before he be allowed to leave.”

“Stay, young Kenobi did.” Yoda sighed in relief.

Tera smiled at the mental image of Obi-Wan getting dragged around by that little droid. “Stay, young Kenobi had no choice in. He’s basically been on Droid lockdown ever since. They didn’t know what to do. Young Kenobi has documents sending him away, but there are no official orders releasing him from the Jedi Order. They can’t send Young Kenobi on to the Agricorps because he doesn’t have orders, but he can’t go back to the dorms because he has orders enough.” Tera snorted. “The flimsiwork droids are locked in a logic loop about what to do with him.”

“Safe, young Kenobi is.”

“Yes.”

“Something, that is.” Yoda sighed, then remained suspiciously quiet.

“I thought I might help the droids solve their dilemma, so I looked at young Kenobi’s file.”

Yoda didn’t speak, but his ears dipped.

“Young Kenobi has only perfunctory plant aptitude. Why send him to Bandomeer? We don’t have any Agricorps permanently stationed there to supervise his training. It seems a poor fit.”

Yoda harumphed.

“Unless, it wasn’t about Bandomeer?”

“Partners, they are meant to be. Seen it, I have. Stubborn, Qui-Gon is being.”

Tera didn’t bother pretending that he didn’t know Initiate Kenobi’s file inside and out. Yoda wouldn’t have asked Tera to look if he cared about keeping it hidden. “And your lineage has always responded well to being compelled.”

Yoda grumbled. “Care, Qui-Gon does. Complained, he did, about the assignment, but asked questions about young Kenobi he did as well. Upset with me, he was, when told him I did that young Kenobi was to Agricorps to go. A waste, he thought it.”

“A waste, did he do anything about?”

“No, stubborn he is being.”

“And you thought two weeks on a slow ship to Bandomeer would put them in one another’s company?” It was likely also why Yoda had given Obi-Wan pickup orders from such a strange dock. Jinn would’ve been departing from the regular dock at the same time. Qui-Gon was just petulant enough that he might have refused the mission if he saw the boy getting on the same ship and had an inkling what his Grandmaster was plotting.

“Meant to be, they are.” Yoda tapped his fist on the arm of his chair in lieu of stomping his stick. “Needed space to see it, Qui-Gon did. Mission to Bandomeer he already had been assigned. Away from the Temple he would have gone, and chosen by another Kenobi would have been.”

“Ah. That’s why you sent young Kenobi away three months early. Just to be with Jinn.”

Tera Sinube was a Master Jedi who had spent decades hunting the criminal element throughout the galaxy and across Coruscant in particular. He could interrogate better the most terrifying crime lords in the galaxy. But Force-null criminals were something quite different than a Grandmaster Tera had known his entire life and who had 400 years of experience on him.

Tera’s face and voice said, ‘tell me more.’ But his Force presence leaked displeasure. Yoda couldn’t help but feel a ripple of it and straightened up.

“Meant to be, they are. Decreed it, the Force has.”

Tera nodded, unwilling to lie with his mouth. That agreement was compliant enough for Yoda to believe.

“Back to the Creche young Kenobi will have to go. Wait there, he will, until Qui-Gon returns.”

Tera nodded. “I’ll tell the logic-trapped droids.”

Yoda went to float away, then turned back. “Return him to the Creche, I will. So that apologize to him, I may, for the trouble.” Tera smiled and bowed. As though all was forgiven and forgotten, and Yoda had fixed the source of Tera’s disapproval. With a nod, Yoda went floating down the hall.

Tera had no High Council meeting to be to, so he stayed there, looking over the balustrade at slow-moving Knights and Masters plodding through their day.

Only a lifetime of moving about the shadows with one another enabled him to feel Tyvokka eavesdropping from the other side of the pillar. Silent and invisible as the best hunters, Tyvokka would slowly unravel the Force wound around him to block everyone’s senses. There would be no sharp and jarring drop of concealment, just a slow realization. By the time Tyvokka reached the High Council chamber, there wouldn’t be a trace of shadow on him, no suggestion for what he had overheard, no displeasure at Yoda’s blasé concern about Obi-Wan, for his utter lack of thought about what would’ve happened to the boy if Qui-Gon still hadn’t chosen him, leaving the boy on Bandomeer with no training and no supervision, all but consigning him to abduction and slavery.

And no warning thought for what Tyvokka was about to do.

@@@@@

Brair grabbed Obi-Wan under the arms and hoisted him onto Trion’s counter so he could better see the hard light projection against the only wall in the room without any shelving. Ruzry and Trion had been conspiring about something for most of the morning, and… whatever Obi-Wan expected the image to be, it wasn’t to have the High Council room come into focus.

“Is that the…?”

“Yup.” Obi-Wan could hear Ruzry’s smirk behind the face mask as she hopped up beside him. “I’m very good.”

“Are you tapped into the security footage from the High Council chamber?”

“Of course not! That would be beyond my mandate.”

But… they were watching projections of Councilors trailing into the round room. Obi-Wan looked to Brair, who was busy bringing in an armful of snacks. “There is no security footage from the High Council chamber.” Brair explained. Obi-Wan furrowed in confusion. “She dropped off a camera last night.”

Obi-Wan whipped around to stare at her. “You what?!”

“I told you.” Ruzry popped open a bag of chips and removed the mouth filter on her mask. “I’m very good.”

“Are we allowed to do that?”

“‘We,’ no. I am a Shadow.”

“So, you get to break rules?”

“I’m ‘information gathering,’ not rule breaking.”

Those appeared to be the same thing right now, but Obi-Wan didn’t want to argue the ethics of hidden cameras in the High Council chamber when that Council was about to have a conversation that would control the rest of his life.

Instead, Obi-Wan popped a bag of his own and wondered how in the Force he’d gotten here.

Obi-Wan had woken that morning to Ruzry and Master Tyvokka sitting in the hangar outside Trion’s door drinking tea in lotus pose. “Masters?” He bowed. “Are you well?”

Obi-Wan knew Ruzry well now, and it was impossible not to know Master Tyvokka on sight. (If asked, Obi-Wan would say that was because he was one of the two Wookies currently in the Order. But in truth, Obi-Wan had written a paper about Master Tyvokka’s handling of the Hem-Djii Conflict.) As it was, Obi-Wan had blushed at the sight of the Jedi, and even now, hours later, he tried not to remember Ruzry’s smirk about it.

(Ruzry looked completely Human in the few glances of skin and unobstructed face Obi-Wan had seen. She’d revealed just enough for a snack or to sneak a kiss to Brair when they both thought Obi-Wan wasn’t paying attention. She had warm brown skin, five fingers, and two brown eyes, which meant Human or Near-Human, and the occasional removal meant the clothes likely weren’t religious. But whatever it was that kept Ruzry so covered, Obi-Wan couldn’t figure it out.)

<<Come, Initiate Kenobi.>> Master Tyvokka had waved him close. <<Let me explain to you what will happen this morning.>> Obi-Wan had sat, barely coming up to the Master’s ribcage. Master Tyvokka was tall, even for a Wookie. And his fur was warm, ruddy brown, unlike Crechemaster Hoowrirl’s dark umber. The only sign of the great Master’s age was the greyed fur that began at the bridge of his nose and streaked over his jaw and down into the folds of his robes. Obi-Wan tried to be subtle about sitting taller, but with a flick of Master Tyvokka’s fingers, a crate came sliding behind him.

Obi-Wan went to stand. <<Ah. With the Force please, young one.>>

Obi-Wan had been mortified, but he had to say it. “I can’t. Not without a jump to get started.”

<<Can’t?>> Master Tyvokka hummed.

“No, Master.”

<<Can’t?>>

“Well, I can float when I’m meditating.”

<<Well, then.>> Master Tyvokka set aside his comically small mug. <<Let us meditate.>>

Obi-Wan bit back a squeal. He was meditating with Master Tyvokka!

He had a thousand questions tumbling through his mind and had to quiet them all. Though, the quiet made space for the voice in the back of his head that said he didn’t float every time. It took a deep meditation where he was feeling light, and he didn’t feel light inside today. Trion and MO had warned him yesterday that Ruzry should have news soon, and being here with a High Council member probably meant she had that news. Had they decided what to do with him? Was this a test? If Obi-Wan couldn’t float, did that mean that he couldn’t stay? Had he failed already because he couldn’t do it without jumping?

Master Tyvokka reached out and pressed a large, furry paw to Obi-Wan’s chest. <<Breathe, Initiate.>>

Obi-Wan pressed his eyes closed tight. “I don’t want to fail.”

<<You cannot control if you fail. You can only control how hard you try.>>

Obi-Wan put his hand over the Master’s and breathed with him, all his focus on the soothing heat of Tyvokka’s fur. Soon enough, Obi-Wan had been floating. Master Tyvokka had pushed back on Obi-Wan’s chest so he floated in the air above the crate. Though, the moment Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he dropped.

<<What were you worried about?>> Master Tyvokka asked with a sharp-toothed grin. (They both ignored Ruzry’s smirk.)

“MO told me that Ruzry had news for me. About what’s going to happen to me.”

(The droid beeped a confirmation from Trion’s office, where they both were doing something they hadn’t told Obi-Wan about. Which wasn’t suspicious at all.)

<<Today at the High Council meeting I will speak with them about the failure of our current system.>>

“Is that… about me?”

<<About you, and about several other Initiates who were sent away without proper preparation for the Corps.>>

“What will happen to me?” Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t supposed to ask the question. He was supposed to be content with whatever the High Council said should happen. But all the fear he’d spent almost a week avoiding came bubbling up in the face of someone who could do something about it.

<>

For all that his words were vague, they were more comforting than they should be. Obi-Wan believed Master Tyvokka. It didn’t do away with the fear that whatever happened at the High Council today, Obi-Wan might still not become a Padawan, but the fear was less gnawing than it had been.

That thought had sustained Obi-Wan through the rest of the morning, when Master Tyvokka left with a few soft strokes to Obi-Wan’s head and went to begin the meeting that would decide Obi-Wan’s fate.

Obi-Wan had thought they’d spend a few hours waiting on the dock for Master Tyvokka to come back, but the second he left the room Ruzry and Brair scrambled for Trion’s office to pull up the image they were now aimlessly watching. The meeting had started, they had yet to reach Master Tyvokka. Ruzry had enough respect to leave the meeting on mute so they couldn’t listen to information that was actually private and didn’t count as ‘information gathering.’ MO had tried to talk her into it, but Trion was the one who refused. (Obi-Wan imagined the probability droid probably had cameras of his own there and just didn’t need the Organics’ tools.)

Still, they kept an eye on things, and when Master Yoda gestured to Master Tyvokka, Trion clicked on the sound without Ruzry having to ask.

“Master Tyvokka, have the floor have you.”

Hard light projections were clearer than holos, but still, it was difficult to see Master Tyvokka properly. Ruzry had stuck the camera above the door frame, a little to the left so they could better see Master Yoda off to the right of the room. But that put Master Tyvokka to the right of the frame, more a one-quarter profile of the Wookie than real sight. But the image was clear enough to see him heave a great sigh that made half the Council lean in with concern.

<<My fellow Masters. I am afraid I must call for a Grand Council.>>

They erupted in so many questions and exclamations that the microphone shorted out and the three Council members shot out of their seats, others with arms waiving, came through as nothing but silence. The sound clicked back on halfway through a mighty Wookie roar to cut through the noise.

<<Further,>> he said into the ringing silence, <>

Obi-Wan blinked at that, but this time he understood why there was yelling. Calling on another Master, that seemed a bit insulting, like Master Tyvokka was telling them they couldn’t be trusted. Amongst the garbled noise, Obi-Wan could pick out, ‘hasn’t been done in four hundred years,’ ‘what has happened?’ and ‘are you sure?’ among bits and pieces of other statements.

Master Poof’s voice rose above the din, the Quermian undulating his long neck and his tone ever so mild. “There are rules in place for the calling of a Grand Council, Master Tyvokka. We cannot simply declare it so. Or are you moving for us to call a Grand Council in the hope that half the High Council will agree with your motion? Or have you already asked the sub-Councils to vote on this matter and half of the total body of all the Councils has agreed?” Master Poof said it like he knew something Master Tyvokka did not.

Ruzry hissed in anger, which made Obi-Wan wonder what kind of insult had just been paid that he didn’t understand. Brair leaned in and murmured that the composition of the other Councils meant that to have half of them, Tyvokka would need to have agreement from everyone else on a Council who didn’t also serve on the High Council, and they’d all had to have kept it quiet for the High Council to be so surprised. (Trion’s floating holo-screen showed a Venn diagram of the overlapping Council members. Master Yoda sat on three. That sounded exhausting.)

“That’s impossible.” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s Master Poof’s point.”

Another voice chimed in with a question about procedure, while another asked if perhaps this was an extraordinary circumstance that meant they didn’t need half, and another said they should just vote, and should vote ‘yay’ because they trusted their own to make such a decision.

Obi-Wan didn’t know how he caught it, but in that one-quarter profile he saw Master Tyvokka stroke his hand through the air above his armrest, almost like he was testing the edge of something sharp.

<> He said with the ring of something old and recited. The echo of his voice rippled through the air like a shockwave, knocking some Members back in their seats and knocking other’s mouths closed.

A dozen floors away and Obi-Wan could feel the edge of it catch them as it passed through the Temple.

On screen, Master Tyvokka let the silence ring like a bell before he said, <>

Obi-Wan looked around the room, because he’d be insulted by that, but no small part of the Council looked moved instead. Master Poof’s long neck swayed like he was still listening to the ring of Master Tyvokka’s words. Master Gallia had her hand pressed to her heart, with what Obi-Wan thought were tears welling in her eyes. Master Yaddle had her face buried in her hands like she was blocking everything else out to listen.

But from that curled ball she said, “Though the Master of Shadows does not need my second to his call, I give it.”

There was a rumble through the Council. Obi-Wan could pick out enough voices in agreement that even if Master Tyvokka couldn’t call for the Grand Council all on his own, he wouldn’t have to anymore.

The image cut out. Master Sinube stood behind the where the image had been, his cane nudging a power cord.

“Hey!” Ruzry objected.

“I walked as slow as I could so you could keep watching, but the meeting will be over soon and we have things we must discuss before then.”

“You think?” Brair asked, surprised. “I thought they’d go for ages longer.”

“Tyvokka waited until the end of the meeting to make the call for a Grand Council. Now that they have agreed, everything that can be tabled will be tabled until such time as the Master leading the Grand Council arrives and grants the High Council approval to discuss certain subjects.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Why do you think?”

Obi-Wan had spent enough time with Master Sinube over the last few days to know he wasn’t testing; he was giving Obi-Wan the chance to think. So, think he did about what had been left out of the Council’s conversation. “Master Tyvokka didn’t tell them why he was calling for the Grand Council.”

“He did not. Which means they cannot move forward on any but the most time-sensitive subjects because they don’t know if it’s outside of their bounds.”

“But they could just ask Master Tyvokka.”

“And he could tell them, ‘yes, you can work on this’ or ‘no, you cannot work on that,’ but soon enough curiosity and common sense would tell them what trouble led to the Grand Council. Then they’d go looking into it, maybe deleting information, changing the results of the study just through mere observation.”

“So, they’ll just be done?”

“No, they’re all in agreement with the Grand Council now, so the only thing to do is nominate someone to lead it. That will take some time, but not much, because there aren’t many Masters not currently serving on the High Council that the High Council would let tell them what to do.”

“You said we had things to discuss?” Ruzry prodded.

“Well, ‘we.’” Master Sinube came to Obi-Wan, who was still sitting on the counter. “If I may,” he nodded at MO, who moved off Obi-Wan’s lap like an irritated tooka. Then Master Sinube put a hand on Obi-Wan’s knee and claimed all his attention. “When the Council meeting is over, Master Yoda is coming to take you back to the Creche.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan exclaimed in excitement. He’d rather someone take him as a Padawan, but getting sent back to the creche at least got him around other Jedi so he might be chosen.

Sizzle POP. Was all MO had to say, and it didn’t quite translate into Basic. Still, Obi understood. He scooped MO back into his arms.

“This is a good thing, MO. I’ll have to leave the hangar, but we’ll still see one another.”

Obi-Wan didn’t care about Brair and Ruzry’s serious looks. They would. He might be a little busy once he found his Master, but Obi-Wan wasn’t the type to abandon his friends. But then, Master Sinube gave Obi-Wan’s knee a little pat. They… they were upset about something else and Obi-Wan didn’t understand what it was.

“What’s wrong with going back to the Creche?”

The adults traded another look and Obi-Wan was getting sick of having to find out things about his own life from the droids. But the droids were plenty reliable because MO was the one who beeped, <<OB-1 is not going back to the Creche. OB-1 is going into storage to wait for Jinn to return.>>

“What?” Obi-Wan swallowed back his grin. Had Master Qui-Gon asked for him? Did he decide that he wanted Obi-Wan after all?

Master Sinube squeezed Obi-Wan’s knee. “Master Yoda believes that you and Master Jinn would be a good pair.”

“Yes.” ‘Clearly,’ Obi-Wan didn’t say, but judging by the little grin, he thought Master Sinube heard it anyway.

“You might turn out to be a good pair if you both gave it a try, but Master Jinn has been explicit about not choosing you.” Master Sinube said.

MO did a minor/sharp two-tone. <<Jinn does not have departure approval for a Padawan at all, let alone a Padawan as great as OB-1.>>

“What?” Master Sinube asked.

Trion – to Obi-Wan’s amusement – used the hard light projector that Master Sinube had unplugged to bring up Master Jinn’s file and highlight a note from his mind healer that Obi-Wan was fairly sure none of them were supposed to see. Specifically, that Master Jinn was to get approval from a mind healer before he was allowed to take another Padawan. Approval that had never happened.

Obi-Wan leaned into Brair’s side and whispered, “Why?”

“Things ended badly with his last Padawan,” Master Sinube said, ignoring the code of pretending you hadn’t heard whispers.

“His Padawan Fell and tried to kill him.” Ruzry said. “You get treatment after that. Did he get any treatment before he was allowed back out in the field?” Ruzry asked MO.

<<No treatment!>> MO beeped.<< He could be malfunctioning!>>

“He’s definitely malfunctioning,” Ruzry grumbled.

“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this,” Brair said. “We can just keep Obi-Wan here!”

“No, we can’t.” Ruzry rejected, with no small amount of compassion to the bit of counter that held, Obi-Wan, MO, and Brair.

“Just until the Grand Council ends and everything is settled.”

“Brair, it’s going to take at least a month to bring everyone in to Coruscant for the meeting. To say nothing of how long the Grand Council will take. You can’t leave the boy stagnating in your hangar for that long.”

“He’s not stagnating. I’m teaching him things.” Obi-Wan nodded.

Ruzry rolled her eyes. “None of us is going to take him as a Padawan, so yes, he’s stagnating.”

Once upon a time, Bruck had snuck past Master Drallig and turned the practice lasers up so high that Obi-Wan’s entire chest turned black and blue when he got a bolt directly to his sternum.

This felt worse than that.

This felt like what Healer Che said might’ve happened in the lecture they got about turning the safeties off: that Obi-Wan’s chest might have caved in. Been carved through with that blaster bolt and had the very heart burned out of him.

Yes. This… felt like that.

None of them would take him.

Brair, who’d been teaching Obi-Wan about mechanics and meditation, who tucked Obi-Wan in at night, and got teased by the droids when he didn’t call him OB-1.

Not by Ruzry, who liked to pop out of nowhere so Obi-Wan and MO would jump. Who kept breaking into systems so Obi-Wan could see what his grades were on the assignments he had turned in before he ‘left.’ Who uploaded all the next assignments to his padd and told him that being stuck in a hangar didn’t mean he was allowed to slack.

Not Master Sinube, who had taught Obi and MO how to better hide their trail through the computer system. And who had told Obi-Wan that his life’s work was to hunt murderers and worse through Coruscant’s underbelly. (Obi-Wan had asked what was worse than murder, and Master Sinube had given him such a sad smile that Obi-Wan had understood why Master Sinube brought it up.)

Not Master Tyvokka who… well, who never would’ve taken Obi-Wan in the first place.

None of them were going to take him. He wasn’t… he wasn’t good enough for any of them.

They had saved him from leaving. They called for a Grand Council because of what happened to him. But they still didn’t think he was worth training.

Worth saving, but not worth training.

“We have no idea how long this will take to come together, or how long the Council will last. And you know that all of us are going to be busy working on getting everything ready for the Council. We can’t just leave him down here to rot!” Ruzry objected to something Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention to.

“So.” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Even if Master Jinn were to choose me, which you think won’t happen,” he nodded at Master Sinube, “he wouldn’t be allowed to take me as a Padawan.”

Brair blinked in surprise, like he thought Obi-Wan had been following along with whatever they were discussing. But his tentacles wriggled in the way Obi-Wan knew meant he was picking up something that Obi-Wan body was giving away that his words weren’t. Brair’s face went soft. “No, he won’t.”

“Well…” Ruzry added.

“No!”

“He’s Yoda’s Grandpadawan! Who knows what else his Grandmaster might let him get away with.” She sneered.

“So.” Obi-Wan interrupted again. “You think I should go back to the Creche?”

“No!” Brair shouted, glaring at Ruzry until she complied.

“But… if I’m—” not wanted, “not able to stay here, and Master Yoda wants me back in the Creche, shouldn’t I go?”

“It’s a choice.” Master Sinube said. “It’s always a choice.”

“What other choice do I have?” Obi-Wan asked. He thought he kept his voice quite level and the tears out of his eyes, but if there was a way to hide chemosignals, he didn’t know it yet.

“You can stay.” Brair said and reached out with hand and tentacles both to soothe Obi. But Obi-Wan shrugged away from the touch. He could feel Brair’s ripple of hurt, but Obi-Wan didn’t have the space to apologize.

Brair didn’t want him. Brair was just being nice. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t need to baby Obi-Wan anymore. Obi knew now.

“Ruzry says I can’t. And you’re all going to be busy helping with the Grand Council. I should do that too.”

“Exactly!” Ruzry said, glancing between Obi-Wan and Brair like she didn’t understand what had just happened. “You can stay and help.”

“No. I can go and help.”

“What?”

“I can go back to the Creche. Ruzry, you were complaining a few days ago that you couldn’t talk to the children because that would be suspicious. I’m not suspicious.”

“Obi, you don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. You said that the Initiates are the ones this problem is hurting, so at some point you’re going to need to get their testimonies. You said it would be the most powerful piece of evidence you could produce. I can get that for you.”

They all looked at him and at each other like they expected someone to say something. Like Obi-Wan’s opinion didn’t count.

He hopped off the desk, standing on his own two feet before them. “I can be useful!”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what he said that was so wrong, but the adults weren’t just not saying yes. They looked like Obi-Wan had said something wrong.

Obi-Wan… he didn’t think he could take that again.

Instead, he seized his height and looked Master Sinube dead in the eye. “I can do it.” They had to say yes. Because Obi-Wan had to go back. He had to get a Master so he could become a Jedi, and everything he’d done so far hadn’t been enough. Even being desperate and thrown out of the Order and making friends with more Jedi Masters than he’d ever spoken to before wasn’t enough.

Obi-Wan had to do something big. Something that would make them see how good he could be before they sent him away one final time. And he wasn’t going to get that here.

“I can do it, Master Sinube. I can.”

“I know you can, young Kenobi.” The old Master waited a long moment, then nodded. “Ruzry, you have a few minutes to teach him the basics of information gathering.”

“You’re sending him back?” Brair objected.

“He can do it.”

“Obi, you don’t have to go.” It was sweet that Brair thought that. That he thought Obi-Wan could just stay in the hangar forever and everything would be fine.

Obi-Wan reached out and gave Brair a pat. “I can do it.”

“I don’t doubt it. I just…”

“If he wants to go, let him go,” Ruzry said. “But Kenobi,” she nudged Master Sinube out of the way and knelt before him. “I need you to understand something: this doesn’t mean you’ll become a Padawan.”

Ah, another blaster to the chest.

“Honestly, by the time you’re done gathering information and giving testimony before the Grand Council, you might be too old. And you might get punished for helping so there will be a mark on your record and you’ll never become a Padawan.”

“Ruzry!” Brair shouted.

“I don’t lie to assets.” Ruzry said, never looking away from Obi-Wan. “People can feel when you lie, and they’ll lie right back to you. But I tell you this, Kenobi. I promise that no matter how long this takes and how much you’re punished, you’ll actually go through the separation process this time so you can make an informed decision and get training to walk a path you choose.”

Ruzry was right. All that truth made him want to tell the truth right back. He wanted to tell her that he’d rather stay here with them, and he’d really rather have one of them choose him as a Padawan. But if they weren’t going to, he had to go. He might not be chosen if he went back to the Creche, but he definitely wouldn’t be chosen if he stayed here. And might was more of a chance than definitely not

But he couldn’t say it.

If he did, they’d well, ten minutes ago he would’ve said they would stop him. But now, he didn’t know. And to be honest, Obi-Wan didn’t want to. He liked the dream that they’d care about him more than he wanted proof that they wouldn’t.

“Not plants.”

Ruzry smiled. “Not unless you suddenly like them.”

Obi-Wan shook his head no, and that was it. Ruzry sighed, and started talking.

Chapter Eight

“I could help you with that?” Obi-Wan offered, and was met, once again, with ringing silence.

Or maybe it just felt that way in his head because his three best friends in the world all froze at the sound of his voice, padds halfway to their hands, bags halfway over their chests.

He’d been listening to them talk about their research project on Alderaanian history and how they couldn’t piece together the differences in the Houses. And, well… Obi-Wan had always been the one to take the lead on their research projects.

He thought he could help.

But instead, they did what they’d been doing for the last five days whenever Obi-Wan tried to talk with them: freeze.

“I…” Obi-Wan swallowed and some part of him prayed that this would be the time it worked. “I’ve got the time?”

Stupid, Obi. He didn’t need to say that. They all knew he had the time because the research project they were working on had been issued while he was… away. The instructor hadn’t folded Obi-Wan into anyone’s group or given him a different assignment. (Obi-Wan had asked, and the instructor had paused and given him that, “Obi,’ which every teacher had given him. The one that meant they thought there was no point because he was going to be sent away again.)

“Thank you for the offer, Obi.” Bant said with a sickly smile.

That meant no.

Crechemaster Hoowrirl had told him again and again that they just needed time. That they didn’t mean to be mean. They’d never had someone come back before and they didn’t know how to handle it. The Crechemaster had leaned down and murmured to him, “Not even the adults.”

For a whole ten minutes that had made Obi-Wan feel better. Then he’d sat down to lunch with his clan, and the people next to him had slid away like temporarily being cast out was an infection Obi-Wan could spread.

Crechemaster Hoowrirl could repeat ‘patience’ to him all she wanted, but it still hurt. It hurt to see Bant, Garen, and Reeft tense when Obi-Wan tried to talk to them, when he just wanted to help.

“I could walk with you?” His voice broke, desperate.

“We’re fine.” Reeft snapped, and they all froze for a new reason.

Reeft had never been angry. Not once in their entire lives. Even now, he looked a beat away from apologizing, but they were all too uncomfortable to get out the words. So, Reeft didn’t apologize, he just gave Obi-Wan sad eyes made sadder by his dropping skin folds, and Obi-Wan’s favorite friends in the world walked away.

Obi-Wan felt like he was throwing himself against a wall that was never going to break, and he knew it, but couldn’t help himself. He had to. Obi-Wan had to get the information Ruzry needed. He had to make them like him again. (If everyone in the Creche knew Obi-Wan shouldn’t be here, the Masters would know too and he’d never get chosen.)

No. Obi-Wan breathed.

He wasn’t thinking those thoughts again. The last time he felt that miserable, Crechemaster Hoowrirl had been able to sense it across the room and dragged Obi-Wan over to play with the toddlers. Afterwards, Obi-Wan hadn’t so much felt better as he’d been too tired to be upset anymore. Today, he was already tired and he worried that if he went to the toddlers, he’d snap at them too. They didn’t deserve it any more than Bant had.

Deep breath. Obi-Wan was just going to go to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Again.

It had always been his favorite spot in the Temple, and now it was necessary to his continued functioning. He’d gone there at least once every day since he’d been back to the Creche. (Honestly, he’d take some blankets and snacks and stay down there all the time if he could, but he had a job to do and so he kept coming back.)

Obi-Wan stepped into the hallway and… frell.

He tried not to swear, even in his head, but standing there, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, and a smirk on his face, was Bruck Chun.

“How’s your day going, Oafy?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Bruck followed, of course.

“I just got back from lunch with Master Dapatian,” he said, a bragging up and down to his voice. Obi-Wan stuttered. He tried not to, but it was so baffling. How? Master Dapatian was supposed to be a brilliant negotiator, and he couldn’t see that Bruck was a bully?

Bruck took advantage of the hesitation and stepped directly in front of Obi-Wan, forcing him to stop before he ran into him. “It’s the second time this week we’ve had a meal together. Just him and me. What have you done this week, Oafy?”

Obi-Wan side-stepped and used all his patience not to knock their shoulders.

Bruck grabbed Obi-Wan by the front of the Initiate whites – that didn’t quite fit because they were someone else’s spares, not his own – and shoved Obi-Wan against a wall. He landed with a jolting smack.

“You shouldn’t be here, Oafy.”

“Master Yoda—”

“Was just being nice because you were too stupid to figure out a ship ticket without an adult holding your hand.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw to keep from shouting that wasn’t what had happened. Master Yoda had apologized to him for the misunderstanding. He’d said that Obi-Wan had grown over the days in Brair’s hangar. That he had a future and the Force had a plan for him. What did it have for Bruck?

“He’s just waiting for another ship to Bandomeer and then you’ll get packed off in the middle of the night again. Just like you should’ve been years ago.”

Obi-Wan snorted. Bruck had been saying that since they were toddling.

“Don’t you get it yet, Oafy?” Bruck shoved again. “It was your pride that made you think you were special in the first place, not reality.”

“My pride?”

“Yes, yours. I’m the one Councilor Dapatian is going to take as a Padawan, Oafy. You’re the one who got thrown out of the Order in the middle of the night.”

“Because you lied!” Obi-Wan snapped.

“And I’m still here! That means they see something special in me! You’re the one who’s going to get sent away again the second another ship turns up! You’re the one stealing time and attention away from people who deserve to be here! Why in the Force do you think that people are ignoring you! They can’t keep pretending anymore!”

Obi-Wan would’ve scoffed if Bruck’s words hadn’t been quite so close to the nightmare running around in the back of Obi-Wan head. The one that he wouldn’t have listened to a week ago but… Brair and Ruzry wouldn’t take him. And his friends wouldn’t talk to him.

Then, for the first time in their entire lives, Bruck’s face softened. It was a look Obi-Wan had never had directed at him. Obi-Wan had only seen it when Bruck was on baby duty and the children were sleeping.

“Obi, I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to get you to accept the truth because no one else has the stomach to tell you. Nobody wanted you. Nobody ever wanted you. You being here just messed everything up for everyone because all the adults were trying to figure out how to tell you. Now you’re gone and they can get back to normal. Bant, Reeft, and Garen all have Masters talking to them now that they’re not having to pull your weight. And me, I’m going to be a Council Padawan, Obi. And you’re going to leave. Just like you always were supposed to.”

Bruck patted Obi-Wan cheek, and it hit with more force than any punch he’d ever thrown. Then Bruck just… walked away. Obi-Wan slouched against the wall, bleeding inside.

Obi-Wan looked up, and their fight hadn’t even taken them out of the Creche hallways. Standing right there were people Obi-Wan would’ve called friends a week ago, people he would’ve been happy to spend time with. Now, they were glancing at him over their shoulders, not one interrupting Bruck. All of them silently agreeing with what they’d overheard and letting Bruck do what they all needed by telling him.

Obi-Wan stumbled away.

He couldn’t stay here.

He had to get to the Fountains.

The world blurred with teardrops starting to fall, and he couldn’t catch his breath. But he couldn’t cry here. He couldn’t hide here.

Bruck was… Bruck was right? Could Bruck be right? He was a bully, and aggressive, and… he was the one a High Councilor was going to take as a Padawan. Obi-Wan was the one who couldn’t even get claimed by the adults who kept telling him how wonderful he was.

Maybe… maybe Obi-Wan was supposed to go?

But if Obi was supposed to go—oh.

Oh, Force. Brair and Ruzry. Tyvokka.

If everyone who knew Obi-Wan well knew he was supposed to be sent away and wasn’t supposed to come back, then maybe Brair wasn’t supposed to have saved him.

Brair and Ruzry had spoken up for him. They had told him he was important and shouldn’t have been thrown away. That the Reassignment Council was wrong, and Master Yoda was wrong.

The three of them had made all these grand plans to fix how Initiates went to the Corps, and they’d been spying on people, and Master Tyvokka had called the first Grand Council in 400 years. All because of him. All because they believed Obi-Wan wasn’t supposed to go.

But… he was supposed to leave.

Everyone in the Creche knew it.

The Grand Council had been called, and the three of them were finally going to see that Obi-Wan didn’t belong here. He never did. They’d sacrificed so much for him, and believed in him, and they were going to find out that they were all wrong and Obi-Wan staying was the mistake.

Obi-Wan hadn’t done as he was told, hadn’t trusted when Master Yoda sent him away and Master Qui-Gon said he was Dark, and now he’d set off a bomb that would end the Darkest way he could think of: betraying a friend.

Obi-Wan stumbled around a corner and, Force help him, crashed into a Jedi.

“Woah, there little one!”

Oh!

“Obi!”

It was Brair. Brair and Ruzry, standing right there, smiling at him.

Obi-Wan’s Force-sense was raw and torn open, letting him feel the burn of their bubbling pleasure at seeing him.

“Just the man we came to see. We came to sneak you out of the Creche to go have some tea with us.”

Obi-Wan just blinked.

Brair leaned in and joked, “It’s not really going to be tea. I tracked down more Human-compatible treats for you.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched in horror. “Obi?” Brair asked, tentacles wriggling as they caught up with Obi-Wan’s chemosignals.

Ruzry nudged Brair aside and crouched before Obi-Wan, like he was a child woken by nightmares.

Which he was, but it wasn’t a nightmare that Obi-Wan could wake from. It was the worst moment of his life.

“What happened?” Ruzry asked.

What happened? What happened was that he’d ruined their lives. They’d get in trouble for going to all this fuss. They’d get in trouble for sticking up for Obi-Wan when they shouldn’t have. When he was broken and supposed to be thrown away.

And he’d ruined his own life too.

If Obi-Wan had just gone to Bandomeer like he was supposed to, he could’ve been in the Agricorps right now. He could’ve been helping the galaxy, working for the Order, but he just couldn’t help himself.

And now they weren’t just not going to take him as a Padawan, they were going to find out how terrible he really was. How wrong they were. How he’d tricked them into thinking he was worth saving.

Brair reached out to touch him. “Obi—”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Obi-Wan sobbed. He could feel their love surging in the Force, the sweet song of their concern and he couldn’t take it.

He ran.

He stumbled between them and down the hall into the Room of a Thousand Fountains searching for a place where his soul could bleed.

@@@@@

Feemor bit back his grin as he nudged over the plate of cookies and poured Tyvokka a scant mug of tea. The tea wasn’t going to do a damn thing to calm the Wookie down, but Tyvokka had long insisted that he was ‘having tea’ when he just wanted to devour an entire box of cookies and everyone chose to play along.

<<Five hours, Feemor! It took them five hours to choose T’ra!>> And there went an entire cookie. <<Most of them agreed immediately. It’s not like there are that many people we would all agree on in the first place, but Dapatian, Tiin, and Rancisis held out for hours.>> And another. <<They insisted that we take the afternoon to meditate on it.>>

“What were they hoping?”

<< Tiin wanted Omo Bouri to head the Grand Council.>>

“His master.” Feemor snorted.

<<Of course.>>

“And he didn’t think about how insulting it was that he wanted to replace Mace’s Master with his own?”

<<Mace and Depa are both on a diplomatic mission helping review a treaty they crafted when she was a Padawan. They left a few days ago.>>

“I can’t tell if that’s convenient for our purposes or if it takes one of Master Saa’s greatest defenders off the board.”

<<That will be T’ra’s problem.>> Tyvokka rumbled.

Feemor raised his mug. “I wouldn’t step in between the two of them either. How did the rest of the meeting go?”

Tyvokka made a glottal bark, like Humans ‘ughed.’ <<Dapatian thought one of the High Councilors should lead it, like none of us are really that biased and things would be fine anyway.>> Feemor used his mug to hide his smirk. << Rancisis was just being stubborn for stubbornness’ sake.>>

“Not because of Master Saa’s relationship with Master Tholme?”

Tyvokka snorted so hard the table shook. <<Probably. Though he’d never say that out loud in front of Adi and she was the one who took over lecturing them all when I needed the break.>>

“Really?” Adi Gallia wasn’t quite strait-laced, but near enough.

<<She became our Senate spokesperson last year and it’s changed her for the better. All the petty squabbles between us are nothing compared to the threats from outside, so she’s taken it upon herself to bridge the divisions between the different Council factions.>> Tyvokka took a sip of tea, puckered, and went for another cookie. Feemor was going to have to raid the Wookie’s cabinets for another box if he kept going at this rate.

Tyvokka had the standard Master quarters, two private bedrooms, a small kitchenette and counter dividing it from the living room, and a comm station tucked into a corner. The only concession to his age and status was that the room’s windows overlooked the treetops of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, a nod to the Master’s heritage.

In lieu of a regular dining table, Tyvokka had a small tea table, so short that Tyvokka always sat at it from the ground. The rest of the room had a motley assortment of chairs of various sizes and cushions of different thicknesses that others could drag to the table to sit with him. Feemor also knew that in those kitchen cupboards Tyvokka had unlabeled shelves full of foodstuffs neatly divided according to his different Shadows’ preferences so they could have their favorites when they came to visit him at home.

“Master Gallia would be excellent at that. I remember the lecture she gave my Intergalactic Politics class when people were being stubborn. Did she pull out a holo presentation with charts to make everyone feel like idiots?”

<<No, but she wanted to. When we recommenced after our ‘meditation break’ she took control over the meeting and ‘reminded’ everyone that the Grand Council had to be led by someone not currently sitting on the High Council or on one of the satellite councils unless we could argue extreme need. Further, the protocol preferred someone who’d sat on the High Council before, and absolutely someone who had been cleared of any wrongdoing in whatever issue required a Grand Council in the first place.>>

“Which means they tried to lure information out of you.”

<<Tried and failed.>> Another cookie. << Rancisis thinks his glare is intimidating.>>

“For most people, it would be.” The Master was giant snake after all

<<I’ve had poachers try to skin the fur off my body. His glare is nothing.>>

Feemor believed it. “Did Gallia have to lead the charge for Master Saa, or did everyone cave after her lecture?”

<<Dapatian tried to have a High Council loophole in the shape of Ki-Adi, because he substitutes for Micah on the High Council but doesn’t serve on the High Council, but Yaddle pointed out that Ki-Adi was the type to read the rule book back to them and say this didn’t ‘meet the criteria for extreme need.’ After that, everyone caved.>>

Feemor had only spoken with Master T’ra Saa twice, both in regards to her work in the Healer’s Circle, but she was well-respected. One couldn’t really make it to 600 years old without being respected. Either way, Master Saa was a particularly good appointee for this matter because she’d served on the Council of Reassignment several times, usually representing the Medical Corps. She’d also served on the High Council and Reconciliation Councils, which was enough experience to know the ins and outs of all the Satellite Councils and how to play them like children.

“And Gallia was enough to stop them from rejecting Saa out of hand because of her relationship with Master Tholme?”

In truth, everyone knew that Master Saa’s romantic relationship with a fellow Jedi was the only reason she wasn’t currently serving on any Council at all. Despite a mind healer verifying the health of their bond and relationship, the High Council had decided that Tholme couldn’t have both a Padawan and lover amongst the Order. Master Saa had taken the hit and assumed Tholme’s responsibility as the Watchman of the Kiffu Sector, keeping contact between them to a minimum while Tholme raised his Padawan, Quinlan Vos. (Feemor had treated enough Shadows to know they communicated far more through back channels than the standard, so he imagined the couple kept in decent contact, though for a Force user, nothing was quite like a lover’s physical presence. )

<<Some tried to object, but at that point they were all tired and it wasn’t as though they had a better option. It was just objection for the sake of objection. Though, that didn’t stop them from diverting Tholme to the Kiffu Sector to stand in Saa’s place as Watchman until her work is done here.>>

Feemor grumbled on the lovers’ behalf. “Have they told her?”

<<Whether they have or not, I did.>>

“Did you think she’d refuse?”

Tyvokka shook his furry head. <<No. I sent along all the information we’ve gathered and gave her contact information to my Shadows to go hunting for more. After she saw that, I knew she would come.>>

That was… curious. Feemor was one of the Shadow Division’s preferred mind healers but even he didn’t have that broad of access. Feemor took one of Tyvokka’s nearly-inedible cookies and dipped it in the tea, just waiting.

<<She ought to be as informed as possible before she gets here. And if we leave things until she does get here, she might find herself outmaneuvered before she ever has a chance to begin.>> Tyvokka defended. <<That’s half the reason I had you recalled before I knew who was going to head the Grand Council.>>

Feemor bit into the cookie. No, the tea wasn’t enough to make it better. “And I’m sure you didn’t deliberately bring up that you’d discovered Qui-Gon wasn’t supposed to be back in the field without mind healer approval just so I’d be the healer called back for this Council.”

Tyvokka sipped his tea. <>

“You know it’s applied differently.”

They both knew full well that no one had seen fit to inform Feemor that approving Qui-Gon was the reason he was being recalled. Feemor hadn’t been told until he was standing before three Council Members. He’d had to explain the basic ethics of mind healing to them and say he couldn’t be the healer who reviewed Qui-Gon. First, because he’d had an intimate relationship with Qui-Gon as his former Padawan – a conflict only worsened by Qui-Gon repudiating him in the man’s depression spiral after Xanatos’ Fall. And second, any good mental health professional would require that Qui-Gon apologize to Feemor as part of his recovery. Feemor couldn’t be both the person Qui-Gon had wronged and the one giving him mental health treatment.

<<Your help will be necessary for this process, and you know it. Getting you here to begin your review as soon as possible is only to T’ra’s benefit.>>

“Yes.” Feemor slurped in the way he knew Tyvokka hated. “Tr’a’s benefit. That’s your main point of concern.”

<<It is!>> Tyvokka rumbled. <<And the children.>>

“Yes, the children.”

Tyvokka glared. Feemor imagined it would be more effective than Oppo Rancisis,’ if he couldn’t feel the warm echo of Master Tyvokka’s Force sense stretching out once again to check the hallway for his visitors.

Feemor set down his mug and nudged the plate of disgusting cookies a little closer. “You can make that a plural all you want. I know you too well.”

Tyvokka declined to answer, as though devouring an entire cookie wasn’t answer enough.

“If the boy is as smart as you say, he’s going to know you called him here for a mental health check.”

<<Obi-Wan would have to have been given a mental health check at some point to know he’s getting one.>>

“With a mind healer or not, Obi-Wan has been around regular healers before and I’m told we cause the same concern.”

<<That doesn’t mean he won’t comply.>>

“You think so?” Feemor drolled. Feemor believed a child who so ardently threw himself into harm’s way to ‘be useful’ while leaking such hopeless desperation that a Nautolan’s tentacles and a Zeltron’s skin could pick it up would rather cut off an arm than admit to having a problem.

<<He will.>>

“It doesn’t count when you growl him into compliance.”

<> Tyvokka said, offended.

Feemor laid a hand on the Wookie’s paw. “I know you would never hurt a child deliberately, but Ruzry said that in their check-ins Obi-Wan has been telling her that all his friends are being ‘weird’ and he’s frustrated at how uncomfortable they are around him. She says he self-blames for his inability to get any information from them. He’s apologized more than once for ‘failing.’ Those are all signs of desperation to prove himself that worry me.”

<<That’s why he’s coming to tea. Not to do anything that might ‘prove’ himself.>>

Feemor didn’t want to point out that he was Master Tyvokka, a 400-year-old Wookie Seer, the architect of the Ysaz-Din Treaty, the peacemaker of Ord’on Farr, and a Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. The mere mention of his name would be enough to make any child want to prove themselves, let alone one whose self-esteem had been torn apart by Council machinations. There was nothing Tyvokka could do about his reputation or the boy’s health, and knowing that he was hurting the boy by merely existing wouldn’t help. Feemor didn’t need to be on-planet for more than two hours to know Tyvokka was attached.

Feemor didn’t know what about him had made the Master of Shadows read him in as one the few mind healers Shadows were willing to see after their worst experiences in the field, but it was a trust he would never betray. That trust was why he leaned back now, no threat in his posture when he said, “Tell me about him.”

Tyvokka didn’t play dumb, but he also didn’t skirt the answer to protect himself either. The great Jedi rambled about Obi-Wan: smart, inquisitive, watching him with his little droid was adorable. A little droid that had stayed on the docks for the last week pouting about Obi-Wan leaving him behind. (One of the other droids tried to get on its good side by complaining about ‘OB-1’ and MO nearly drove him off the edge of the hangar.) The boy was genuinely terrible with plants. Honestly, Tyvokka hadn’t known a Jedi could be that bad with plants. But the research! He could play Jocasta’s system like a maestro.

“The Exploracorps, then?”

<<What?>> Tyvokka blinked, surprised at the change of topic. <Ah, yes.>> Tyvokka pulled back into himself, but Feemor could feel the ring of hurt before Tyvokka released it to the Force. <<Yes, if he cannot find a Master, likely the Exploracorps. Though the altered system might keep him here longer than his 13th birthday. And Plo will be back before then, either way. Lissarkh is ready to be Knighted, and would’ve been months ago if their mission didn’t keep getting extended.>>

“Hmm.” Feemor propped his hand up on his chin. “Plo.”

Tyvokka sighed. Feemor knew that only in this situation, with another professional Tyvokka trusted his Shadows to but wasn’t under his purview, was Tyvokka willing to admit that he liked Obi-Wan. But things with Obi-Wan were not like they had been with Plo Koon, or with Tyvokka’s other Padawans. With all of them, Tyvokka had known the instant he saw them that they were supposed to be a pair.

<<The threads of the Force between us rang with the rightness of it.>>

“And it doesn’t with Obi-Wan?”

<<No.>> He rumbled with grief.

“What do the threads between you feel like?”

Tyvokka closed his eyes and breathed deep. The Force around him felt like a deep, mossy forest, trees a thousand years old and a perfect ecosystem untouched by Human hands. <<It feels like… drums.>>

“Drums?” Feemor didn’t know that could be a feeling.

<<Drums.>> Tyvokka repeated.

“What kind of drums?”

Tyvokka opened his eyes, clouded over by vision of the world not present before them. <<War drums. Played high in the trees when outworlders are coming to attack our home.>>

Feemor stayed silent, nothing to say.

Tyvokka dusted off the cookie crumbs from his paws. <<He is a good boy. Clever and competent. I will be happy to advise him. Goodness knows I’ll be on planet for the rest of my short life cleaning up the Council.>>

Feemor bit back a grin. They’d have time to work through it. He meant to say, ‘I’m sure Obi-Wan will appreciate that,’ but his comm rang with Ruzry’s ID, flashing the color of an urgent call.

5 Comments:

Jilly James
June 5, 2023 at 11:12 am

Can I deal with the tension? No, no I cannot. I’m chewing my nails down to nothing over here.

Where that post ended was just… damn. The war drums line. Erk. I’m checking the clock and realizing I’m only going to get part way through the next post before I have to leave, and my resentment over my calendar is now epic. This is so, so good.

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Tabee
June 5, 2023 at 9:27 pm

Oh no. I’m sad now and it’s time for bed and I can’t keep reading until tomorrow morning!

While I completely understand Obi’s crechemates acting like they are, it’s incredibly painful for everyone. I’m not sure they’d be able to recover from this at all.

And poor MO! Left alone!

This was so good and amazing, thank you for sharing.

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IvyCeltress
June 30, 2023 at 10:17 pm

Omg did Brick just try to push OB-1 to commit suicide. And yea dear sweet underappreciated Feemor.

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Odonata
May 12, 2024 at 5:05 pm

I love Mo defending their Organic.

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Tpena19
June 1, 2025 at 11:08 pm

Obi is still all the drama. Man does the Order suck with kids or what? Just in all the ways. MO’s pet boy is hilarious and true. Yoda needs to get some sort of repercussions rained down on him dude. Obi needs all the mind healing, like stat. I like the idea of Tyvokka hearing war drums, but he’s being dumb not to choose Obi. I woner if the drums are for the Clone War or Sidious himself? Both? Okay, I’m off to the next part. Hopefully, Feemor can fix Obi’s mental health some. Please!

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OB-1 – 2/4 – Sunryder

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

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OB-1 – 2/4 – Sunryder

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

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sunryder

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